"Hi, Juliet, this is Stacy--" And this was why there was always a few seconds delay in broadcasting, Stacy had just given her full name. The last thing we wanted was for some psycho to get her last name.
"Hi, Stacy, what can I help you with tonight?" I shifted in my chair, Juliet's voice was like butter in a hot pan.
"I want my boyfriend to talk to me during sex, you know, say something besides moans?"
"I totally understand, Stacy." I rubbed the scruff on my chin, so, Juliet liked a little dirty talk. "Most women and men for that matter love having their partner speak erotic words during intercourse. It is fuel for the fire, so to speak."
"Exactly," Stacy concurred.
"But in all reality, not many people can actually speak while building to an orgasm. An orgasm takes a lot of concentration." I was stunned by how comfortable Juliet was at speaking about sex issues to a perfect stranger let alone knowing that what she said was being transmitted to millions of listeners. "When building for that epic release, being able to focus on something that can be halfway interpreted as words is near impossible. So, take a moan for what it is. It's your partner's way of conjuring up sounds to tell you that he likes what you are doing."
I hadn't realized it but listening to her sultry voice speak of something so erotic had turned me on. I rubbed one hand down the front of my jeans and tried to adjust myself. I was hard as a rock, all from a stupid radio talk show.
The clocked ticked on and Juliet continued taking calls, some were pitiful, like a jilted lovers trying to figure out what he had done wrong or a single mom wondering if she will ever find someone to love her son as much as his real father was supposed to. Then there were the funny ones, the woman who caught her fiancé cheating and was trying to figure out the best way to let him know that he was busted.
I palmed my phone, tossed it back and forth from one hand to the other. As if on autopilot, I opened my setting and turned on, block phone number. Then I dialed the station, it was after midnight and Juliet had begun taking less phone calls and playing more songs.
I wasn't sure what had come over me or why I had done it, but I couldn't stop myself if my life depended on it. I turned my radio down, and waited for her sound manager to pick up.
"You've reached the Dear Juliet Show, do you have a question for Juliet?"
"I do."
"What's your question?" I wasn't prepared to talk to someone else but here goes. "I wanted to know what her fantasy was. She gives advice to everyone else, but what's her fantasy?"
"What's your name?"
I stumbled for a second then quickly gave my middle name. "Michael."
"Okay, Michael, I'll let you ask Juliet."
"You've reached Dear Juliet, who do I have on the line?"
"Michael."
"Okay, Michael, what would you like to ask?"
"What's your fantasy? You listen to everyone else's, what's yours?"
Juliet let out a soft chuckle. "Are you a psychologist too?"
I took a sip of whiskey and let it roll over my tongue befor
e answering, "No, just a curious man."
Her voice sounded weary. "My fantasy, to come home, have dinner on the table, a Golden Retriever wagging her tail, and the two point four kids with a white picket fence."
"No, that's your dream, what's your fantasy?" I asked again. The sound on the other end clicked and the sound manager came on.
"Michael, can you hold for a second? Juliet wants to talk to you off air."
"Sure." He pressed a button and then I could hear Juliet talking, her radio show was continuing on.
"It looks like we lost Michael. In the meantime, here's some rhythm for your soul." There were clicks and then the music went off and Juliet's voice came through the line. "Michael, are you there?"
"I'm here."
"Sorry, that's not an appropriate question for on-air." She informed me.