…
What kind of work do you do?
He's profiling me, I suppose. He wants to know what kind of woman is texting him. Maybe thinks he knows who this is and is trying to narrow it down. Maybe he thinks I'm a man or a stalker or a Russian plant.
Customer service, I respond after just a few moments, not wanting to seem to take too long. It's not entirely a lie either. Probably best to stay with as much truth as I can.
What are you doing right now? he asks.
Bunny would tell me to say something sexy. She would tell me to entice him with something. Act mysterious. Flirt. The thing is, Bunny is really good at that. I don't think I am.
Just sitting here, thinking about you, I tell him honestly.
I remind myself that this is what I promised Lori, and it’s anonymous, and it's harmless. It's all right. I can always just walk away. There's no reason for my heart to be banging on the inside of my chest like it's trying to escape.
Tell me.
My breath catches my throat. “Tell me.” That sounds so much like him it makes me shiver. I've heard him say those words in an encouraging way, sometimes in an accusatory way. I've heard the growl in his voice, the expectation that he will be obeyed. Maybe it is his military training, or maybe it's just his nature, that commanding presence that shakes something loose inside me.
What am I supposed to do?
I’m going to be honest, I decide suddenly. He may not know who I am, but I can’t keep track of Bunny’s schizophrenic person-inside-a-person charade. The only way I can do this and keep everything straight is to be myself, even if I’m not telling him everything.
Like my actual name, for instance.
I want to touch you, I start.
Tell me more.
I try to replay the dream in my head, hoping that if I get swept away by those images again, I'll somehow work up the courage to tell them about it. I remember when it happened. I woke up breathless and shivering, my body surging with blistering waves of heat.
I want to undress you, I continue. To trace the line from your chin down your chest. To open your shirt and drag my nails across your skin.
As soon as I send the message, I drop the phone down on my desk again and glance around, almost convinced that someone is going to be watching me. My heart is racing, and twin waves of guilt and excitement crashed through me at the same time. I almost expect people to sense what I'm doing, to casually walk past to witness the spectacle I'm surely creating.
But it is still early. No one seems to notice. I hear them murmuring on their phones, typing on their keyboards. Somewhere behind me an office door closes. The elevator doors ding and then open.
The phone buzzes.
Why do you want that? is his reply.
I just do, is all I can think to say.
Who is this?
I shiver, suddenly frightened. What do I say? I just convinced myself to tell him these tiny secrets that I've been holding inside me. And he wants more? Already?
In a panic, I text Bunny. He wants to know who I am! What do I do??
Don't tell him! she texts back immediately.
Yeah! DUH! But what do I do?
Send him a pic of ur panties, she suggests.
Shut up. Be serious!
I am being totally serious, she texts right back. You don't have to say anything with words. Whenever u get stuck… send him a picture of something. A nipple. Toes. Whatever.