"God, that was better than I imagined," I said, smiling. I watched while she removed the dildo and lay on her side, facing the camera.
"It was good, wasn't it?" she managed, smiling back. "I've never done that before."
"Me, neither," I replied. "Not exactly like that."
Her eyes widened. "You have sexted before?"
"A couple of times," I said and grabbed a tissue, wiping myself off. "But not like this."
"I wish you were here, so we could snuggle," she said and pouted. "I've grown accustomed to your presence in my bed. Or should I say, in your bed."
"Me, too," I replied. "We'll do this every night if you want."
She smiled. "If I want..."
"Well, I definitely want it. Skype sex like this is a keeper."
She yawned. "I better go to sleep. Early morning with mom and dad."
"Okay," I said. “I’ll be in sessions all day and there’s a late session on Sunday night so I probably won’t have much time to Skype with you, but you should text me or we can talk.”
“I will.”
“Good night, Ella. I miss you.”
"Good night, Josh. I miss you too.”
The session ended, and I sat there for another moment, recovering from my orgasm. It dulled the sense of gloom that had pervaded my mind since I'd learned about Grant's suicide but only just. I had another quick shower and went to bed, thinking to myself about Ella's and my session of mutual masturbation.
It wasn't the real thing, but it was the next best.
The following day went fast, with me keeping busy attending sessions in the morning, afternoon and evening.
The dinner session was on print journalism in the twenty-first century digital age. Afterwards, I met a few colleagues in the business for drinks.
We spent the next hour talking news, and I loved every moment of it, eager to learn from others in the field and to share what we were doing with The Chronicle.
"You're ambitious to try to revive it," Callie Summers, a newspaper owner from Idaho said.
"Ambitious, but also maybe foolish," I replied with a laugh. "It's expensive to find good talent. It's the biggest expense, but the most important."
Callie was a bit older than me, attractive in a very calculated way. She'd sat beside me and tried to engage me in a side con
versation several times. I answered her perfunctorily to be polite, but I was more interested in the larger conversation and would turn back as soon as I could.
We talked shop for a while longer, and when I saw it was already ten thirty, I’d had enough.
"Well, gentlemen and ladies," I said and stood, slipping my cell into my jacket pocket. "I must say goodnight. It's been a pleasure and if any of you are ever in Manhattan, please give me a call."
We said goodbye and I left the bar, walking to the elevators so I could go up to my room.
Callie followed me, rushing to catch up. When the doors opened, she got in beside me.
"You're leaving so soon," she said and stood close to me. "It’s only nine. I hoped you and I could have a drink together, compare notes."
"I'm pretty tired," I replied, trying to be nice. "Maybe tomorrow between sessions."
"Care to come to my room and have a nightcap?" she asked, stepping even closer. She ran her fingers up my lapel and stroked my shoulder.