The Mystery Caller

I’ll admit it: the first six months after my divorce I was like a blind dog on Viagra , ready, willing, and able to jump on anything female. You see, I’d been married for almost 10 years to a good-looking but very uptight and very frigid woman; at 37, I was finally free and clear and happy. I was determined to have a good time, and I did.

My childhood friend Stoney was also recently divorced. Together we hit every singles bar in Queens, Brooklyn, Staten Island, and most in Manhattan. We’d arrive together but almost every night, we’d leave separately. In the heart of winter, Stoney decided to have a Valentine’s Day Party at his house and invite only the best-looking women we could find. The night of the party, I put on my sharp black Armani suit, loaded up with flowers, grabbed a bottle of champagne, and drove across Brooklyn to Stoney’s house.

The party was in full swing and I quickly focused my attention on this tall outrageously curvy brunette. She was half-Italian and half-Puerto Rican and one-hundred percent stone cold fox. Unfortunately, I think she was looking for a doctor or lawyer and not a simple NYPD detective like me. I took a break from the hunt to chat with some colleagues from the force. Stoney’s mom, who was catering the party, offered some incredibly tasty pasta pesto. While I ate and talked, I plotted my next move. No luck. The brunette left with a couple of her friends just as I was getting ready for my next assault. I drank some more, ate some more, gabbed some more, and left about 2 in the morning.

A couple of nights later I was watching the Knicks in my underwear and a bathrobe when the phone rang.

“Hi Lenny,” the female voice on the other end said in low, sultry tones.

“Who’s this?” I asked.

“Don’t worry Lenny,” the woman said in a breathy voice. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Okay,” I laughed. I could almost recognize the voice, but just couldn’t attach it to a name.

“You looked really good at the party, Lenny,” she continued.

“Oh yeah,” I answered. “You too.”

She laughed.

“No,” she continued. “I mean really good. Good enough to eat. You know what I mean?”

Now things were getting interesting. Her voice was getting more excited, and the sound of it started to send a tingle up my spine.

“You like eating Italian?” I asked her.

“Sure,” she said with a laugh. “I love eating Italian. What are you wearing Lenny?”

I told her I was naked under by bathrobe, and I heard her take a deep breath.

“Hmmmm,” she continued. “I bet you look good under that bathrobe.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

There was a pause.

“Hey baby,” I whispered. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

“I got a black lacy bra and some really sexy black panties on,” she answered.

“Nice,” I answered. “Very nice. I bet you look hot.”

She mumbled something.

“If I were there with you,” I continued. “You wouldn’t have those panties on for long.”

“Oh yeah,” she answered with a sigh.

“Yeah,” I said. “Have you got nice big juicy tits?”

“Oh yeah,” my phone caller answered with a little moan. “Really big. 36D. Nice and big and firm. Hmmmm. I’m holding them in my hands right now.”

“Oh baby,” I said as I started to slowly stroke my cock. “I’d love to suck on those titties of yours. Run my tongue around your nipples. Squeeze them with my hands while I nibble on those puffy nipples.”

I heard her moan.

“Would you like that?” I asked.

“Oh yeah baby,” she answered with a little moan. “Oh yeah.”

“Hmmmm,” I said as I began to really work my cock into a full erection. “Yeah. I’d manga on those tits and then run my tongue down across your belly . . .down to the top of those panties . . .and sloooowly pull them down. You like that?”

My caller moaned in reply.

“Then I’d run my mouth across your cunt and lick those fat lips of yours and take my nice long tongue and run it along your pussy crack . . .”

“Ohhhhhhh baby,” she moaned. “Yessssssss.”

“And then,” I continued, nursing my dick. “I’d find that clitty of yours and suck on it . . .nibble on it . . .stroke it with my tongue.”

I could tell my mysterious caller was playing with herself. Her moans had become low and rhythmic.

“That’s it baby. Play with your pussy for me.”

Meanwhile, I was slapping my meat to the tune of her moans.

“Oh, baby,” I said. “I got this big ol’ cock here in my hands and its getting harder and harder. Hmmmm. What am I gonna do with it?”

My caller moaned louder. She was getting close to orgasm.

“Hmmmmm.” I said. “I’m gonna have to slip this nice fat 8 inch cock all the way up you. One fat inch at a time. Whaddya think?.”

Now my caller was gasping, moaning, expressing her mounting pleasure with deep grunts from the back of her throat.

“Yeah,” I said. “All the way in and all the way out. In and out. Hmmmm. Till I’m riding you like a swing. And then . . .”

Before I could continue, the woman on the phone reached climax, moaning and gasping convulsively. I too was ready to cum. I could feel the jism boiling up in my balls. The sounds of her orgasm were bringing me closer and closer.

“Ohh, yeah, baby,” I grunted. “I’m getting ready to cum. Ready to cum.”

The woman’s moans doubled in intensity and then reached a crescendo. I heard the phone drop and she began to let loose with a series of loud moans. I started cumming, squeezing my cock as I heard her almost shouting in joy on the other end of the line. As I shot my load and waves of pleasure rolled over my crotch, I heard her orgasm start to subside. Groaning in pleasure, I dropped the phone to wrestle every ounce of pleasure out of my cock. As cum sprayed over my couch and carpet, I slumped back in total release, feeling stunned and drained. I sat on the couch for a couple of seconds, regaining my senses and then picked up the phone. My caller had hung up. There was only a dial tone.

It was weird. My body felt great. My cock was slowly pulsing with post-climax vibes. But the dead phone made me feel kinda used, and kinda lonely. Why hadn’t she stayed on the line? Why couldn’t we get together and do the nasty in real life?

“Bitch,” I muttered, putting the phone back in its cradle.

I cleaned up, turned the sound back up on the Knicks, and watched the rest of the game in a kind of daze.

The next morning I called up Stoney and we laughed about the phonesex surprise. We must have spent a half hour trying to figure out who my mystery caller was. Stoney was convinced it had to be Maureen, an ex-girlfriend of his who always had the hots for me. I didn’t think so, but I still couldn’t place the voice.

A couple of nights later I was at home when the phone rang again.

“Hi Lenny.”

It was my mystery caller. Again we brought each other to climax, this time taking things slower and me explaining in close detail how I’d tit fuck her. This went on for weeks. Every couple of nights the phone would ring and, bingo, we’d be talking and moaning each other into climax. At first I was a little frustrated, preferring to fuck her live rather than via Ma Bell. But after a week or so I started really getting into it, daydreaming fantasies at work and then playing them out at night. The phone seemed to free both of us up and we talked some wild shit.

Three or four weeks after the first call, the phone rang.

“Hi Lenny”

“Hi baby,” I answered. “I been thinking about you all day.”

“Oh yeah, me too honey,” she answered. “But listen, before we get going . . .are you going to be at Jack’s party on Friday?”

Jack was another cop I used to partner with. He was having a party that Friday to celebrate his victory in the Department’s boxing tournament. I was planning on going.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m gonna be there.”

“Great,” she said. “Bring your cell phone.”

“Whoa,” I said in surprise. “At the party?”

“No,” she said. “Maybe we’ll do something special”

“Tell me more,” I answered.

“Later,” she said.