3 Is Not a Magic Number

Originally posted February 25, 2008

I used to have a regular caller named George. For him, I was a 25 year old, blonde housewife. He usually called on Sundays and liked talking about group sex. Therefore, my husband and I were swingers, and often participated in group sex with our friends.

More often than not, George would tell me he was with someone while we were talking. Usually it was a girl or two, but sometimes men were there, too. Of course, I never heard any of these other people, but I'd ask him to describe the situation and I'd give him directions on what to do to the woman (or man) he was with. Sometimes I'd pretend my husband or some strapping young black fellow was with me.

In my mind, George was in his 50s, tall and balding and slightly overweight. He's fussy about his clothes, and wears slacks and a jacket often. His hair is short and graying, and he's always smiling. I liked him, and had fun talking to him, so I didn't mind the Sunday afternoon chit chats.

One Wednesday night, I'm surprised to hear George's voice on the other end of the line. He sounded particularly horny, so I asked what he was doing. He told me he was there with a female friend, Lisa, and she was busy sucking his dick. I laughed to myself, because "Lisa" is Charlotte's best friend and often shows up in stories when an extra girl is needed. I figured that George forgot that when creating his Lisa, so I played along.

I asked him what Lisa looked like, and he described her as red-headed and wild in the sack. Then asked if I wanted to talk to her. I said sure and was stunned speechless when an actual woman said "hi" to me.

We exchanged some highly awkward small talk while I tried to wrap my head around George actually literally having a woman there.

In my head, Lisa, too is in her 50s and thick. Not a big fatty lady, but well-built, I guess. She's got long, wavy auburn hair, with a bit more frizz than wave. She's one of those older ladies who wears purple jackets with big, colorful, asymmetric designs on them, and clunky necklaces made out of wood and rock.

Then I had the dubious honor of listening to them fuck for the next half hour. They'd pass the phone back and forth and describe what the other was doing on occasion. Mostly, I listened to thick wet slaps and incoherent groans. I could hear him sucking, licking, slurping, as she tried disjointedly to describe how he was eating her out.

I IM'd Dennis, "I'm listening to two people fuck right now."

"Really?!" he shot back, "that seems like it would be hot."

"It's not. At all."

It was disgusting. I'd see where you'd think it'd be hot. Everyone has that voyeuristic streak that chuckles when you hear your neighbors doin' it. Porn is lame when there's no sound, right? I actively tried to change the image of the two of them in my head, so it wouldn't be so gross, but they sounded like two older adults fucking. It's like watching those Real Sex shows on HBO. They tell you that we're going to this beautiful island to watch a bunch of horndogs have orgies. Which, in theory, would be hot. But in reality, the horndogs are always weird old hippies.

Lisa tried to carry on a conversation with me. In coarse grunts and groans, she asked me to describe a time I had sex with a black guy. She said she wanted a black dick so bad. Which is weird to say when you're getting fucked by a white guy, in my opinion.

I started describing a situation, and I could hear the fat wet slaps getting faster and faster. I stopped talking but she breathed for me to keep going. I tried, and she interrupted me by screaming, "My man is fucking my pussy!" Loud enough for me to take the phone from my ear and squeeze my eyes shut. I do that a lot, squeeze my eyes shut on the phone, I don't know why since it doesn't seem to prevent me from hearing!

Then she had what sounded like a pretty good orgasm, during which she dropped the phone and George picked it up, and just panted in my ear for a while.

"She sounds kinda hot when she cums, though," I typed to Dennis. Sometimes you have to laugh to keep from crying.

Eventually he came loudly in my ear. They thanked me, and I hung up, feeling thoroughly grossed out.

I hadn't thought about George in months, until I got a call from Rodney.

Rodney, I'm sorry to say, sounded like a hick, so, in my mind, Rodney was very skinny, probably sporting a greasy blonde mullet and wearing a wife beater. I try not to be prejudicial, so I really actively tried to alter his image in my head, but his voice wouldn't let me.

He said he liked to call up with his wife, and told me she was lying there next to him. I asked him to describe her and he said, "She's curvay. And, she gots blond herr and blue eyes and great big ol' titties."

He told me he was going to give his wife the phone and I was to tell her what I'd do to her. Once again, I was shocked when a woman picked up.

She sounded fat, so I didn't feel quite as bad having imagined her as pale and flabby, lying on a king sized bed with messy blue sheets.

Shock turned to laughter, though, when she hollered, in the perfect redneck accent, "Suck mah tittays!!"

Then I was subjected to the soundtrack to Jack Spratt fucking his fat wife with her vibrator. She told me it was a Rabbit. I could hear the whirrs and clicks get louder, get smothered into silence, then get loud again, over and over in time to her cigarette induced wheezes.

I think it's nice that these couples are experimenting with sex together. It's kind of sweet in a way. It's just very very gross for me, as an unwitting participant.

It's mostly my fault, I think. I don't know how or why people I talk to show up so clearly in my mind, even without them describing themselves. I guess it helps me make their fantasies real when I can see it in my head, but it's a double edged sword. I know you understand the torment of having seen something that you can never un-see, like goatse. But, when the thing you can't un-see is something you made yourself? That's a special kind of hell, let me tell you.

I didn't want Rodney and his bride to not have fun, so I tried very hard to play along, telling her what naughty things I'd do to her. The call was obviously mostly for her, since if she did give hubby the phone, he'd barely speak before handing it back. I just told a tale of the married couple having sexy sex with a young bisexual girl. She enjoyed it well enough, interrupting with Lamaze breathing and the occasional reference to her husband's dick.

Mercifully, she came, and also dropped the phone. Rodney picked up, told me thank you very much and hung up.

I'm glad men calling with their women doesn't happen more often. It's awkward and confusing. You know how in threesome porn, with one man and two women, there's always that "extra" girl who isn't quite participating? I feel the way she looks. They're always just off to the side, shifting on their heels, not quite sure what the fuck is happening. "Hmm, I'll just rub her thigh a little bit. Moan some. Oh, I should toss my hair. Then I'll squeeze his ass, that'll be hot. . . God, when is this over?"