Phone Sex Hotline [Rough Draft]

WR 224 – Short Story
February 19th, 2016
Word Count: 2,955
						Sultry Phonetics
	The click on the other of the line relieves a bit of stress from the end of your night. You pull off your headset and lean back in your chair to stretch, squeezing your eyes shut, and try to forget the client who liked you to describe rocks as phallic constructs of nature. It was fun role playing as a geologist, expanding your vocabulary, but sometimes that lady could be exhausting. Heck, working at a phone sex hotline was exhausting.
	When you had asked your current boss about the dangers of strange clients versus typical clients, she assured you that there were precautions for those that wandered outside the law and a voice alteration that was used to keep your identity safe. You're not sure how someone would extrapolate information about your personally from your voice but extra security can't be bad. Perhaps someone would recognize you from your voice.
	 You lean forward and open your eyes, surveying the drab, plain cubicle. The computer screen flickered and your headset felt daunting. Your boss said you had the option to work at home but you couldn't do that. You had a growing toddler at home who could be given a bad representation of love. Not to mention your wife didn't know about this occupation change.
	After you were laid off from your previous job, you spent many isolated hours searching anything to pay the bills. After three months of working in the phone sex industry, you were surprised to find you actually enjoyed the work. It was still embarrassing to think of explaining to anyone you knew, especially your wife.
	The blinking phone tore you from your worries and you put on your headset. You click the blinking line button and say your line, “Welcome to 'Sultry Phonetics' where our fire is your desire.” You glance at the small whiteboard in your cubicle. Was that really your line of the day? Where does your boss come up with this crap? “How may I assist you tonight?” There is silence on the other end of the line. “Hello?”
	“I'm here,” the woman stutters. “I just can't believe I'm actually calling one of these.”
	“Why did you call?” you ask hesitantly. “If there's anything you'd like to hear, I can do that.” There is still silence on the other end. “Or maybe you'd like to be the one talking.” The woman on the other end gives a short, single laugh.
	“I'm not sure,” she says quietly. You hear her sniffle. “Could you...” She stops. You could envision her biting her lip and turning away from you. “Could you say that you love me?”
	“I love you,” you say without hesitation.
	She gives another single laugh. “At least someone does.”
	“Oh, darling, I'm sure plenty of people love you.”
	“My husband doesn't,” she says, her tone becoming a bit more fierce. “He hasn't told me he loves me in quite some time. Not to mention he disappears at night and seems to be so exhausted during the day to even take care of our child.”
	Wait a second. You hadn't noticed it before but her voice is strangely familiar.
	“He is putting distance between us. He doesn't prove his love for me anymore. I'm beginning to think that his late night disappearances are to go be with another woman.” The woman begins to sob on the other end of the line.
	The more you listened, the more you were assured.
	This person...
	She's your wife.
	“How are you feeling?” you ask gingerly. This isn't unfamiliar territory for you. There are a surprising amount of regulars that just talk with you, not using the sex part of the hotline. However, talking to your own wife under the guise of someone else was a new feeling. You couldn't break character and defend yourself directly.
	“Hurt, lonely,” she says with a whimper. “Angry, frustrated, confused.” She stops a moment, attempting to collect herself by clearing her throat and grunting. “I just want my husband back in my life again.”
	Had you really been that distant? How could you have not noticed how neglected she felt? “Have you tried being honest with him?” you ask, feeling the irony instantly. With how big of an issue keeping this new occupation from your wife was, it was a wonder that she put up with for this long.
	“How can I be honest with him when he's clearly hiding something himself?” she retorts angrily. “I can only assume what he's doing. He said his job changed hours but that seems like hockey pock to me.”
	You have a feeling continuing that line of conversation will end badly. Time to try another approach. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
	“Ha, I wish,” she says. “I don't even know why I called one of these hot lines. I just wanted someone to listen me complain.” She begins to mock laugh.
	“Hey, it's okay,” you say. “I'm happy to listen.”
	Her laughing goes silent on the other end. Her sniffs slow down and her breathing becomes steady.
	“Got any other cheesy one liners you have to say on different calls?” she asks.
	“Oh God, yeah,” you say, letting yourself relax a little. As you begin listing some of your worst, hearing your wife laugh felt nice. You hadn't really had that in your life for a while. The conversation continues for a while as your wife asks you questions about yourself. You exchange them for funny stories and questions about herself. In a strange way, it almost felt like your first date with her. The rest of the hour flies by without you even noticing.
	“Well, I would love to keep talking,” she says, sighing, “but I should probably get ready for my baby to wake up and my husband to get home.”
	“I hope things work out for you and husband,” you say, flashing a knowing smile to your headset. “It was really nice talking with you, love.”
	“Heh, trying to butter me up to be a regular, eh?” she says.
	“Of course,” you say sarcastically.
	“Well, I think you've succeeded,” she says. “It was nice talking to you too.” With that the line cuts and you're left in your own thoughts. You peel off your headset and lean back in your chair once more. As your mind flies through happy memories, you know you have a duty to make this up to your wife. Hopefully something cheesy would prove effective.

	As you walk to your car, you flick through the menus on your phone, searching for a florist to buy flowers for your wife. You are lucky enough to find one on the way home. Putting your phone away, you glance up towards your minivan. It was strange to think you worked in the phone sex industry and drove one of these vehicles. However, you believed that you could still be a good father even though you worked in this industry and the fact you bought this vehicle reflects that belief.
	As you get in your car, start the engine, and leave work, you are accompanied by the soft cackling on the radio. You felt the incessant desire to flip back and forth between classical and rock  music. It was enjoyable when both genres met in one song, but, more often, you were left trying to pick between the two.
	As you arrive at the florist, you are met with a wide array of colors becoming flashier with the rising sun. Parking your minivan nearby, you get out and take hesitant steps towards the shop. Unfamiliar buildings made you uncomfortable because you never knew what kind of crowd could linger within. Pleasant smells hit you and tempt you away from your mission. Your wife loved camellias so you assumed it would be the perfect gift to go along with your apology.
	During your search, your mind shoots a very strange question your way. Why did your wife decide to call a phone sex hotline? Was it, in her own way, to cheat on you? Perhaps she really believed you weren't being faithful and that was her way to indirectly exact revenge. You couldn't really be sure until you talked to her.
	As you dive further into your thoughts, you approach the front counter with a bouquet of camellias. How would you even broach the topic of your new occupation? While you speculate, you pull out your wallet and pay for the camellias.
	“You know, camellias are a sign of passion,” the florist says. She gives you a confident smirk. You raise an eyebrow pulling a twenty out of your wallet.
	“What makes you so sure they don't mean something else?” you ask. She shrugs, her smirk still plastered on her face. She reaches for the twenty but brushes your hand before taking the money.
	“So what are you passionate about handsome?” she asks. As the flattery hits you, so do thoughts of your wife.
	“I am passionate about my wife,” you say firmly. Her smirk fades to a gentle smile and her posture becomes more formal.
	“I hope the best for you stranger,” she says. You leave the flower shop almost hastily. Working as a phone sex operator meant you heard compliments like those often in your role play but it still had an affect on you. It brought you to the question you were afraid of your wife asking. Is working there a sign of a lack of faith in your part? Role playing these women's fantasies could be interpreted by someone as not being faithful but that person wasn't you. The way you viewed it was a therapeutic experience for those in need of sexual and, more often than not, emotional relief.
	You lived a wonderful middle ground of therapist, comedian, friend, and lover for these strangers. Of course you wouldn't actually do anything with these women and the florist was a reminder of that. You were there to bring them a peace of mind, show that anyone can be given compassion, but that did not mean you were passionate about them.
	Having these feelings rationalized and validated make the last leg of the car trip home much easier for you. Though, you still unsure of how to broach this secret with your wife. “I guess I'll just have to play it by ear,” you whisper to the bouquet.

	You sit alone in the corner of the nursery, your daughter's crib given the backdrop of a window that looks out onto the rising sun. As the rays peeked their way through the window, your baby girl would awaken. For now, her soft snores are the only thing that can be heard in the room. Your mind wasn't completely focused on changing and feeding your daughter when she awoke. In fact, you would usually still be in bed yourself but tonight you found yourself listening for the front door.
	As you hear the sound it finally opening, you're almost hopeful it is a burglar trying to steal your television. Thinking of the other possibility, you become annoyed. Now that you've waited so long to hear the front door to open, you just want to slam it shut on the person. Being in here with your daughter was all you needed.
	The sunshine begins to shine through the window, hitting your daughter. She stirs and wiggles. Her moans almost force you up quickly enough but the door to the nursery opens quickly and silently. A man walks through briskly looking over the crib railing and inspecting your daughter. He turns toward a cabinet and pulls out a formula that was prepared when the night was still young. The man picks up your baby and begins to feed her. As she suckled on the bottle, you saw him smile. You tentatively decided to sit and watch the display.
	As she finishes the bottle, he puts it down on the cabinet. He rocks a for a while before holding her up and taking a sniff. He pats her butt for a moment, then, as if realizing she needed to be changed, sets her back in the crib. He shuffles through the cabinet, putting the milk back where it belongs and pulling out diapers, wipes, and baby powder. Using the top of the cabinet as his workstation, he picks up your baby and begins changing her. You can't help but glare at the display.
	As he finishes, he tickles her belly lightly, eliciting a smile from your baby. The man picks up the baby and cuddles her in his arms. He begins to turn, as if dancing, and notices you sitting there, silently watching him. He jumps slightly, pulling your baby closer to his chest. He stares at you for a moment, relaxing a bit. He begins to rock your baby again, smiling at you. It is not returned.
	“I see you decided to come home,” you say. His smile disappears at your tone. Good. He should know this isn't a game. “How was work?” you ask sarcastically, emphasizing the word 'work'. He cocks an eyebrow as his smile disappears.
	“It went well today,” he responds in a monotone voice, turning his back on you as he continues to rock your baby girl. You cringe at his words, knowing what he really meant by them.
	“That's good,” you say. He can't even lie to your face. Luckily, you don't have to his either. “Anything interesting happen today, or should I say, yesterday?”
	“He hesitates a moment before responding, “Yeah, I had a strange client today. Talking with her was fine but I was constantly curious about her expectations.” It was easy to read between those lines and what they spelled was exactly as you feared. “How about you, my love?” Anything happen to you yesterday while I was at work?”
	Two could be a player in his sleazy game. “I made a new friend yesterday. He seems pretty interesting.” He laughs at your response. Your facial expression cracks for but an instant at his unexpected response.
	The man sets your baby in her crib and turns to face you. “I got you something dear,” he says almost walking excitedly out the room with the dirty diaper. You hear a faucet turn on in another room as the man washes his hands. He returns shortly, holding a bouquet of flowers and offers them to you. It's your turn to cock an eyebrow in surprise.
	“What's this for?” you ask genuinely.
	“Just because I love you, he says with a grin. You accept them and give them a whiff. They're camellias, your favorite. “I love you dear,” he repeats.
	You bury your face into them as far as you can without crushing them. Their scent fills your nose as you hide your stupid, blushing face.
	“Liar,” you whisper. As you look up from the bouquet of flowers, your husband appears crestfallen. Did he hear what you said? "What's the matter?" you stutter. You can't read his facial expression as he quickly steps out of the room. That's unexpected. "Wait, honey, I didn't mean it," you call to him. As you tail him out of the nursery, he stops just before your bedroom.
	"Do you really think I'm a liar?" he asks not turning to face you. Stepping closer, you put a hand on his shoulder. He shivers and pulls away until just your fingertips rest on his shoulder.
	"I want to believe you," you say, biting your lip at the implications of what you just blurted out. "I just can't."
	"Why not?" he asks. "Why is it so hard to believe I love you?" The words hit you, tearing away your desire to inhibit a response.
	"Because I know you're hiding something from me," you say. "I don't know what it is. For all I know, you're leading a second life." He laughs slightly.
	"Do you really want to know what I've been doing?" he says, turning to face you. Giving him a nod, you stare at him, pressuring him to tell the truth. "I work at a phone sex hotline."
	You blink. Then you blink again. "Wait, what?"
	"I didn't want you to worry but I lost my old job," he says. "I was lucky enough that this landed in my lap to be able to keep up a steady income."
	You're not quite sure how to react but you can tell by his embaressed blush that he's being honest. A sile creeps onto your face and you embrace your husband. "You..." you say with stutter. "Idiot."
	There a long silence between you two. He returns the hug and you can tell the feeling of relief is mutual. After a few deep sighs, you part. "You're not upset that I work at a phone sex hotline."
	"Honey, I'm just glad you're not seeing someone else," you say. "Though, you better believe you have a lot of explaining to do. A phone sex hotline doesn't seem like it would be very healthy to our relationship.
	He nods and begins to explain what he does at his job. He then describes how its becoming enjoyable for him which you can't quite understand. You bring up your concerns with him servicing other women. He reiterates that, more often than not, what they seek is emotional support.
	"So you're okay with me continuing?" he asks.
	"On one condition," you say.
	"What's that?"
	"You have to tell me everything that goes on, okay?" you say, giving him a pleading look.
	"Of course," he says. "From now on I'll tell you everything."
	You embrace one more time, happy to have found a resolution you can both be satisfied with. "I liked the flowers," you coo.