Still holding on

 

Sometimes back then, I had to check my phone to see if I had called one of those area code 900 numbers, since she seem to have that routine down pat, a regular mistress of the night, who sent dirty pictures and expected them in return, whose soothing voice lit me up like a Christmas tree or Fourth of July fireworks. Even her texts sent me over the edge.

Where did she learn all this stuff, and did she do this to all the men in her life, making me one of her all male harem, all of us completely shocked about it, some of us aching to keep in going, to bring up those amazing dreams we have to clean the sheets from in the morning.

This 900 number lady, who somehow learned the craft and plies it, a master who has each of us hanging on every word, waiting for the next text or picture, and hold our manhood tightly for when she asks for a picture back.

All these years later, I’m still holding on

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