by JA Huss
No. I don’t really know her.
But I know I want her. And right now I want more than phone sex.
I pull her contact, press FaceTime, and send.
She picks up on the first ring. Not in her car, anymore. But in a bathroom stall.
“Please tell me you’re in the library.” My voice is rough and husky with this idea.
She puts a finger up to her lips. “Shhhh. Quiet, please. People are reading.”
I whisper, “Oh, sunshine. I think you got the wrong idea. Nothing about this will be quiet.” I have to adjust my scenario a little to accommodate the new setting, but that’s OK. I kinda like thinking dirty on the fly. “Lean up against the door. Hike your skirt up. Pull your panties down to your knees, stick your fingers between your legs, and hold the phone far enough away so I can see.”
She squints at me. “What are you wearing? Is that… a t-shirt?”
“Shhh. People are reading, Tara.”
She shoots me a funny look. She’s never seen me in a t-shirt. But the t-shirt can wait. Everything except phone-fucking can wait now. I’m thoroughly intrigued with her library bathroom stunt.
“I hope you brought earbuds, baby. Because I won’t be whispering.”
“Lonnie—” She sounds a little bit panicked. “I’ll put you on mute if—”
“You will do no such thing. Find the earbuds.”
I know she has them. This might be our first library bathroom cam fuck, but it’s not our first rodeo. And sure enough, the camera shot goes sideways as she rustles them up, plugs them in, and sticks them in her ears.
“Happy now?” She’s still whispering. And this just turns me on. She’s really in the library bathroom. I can’t fucking believe it.
“Now do as I said. Hike your skirt up. Pull your panties down to your knees, stick your fingers between your legs, and hold the phone far enough away so I can see.”
“What are you going to do? Just sit there and watch?”
“Oh, I’m gonna watch. But so are you.”
“What?”
“It’s your lucky day, Tara. I’m gonna show you my cock.”
She sucks in a deep breath and holds it. “You are?”
“Mm-hm. Ready?”
“So ready.”
I lean back into the couch cushions, aiming the phone down at my groin as I pull the zipper down on my shorts and bring my hard, fat cock out in my hand.
Listen, I’m not a braggart, but I’m six foot fucking four and my cock is proportional, OK?
I have the phone positioned so she can’t see my face, just the hand holding my dick. But I can still see her.
She bites her lip when she gets her first look at the monster between my legs. “Jesus Christ, Lonnie. You weren’t lying.”
“Honey, I don’t need to lie.”
She squints her eyes up at me, confused because my voice is juuuust a little bit different. And I get it. Sure, Lonnie the accountant talks dirty to her. But I’m not in character. And Alonzo the fisherman has a few tricks up his sleeve that she’s never heard before.
This is the other side of me.
The real side.
The bossy side. The commanding side. The… dominant side.
“Talk to me, baby. I want all the dirty words to come out of your mouth right now. Make me come, Tara.”
She looks around nervously. “No! You talk to me.”
“I’m already giving you a gift.”
“Lonnie.” She’s slightly panicked at this point. “Someone could come in.”
“I know. Someone better come in. I’ll be very disappointed if they don’t.”
And just as I say that, there’s the tell-tale sound of a public bathroom door opening and closing. The banging of a stall door. Tara’s eyes go wide.
I almost laugh. “Want me to save you, sunshine?”
She nods her head.
“OK, but you better start strumming, baby. I want to see some serious friction being created right now. And don’t take your eyes off your phone. I want to see you as I jerk off.”
She leans back against the door, making it creak. Then her fingers pull her panties aside and two of them disappear behind the lacy pink fabric.
“Keep looking at your phone, Tara. So you can see me jerk on my cock as you play with yourself.”
My hand begins to move up and down my shaft. And I admit, this is some of the hottest shit we’ve done in a while. I’m not saying it was getting boring. It’s never boring. But we’ve never cammed in public before. And it’s been months since our last face-to-face like this.
The person in the stall finishes up, flushes the toilet, and then bangs the door open.
“Say something while she’s washing her hands, Tara.”
“I like your cock.” She moans this. Her fingers are really going to town. Like she’s getting off on this just as much as I am.
“Is it big enough for you?”
“So big, Lonnie. I wish you could put it inside me. I wish you were here to fuck me in this stall. I’d let you, ya know. I’d let you make a huge, sexy scene with me. I’d scream your name and claw your back with my fingernails.”
The handwashing ceases. But I’m in luck. The bathroom has air dryers. And our unsuspecting voyeur gives Tara another chance to spill dirty things in my ears.
“I’d let you fuck me hard, Lonnie. Bang me up against the door. And then, after I came all over your dick, I’d slide down onto my knees, take you into my mouth, and deepthroat you until I gagged on your come.”
“Fuuuuck.”
Now this is my sweet sunshine in her element.
“I wouldn’t let you kneel on that filthy floor, Tara. I’d just bend you over and bang you from behind. Then… when we got home, then I’d let you suck me off and grant your wish to choke on my come.”
Her mouth grimaces, a sideways half-smile, half-look of ecstasy or maybe pain. “Oh, shit!” She’s not whispering now. “Oh, shit. Oh, fuck!”
“Excuse me?”
I almost laugh. The bookworm is still in the bathroom!
“Oh, my God.” Tara is even louder now. “Holy motherfucking—”
“Are you OK?”
“Shiiiit! I’m coming! I’m coming Lonnie! Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Come. Come with me! Now! Right now!”
“Ma’am? What are you doing? Is there someone in there with you?”
And that’s it for me.
I gush.
A hot stream of semen shoots up and splatters against my t-shirt. The rest just pours out like lava. Like we didn’t just phone-sex last night. Like maybe I’ve never had a real orgasm in my life, that’s how much pent-up sexual frustration spills out of me now.
I lean back. Sigh.
She leans back. Giggles.
Then she does that thing she does. It kills me every time we cam.
She brings her fingers up to her mouth and sucks them. No inhibitions at all.
She makes a kissy face at me, then ends the call.
I lean even further down into the couch cushions. Close my eyes. And smile.
Didn’t quite tell her all the things I wanted to.
But eh… fuck it. There’s always tonight.
CHAPTER TWO - TARA
“And… we’re out.”
“I cannot believe you just made me do that.”
I adjust my panties and skirt, then bang the door open to a waiting Belinda. “What? I need to keep him interested. He’s so fucking easy. And when he wants to, he can dirty-talk like a motherfucker.”
Belinda crosses her arms and leans against the counter as I wash my hands and smile at myself in the mirror. “No one is that good. I mean… can’t you just find a real man?”
“He’s real. You heard him.”
“I love that part about the earbuds, by the way.” She guffaws. Because while I did make a big production of taking them out, I did not plug them in to the phone. Belinda heard every damn word. “He’s so considerate. But come on, this is very dysfunctional. You don�
��t need some nerdy accountant two thousand miles away. Pretty much everyone in the shop wants to date you.”
The shop is Sick Boyz tattoos in downtown Fort Collins. Belinda is the receptionist-slash-apprentice and we’re in their bathroom.
Yes. I know. I set him up. Does he really think that all these things we do are… real?
Come on. I plan our dates down to the very last detail. Granted, I did not see this cam sex coming. But I’ve had this scenario in the back of my mind for months now. And when Lonnie said he wanted to FaceTime I really was on my lunch break. I was just having it with Belinda in her breakroom, and not in the library. I always come here for lunch because it’s just a few blocks away from my work.
As far as his photo demands go? I come prepared. I know what he likes and I know what he asks for. So I make them up ahead of time and keep a supply on hand. They are all organized into folders on my phone. Indexed and cross-referenced.
Hey, if Lonnie wants a fantasy, I can provide. Besides, it’s fun. I like making the selfies. It’s a challenge for me. Everything about my life, except for Lonnie, is predictably boring. And that’s a good thing in lots of ways.
“I don’t want to date tattoo artists, Belinda. I like the safe ones. Like Lonnie.”
“Not the boys, you idiot. The customers.”
“Pretty much same thing. I’ve had my fill of bad boys. A nice accountant in Florida with a tree-trunk-sized cock is just up my alley.”
She laughs and pulls the bathroom door open. “You’re a sick, sick woman, Tara Tanner. And sometimes I wonder about the life you led before you ended up here with me.”
She can wonder all she wants about my past life. She’s never gonna find out who I used to be. Ever. This was the whole point of starting over in a new town. The whole point of giving up what I used to do and taking a boring job at the freaking library. The entire reason why I prefer this weird, online relationship with long-distance Lonnie Derringer and not some one-nighter local hottie who could actually bang my brains out in real life.
I had that life. And sure, some of it was fun. But you don’t upend your whole world, run a thousand miles away under the protection of the FBI, and then go right back to your old habits that got you in trouble in the first place.
That’s the definition of insanity.
“You need to put yourself out there, Tare.” Belinda slides behind the cash counter in the front room of the tattoo shop and props herself up on a stool. She opens the store Tuesday through Sunday at noon, but trust me. Not a single Sick Boy is up by noon on any day of the week. Not even the old fart of a father. So she sits here for two or three hours as walk-ins collect in the little waiting area, and the boys show up around four-ish and this show gets on the road. “I mean…” She shrugs her shoulders up to her ears like she’s about to feed me some truth I’d rather not hear. “It’s been two years, Tara. Two. Fucking. Years. How do you even function?”
“I’m not like you.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I’m just saying. I don’t really mind. I have Lonnie.”
“Lonnie is fake.”
“He’s real enough.” I pan my hand towards the bathroom door to illustrate exhibit A. “I’m not saying I’m going celibate or anything, but he fills my needs at the moment.”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“I’m just trying to figure out the puzzle called Tara Tanner standing in front of me.”
“I’m not a puzzle.” I shrug with my hands.
“You are a puzzle. You moved here two years ago with nothing but some old dead aunt’s lottery ticket to sustain you. And you were dressed up like a librarian.”
“I wasn’t dressed up. You act like my clothes are a costume! This is just… my thing!” I pan my hands down my sexy librarian costume as exhibit B.
She smirks at me. “I was there, remember?”
Belinda was there. It wasn’t my first day in Fort Collins and I didn’t show up with my dead aunt’s lottery ticket. I do have a dead aunt—well, in this life I’m living now, I do—but I came to town with the leftover money from her structured settlement plant from some life insurance company back in blah, blah, blah.
I do know the actual details. I have to know the details. But blah, blah, blah usually works just as well.
Anyway. Belinda Baker, who has never, ever, ever—I’m willing to bet next month’s fake structured settlement money—ever set foot in the fucking Fort Collins Old Town Library, was in the fucking Fort Collins Old Town Library that day I wandered in for my first day of real, honest-to-God legitimate employment that came with an actual boss.
She was at one of the computers looking at something that triggered the adult content filter on the library system. And I was tasked with going over there and discreetly making sure she wasn’t getting herself off under the desk. She wasn’t. She was only looking at some x-rated tattoos and piercings. But she knew I was looking and she started putting on a little show for me, the other librarians—hell, pretty much everyone who was within hearing distance.
Long story short, she was kicked out of the library for indecent behavior. She’s still not allowed inside, even though all the old bitties over there know we’re friends now.
I saw her hanging out at the Fort Collins Theatre on my walk home from work. Once you see Belinda Baker, you never forget her. She’s just… one of those girls. Today she’s got her long, silver-lavender hair up in pigtails and she’s wearing faded, ripped jeans, black leather jacket, and cowboy boots.
Not ordinary cowboy boots, like the kind old people wear to go line-dancing at the rodeo bars. Fancy ones. Flashy ones.
“You’re the one in the costume, Belinda.”
“Really?” She tilts her head at me. “What am I dressed up as?”
“You’re dressed up like a…” I know she’s dressed up as something. It’s just a really hard look to pin down with a label. Maybe punk-rock pin-up?
“Myself! Ha! You came into that library dressed up like someone who was given a librarian costume for a part in a movie. You even had your glasses on a stupid gold chain around your neck!”
“Reading glasses in a library! The scandal!”
“You can play it off all you want, Tare. But you know what I’m talking about. And hey, to each her own. That’s my philosophy. If you’re happy, I’m happy. But I worry about you. If you’re not with me, you’re home alone. It’s not normal.”
“I’m just a girl who prefers her own company. Why is that a crime?”
“I’m not saying it’s a crime. I’m just saying… you’re twenty-seven years old. You shouldn’t be so quick to embrace spinsterhood.”
“I’m not a spinster.”
“Of course you’re not! Everyone can see that! But you only date Lonnie. Do you at least have like… a whole stable of them? He’s not the only one, right?”
I hesitate.
“Right? Tara? Please tell me you’ve got half a dozen others lined up.”
I still hesitate.
“Lie to me, for fuck’s sake!”
“Fine! I have seventy-three.”
She guffaws at the ceiling. “Freak!”
I laugh too. Because this life I’ve been living for the past two years is one hundred percent ridiculous. The whole thing, from top to bottom, is nuts. Lonnie is only one small example of the insanity I’ve been dealing with since I was a kid. There’s way more to me than him, or these clothes, or my job at the library.
But not even Belinda Baker can know those secrets.
They go with me to the grave.
“Oh, shit. I totally forgot. I asked my buddy, Clay, about that private investigator stuff you were babbling about last weekend.”
I blink at her. “What? Did I see you last weekend?” I try to pull up this memory but can’t quite connect the dots.
“Yeah. Remember? Fucking Richard broke it off with me last week, so I came over and we did the whole let’s-drink-ten-bottles-of-wine-in-one-night thing?”
“I remember that,” I say. “But I didn’t ask you anything about private investigators.”
“You did.”
“I did not.”
“Tara, I’m not making this up. We were talking about what we wanted to be when we grow up and I said rodeo clown and you said private investigator. And then I said, ‘Hey, I know this guy Clay who does that kinda shit.’ And you said, ‘You do? Ask him what it takes to be a PI in Colorado.’ And I said—”
But I stop listening. Did I say that? Why would I say that? I did not say that.
“—so he says it’s pretty easy. But you should definitely get yourself a conceal-carry license.”
I really said that to her. I opened the vault. She got me drunk, I opened the vault, and she found a fucking clue!
“Tara?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you OK?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Are you sure? You don’t look OK. In fact, you look like you might throw up.”
“Nope. I’m good. I just forgot to eat lunch today.”
“You were too busy fucking yourself with your fingers in the bathroom, that’s why.”
“Yup. That’s why. But…” I glance down at my wrist. Even though I’m not wearing a watch. “Welp. I better get going. Lunch to eat, and…”
Belinda blinks at me, waiting for me to tick off all the imaginary things I need to get doing.
“Lonnie. We’re talking again tonight.”
She sticks her finger down her throat and mock-gags.
“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it. I’ll ask him tonight if he has a brother.”
“Oh, goodie!” She claps her hands. “We can double down on your imaginary dates!”
“Lonnie might not be a great catch or anything, but he’s got things going for him.”
Belinda makes a face of I’m-not-convinced. “Like what?”
“He’s good-looking.”
“Show me a pic.”
“No.”
“Why? Because he’s fugly?”
