Priscilla lounges in her office chair, staring up at the ceiling, a leg draped over the arm, while the foot of her other leg toe-taps the floor, pushing her chair into half-revolutions, back and forth. She winds, and then unwinds, the cord of her headset around her fingers, without looking at it.
Today has been pretty slow for business.
In the cubicle next to her, she can hear her best friend Jennifer working a client, all high-pitched heavy breathing and helpless moans. She has a regular who always calls at this time, on Wednesday evenings, during his wife's Pastoral Council meeting.
Priscilla smiles to herself at the sinfulness of that juxtaposition, as Jennifer fakes a scream of climax. Husbands are so clever at hiding these kinds of expenses from their wives.
"Next week? You'll call me again?" she can hear Jennifer huff plaintively, followed by an orgasmic "Mmmm, I can't wait! I want you again already!"
Soon Jennifer's face appears over the partition between cubicles.
"Got any gum, Prissy?" Jennifer asks, her voice much less breathy than a second ago.
Priscilla lurches up in her chair, to give a sturdy tug at the heavy steel bottom drawer of her desk, where her purse is kept, grabbing it and throwing it at Jennifer. This girl must never have paid for a stick of gum in her entire life!
"Hey!" Jennifer protests, catching the bag.
Priscilla raises her eyebrow in disdain, and Jennifer gives her a sheepish smile.
"I mean, THANKS!" Jennifer amends, digging eagerly into the purse.
The striated ringing tones of the phone on Priscilla's desk suddenly sound, bringing her to alertness, and Jennifer's head disappears from view, leaving her the illusion of privacy in which to work.
Priscilla takes a deep breath, spine straight, readjusting her headset, her finger hovering over the button that will receive the call.
"Showtime" she whispers to herself, embracing the nerves that always come with a call. The pounding of her heart, as well as elevated breathing, lend an air of believability to the fantasy she spins for her clients.
"Hello?" she answers the call with an innocent demureness.
"Hello" the male voice on the other side replies.
There is something about his voice that sounds different from what Priscilla usually hears. You can tell a lot about what a man is feeling through his voice, ya know!
Her clientele usually sound either very nervous, and awkward (the newbies), OR lustful and lecherous, half-erect already (the Old-timers).
This man didn't sound like either of those. His voice is rich and velvety, deep, but not a baritone. There is a feeling of amusement in his voice, but not mockery. Of curiosity without awkwardness, without shame. An open mind.
"I recognize your voice, I think" Priscilla begins the fantasy. "I gave you my number at the Club last night."
"Uhhhh... yeah..:" he replies, catching on, the amusement in his voice growing stronger.
It's such a relief when they play along right away, and you don't have to explain it. The fantasy is so much stronger.
"What's your name?" Priscilla asks. "I couldn't hear over the music" she invents.
"Oh, umm, Mi—" he clears his throat "Ike, my name is Ike" he responds.
Priscilla raises her eyebrows at the desk phone. A fake name? Okay. Whatever makes him happy, but the fantasy would be stronger if he used his real name.
