Phone sex with an anonymous stranger

"Then I saw her, perched on a red stool 
at the bar, toying with her cell phone—
a curvy Latina maybe 24 years old. 
No J.Lo, but perhaps a young Rosie Perez."

If you're uncomfortable reading about sex, don't read this article where Davy Rothbart, a writer and founder of Found magazine, answers his phone one night and begins a phone-only sexual relationship with someone he doesn't know. But he's understandingly suspicious. Is it all a hoax by his friends? Is the woman calling him actually a guy? He doesn't know, but he goes along with it anyway, until he finally discovers the truth.
Late one cold, wet November night a couple of years ago, maybe 3 a.m., I was sitting on my bed in a Motel 6 just south of Austin, Texas, brushing my teeth and watching the closing moments of a college basketball game on ESPN2 that had been played earlier that night but was being rebroadcast and whose outcome was still a mystery to me, when the phone on the night table besides me jangled to life.

Who could possibly be calling? Nobody knew I was there; I'd arrived only an hour earlier. It had to be the old Pakistani guy down in the motel office, I figured, or else my little brother, Peter, whom I was traveling with; he'd gone out walking down the service road, looking for better reception on his cellie so he could call his girlfriend. After the third ring, I picked up.

"Hello?"

There was a silence, then a woman's voice, half whispering. "Hey there."

"Um…hi."

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Well," I said. "I'm watching the Providence-Niagara game. I think it might go into overtime. Who is this, by the way?"

"I'm Nicole." I could hear the push of her breath on the other end of the line, as though her mouth was pressed close to the receiver. I went to the window, peered through the curtains—the parking lot was dark and still. Was this someone's idea of a joke? Maybe so, but I was just that bored and lonely enough to play along.

"Hi, Nicole. My name's Davy."

"I like that name" she said.

"Yeah, it's a…uh, it's a good name. Listen, where are you?"

"I'm in your motel." The room seemed to slowly whirl backward, like a carnival ride catching speed. "What are you wearing?"
Read more: What Are You Wearing? GQ>>

Found via Metafilter: The Ballad of Davy and Nicole>>

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