He usually calls during his lunch break, a young-sounding man who talks less than almost any other caller that I've ever had. He responds mostly to direct questions. (You like watching Mommy through the bathroom door, don't you? "Yeah.") Occasionally he will blurt out a command ("Unzip my pants, Mommy"), but mostly it's just... "Yeah."
So I'm surprised that somehow, after two years of irregular, infrequent calls, I've figured out his button, because it's very, very specific, and symbolically charged in a way that I can't quite pin down: white sneakers, worn with a nightgown and robe. And I mean, seriously charged. Today he was in my ass, doggy-style, after 20 minutes of build-up, and he suddenly said, as he has often in the past, "I like your shoes, Mommy."
I know you do, baby, you helped me choose them, remember?
"Will you take them off?"
Well, in this position I can't really reach them. You're going to have to take them off for me.
"Should I untie them or just pull them off?"
Just pull them right off, honey, it'll be quicker. ... There you go, there's the first one.
"Can I throw the other one?"
Of course you can, sweetie. As far as the kitchen, or just on the floor?
"On the floor."
Okay, just THROW it on the floor.
You have to tell me when you come, honey.
"I just came, Mommy."