CALL OF THE DAY: people who live in glass houses…

How about on the coffee table? "No, it's glass, too."

How about on the coffee table? “No, it’s glass, too.”

I rarely have a good sense of the caller’s location, their surroundings. Bed, chair, in the bathroom leaning over the sink… that much I get, but I don’t really know how they live or who they live with, usually. If they’re always super whispery and quiet, I guess I can figure out that there’s a wife or roommate or coworker somewhere nearby. But other than that, I don’t usually know.

This guy, though, he told me. He’s one of my longest-term regulars to date, and we talk. He keeps a basement office—he frequently travels for business, though—and lives with his wife and two teenage daughters. Because it is an unfinished basement, with no doors and, I guess, a pretty open floor plan, he can only do calls with me when he knows for a certainty all “the ladies” are going to be out of the house. With two teenagers, those times are not nearly as frequently as he would like.

This week, though… THE LADIES ARE ALL GONE, to the Bahamas or somewhere tropical. His wife and daughters flew off for vacation, leaving him alone in the house for the past 10 days and for the next three, so he has already called twice and says he will call again before they get back.

Yesterday I started out the call asking him a little more about the house layout, and asking him where exactly he could do me. Since he has the run of the house, I further suggested that he actually relocate his bare ass to one of those places, in order to, you know, get more into the scene.

In the living room?

“No, there are floor-to-ceiling windows.”

What about up on the countertop in the kitchen?

“Floor-to-ceiling windows.”

Um, okay, how about over the dining room table? Wait, let me guess…

Yep, floor-to-ceiling windows. “I don’t want the UPS guy to come up to the door and see me writhing around naked.”

I bet that’s not the worst thing they’ve seen.

He laughs. “Yeah, well…”

So I say, well, let’s pretend that we’re in a different location. He chooses the largest sofa in the living room; he likes his sex romantic, but a little bit acrobatic, so that makes sense.

There are four sofas in that room, apparently, which tells me that he lives in a pretty fucking big house. I am starting to put together the architect’s rendering in my mind: something big and modern, set on a large lot, but not removed enough from the road, at least from the front, that people can’t see in in passing. It’s angular on the outside, lots of glass. Obviously if you’ve got something like that, you don’t want to destroy the look with, say, floor-to-ceiling fucking VERTICAL BLINDS or whatever.

I feel that a good pun could be made about glass houses at this point, but mostly I’m just a little sad. No privacy from the outside, no privacy on the inside, only able to call from a basement that probably smells a little bit, you know, basement-y and dank, on a chair that’s down there because it doesn’t fit in the decor upstairs…

I like it better when he calls me from his hotel.

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