CALL OF THE DAY: Â¡Prospero AÃ±o Nuevo! with Bilingual Papi
“Hey, baby, let’s get it going,” he says, right off the bat. He leaves no time for courtesies at the beginning of the call, no time for prologue or ramp-up or foreplay, either in the scene or between us. He saves the sweet talk and joking for the end. Smart man. How many times has he run over time, not thinking about it, caught up in our jubilant virtual ass-fucking? Many, many times. He’s finally starting to learn, buying the 15-minute packages instead of the 10-minute ones, but he’s been conditioned now to move fast at the beginning, get up to the level he needs right away.
This, class, is called learning about your body. And this, of course, is Bilingual Papi.
This rough-and-ready Navy dude from somewhere in Texas has become my harbinger of the holidays. Any holiday, really. Anything that is a day off for everybody else, he’ll remember to call in for. Plus his birthday, which I have assiduously noted down on his card.
This is fine and interesting, actually. I forget, so easily, that holidays are happening. Friends of mine who are also self-employed tell me this happens for them, but I don’t think, unless your job keeps you indoors all the damn time, that you can understand how this feels. The sun moves, unnoticed until it’s gone. Seasons change. I mean, if it weren’t for Facebook, I might lose track of the passage of time entirely, but Bilingual Papi â€¦ he plants the flags on the dates. If not on the exact ones, then he knows which ones are coming up, and he will reference them.
Today it’s New Year’s Eve, and Papi’s playing it subtle. Last year he was all about tiaras and champagne off the small of my back and slipping a diamond ring on my finger while he pounded my ass. This year, I don’t know. We’ve come places this year. He told me he loved me, and got me to say the same. He thinks he has my real name. It’s a little less glamorous. Don’t get me wrong, New Year’s Eve awareness is there! He mentions it early on, how we’re gonna end this year with a bang, but then he’s mostly just focused on how exactly I’m gonna wiggle my ass down on his big daddy cock. (Now I feel like I let slip an opportunity to make some kind of joke about ball-droppingâ€¦)
I know Bilingual Papi likes to hear me mention the festivities; I imagine it’s a little like when rock stars mention the name of the town they’re currently playing in, letting the audience know that they’re fully present for the performance, and personalizing it, like, “Hey, Montreal, this is just for you!” So when I tell him I’m yours, I add on, last year and next year, too. When he gets close to coming, I tell him I want to feel those fireworks in my ass. He likes that, but this time what tips him over is me telling him to hold onto his little baby-doll. It’s something different every time; he’s predictable, but not in the fine points.
At the end of the call, he asks what I’m doing for New Year’s Eve. Oh, I say, I’m just staying in tonight, watching a movie and doing some cooking for tomorrow. “What?!” he says. “Not doing anything fun?” Ah, okay. I guess we aren’t quite as meta as I thought we were. I just tripped over the “hot girl” conundrum of phone sex: what is a hot girl like me doing staying home on a major holiday?
The short answer, which would be unacceptable to most phone sex clients including, apparently, Bilingual Papi, is that I need money, so I’m staying on call. But saying that would cause considerable damage to the rope of sustainable belief, so I pull out the long answer, which sounds more and more defensive the longer I let it go: I go out plenty, don’t worry about me, and I’ve got people coming over tomorrow and sometimes a girl just needs some quiet time, you know? I’m a shitty liar. But he buys it, and wishes me a Happy New Year.
You too, Papi, you too.