FAITHLESS : 2003 : STEPHANIE.ZIOBRO
FAITHLESS
on phone sex

 "What the fuck?"

I smacked my alarm clock a few more times before I realized that in order to stop the annoying sound I’d have to answer the phone instead. I felt around on the floor until I found the receiver.

"Hello?" 

I instinctively tried to make my voice sound like I’d been awake the whole time. Even though, when someone calls in the middle of the night, it’s pretty much a given that the caller is going to be waking up the person they’ve called. So why the façade that I’ve been awake? I don’t know. In order to avoid guilt-laden apologies to which I’d have to say, "Oh, no, it’s okay" when it actually wasn’t? It was amazing how, even from a dead sleep, my impulse was to please everyone: "No, you didn’t wake me – I was sitting here hoping you’d call. My voice sounds like this because I was sucking on a cat coated in mustard."

"Hey, girlfriend!"

"Andrew?" I tried to make out the blurry image on my digital alarm clock. It was 2:30 in the morning. "What’s going on?" Something wasn’t right. Besides the fact that he was calling after midnight, Andrew never called me, period. I didn’t think he even know my phone number, because on the rare occasions that he did use the phone to get in touch with me, which was always pre-arranged, he always asked me to write down my number.

"Not a lot, hotpie." He was drunk. That explained a lot.

"So why’d you call me then?" Why did people always use my phone number to drunk-dial? It was somewhat flattering, I supposed. At least someone was thinking of me. But the calls were always pointless with no sense of meaning or structure. A sweet annoyance. I couldn’t decide if I appreciated the gestures or not. But I never thought to turn off my ringer before I went to sleep. So there was the subconscious answer to that dilemma.

"Well, you know," he slurred, "I was sitting here thinking, ‘there’s no better way to finish things off than with some hot, sweet phone sex.’"

"So you called me…"

"Well, is there anyone better than you?"

"Good answer." I went along with the game. I hoped he wasn’t serious. I changed the subject, hoping he’d forget why he called. "So what did you do tonight that brought this on?"

Nothing but shallow breaths on the other end of the line.

"Andrew?"

"Well, you know –" He sounded like he’d dozed off for a second and I woke him up. "I was drinking some beer and popping some pills and I thought, ‘I feel really good. I want to remember this feeling forever.’ THEN I thought, ‘but it would feel REALLY good to feel like this and jerk off at the same time.’ But I didn’t want to keep this all to myself. So THEN I thought, ‘who can I share these final moments with?’ And I thought of you!"

"Ah. I see." I didn’t like what I’d heard. Drinking beer and popping pills? Andrew went to weekly Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous meetings.

"So whaddaya say, pussycat?"

Something even more disconcerting stood out in my mind.

"Did you say ‘final moments?’"

"Yup."

I waited for him to continue with some sort of definition of what that meant, but was listening to nothing but silence.

"What does that mean?" I asked, not really wanting to know, but hoping my brain was overreacting.

"This is it, you sexy bitch."

"This is what?"

"The end of it all! I’m moving on to bigger and better things!"

I sat up. I was very awake now. Unbelievably and non-mistakably awake.

"Andrew, what are you talking about?"

"It’s a good night to go, babydoll. I’ve had enough."

"But you sound so happy!"

"I AM happy! This is the smartest thing I’ve ever done in my life!"

I scrambled out of bed, knowing I had to do something, but not having a clue as to what it was I was supposed to do. "What are you doing, Andrew?" I found myself walking in circles. That wasn’t productive. I opened my bedroom door and walked down the hall to the front door.

Andrew sighed loudly in exasperation. "I TOLD you. I’m gonna finish off these couple-a beers, take the rest of these pills, cum all over the place, and go to Heaven. Or Hell… Yeah, probably Hell." He giggled. "Aw, I dunno. I’ve basically been a good person… Maybe Heaven… Ha! I have no idea! But that’s the beautiful thing! Not knowing how its all gonna end makes it so much more exciting!" The sound of his laughter filled my ear. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I didn’t even know what I was doing – I was on autopilot.   I opened my front door and walked down the hall.  This baffled me, because how did I know what to do when I had never encountered this situation before in my life?

"Why did you call me, Andrew?"

"To let you know."

"No, I mean, why ME? Why not your dad or your brother or something?"

"Because they hate phone sex. What are you wearing?"

I looked down at my t-shirt and sweatpants. How the fuck could this be happening?

I pounded on the door of #237.  "Um, just some white cotton panties." My heart was pounding louder than my fist on the door. Why didn’t anyone answer?

"Just your panties? Nothing else?" His speech was incredibly slurred. I suddenly realized that the more I said I had on, the longer I could take to remove it, therefore, the longer I could keep him on the phone.

"I actually have on a little pink nightgown…" Jesus Christ.  Even in dire situations I still had the ability to be incredibly cheesy. I tried to keep my voice from shaking, even though I doubt he noticed that it was. "Should I take it off?" Tears were silently streaming down my face. I pounded on 237 again.

"Ooh yeah. Take it off…" His voice was almost a whisper, but I could hear his breath catching slightly, so I knew he was masturbating. Hopefully, he was so drunk that it would take him a while. And hopefully he wouldn’t pass out before he finished.

"Want me to just tear to off or do it slow?"

"Slow slow slow…"

"I’m slipping the straps off my shoulders..." My voice was catching in my throat. "I’m sliding it down over my small, round breasts…"

"God, I love your breasts..."

The doorknob clicked. I shoved the door open. My neighbor stood there with her hands at her throat looking scared out of her mind.

"Call 911!" I whispered loudly. "Please!" In my ear I heard Andrew’s voice, and it was fading on me.

"Now what?" he asked.

"Oh, uh – " Shit! "Ooh, I want you to suck on my nipples – " My neighbor looked at me in horror. I shook my head at her and pushed her towards her phone. How I wished I had introduced myself to her a long time ago.  Andrew moaned.

She dialed 911. After a moment, I heard, "Yes, I have an emergency…"

"Oh I want to suck on your nipples…"

"What’s the address?" 237 asked me.

I racked my brain. I had sent Andrew postcards and birthday cards and random cards for no reason at all. What the fuck was his address?

"312 James Street!" 237 repeated the address into the phone.

"What do you want me to do now?" I said into the receiver.

Nothing.

"Andrew?"

"What?"

Thank God.

"What do you want me to do now?" I was trying so hard not to lose my mind.

"I want you to suck my cock."

"What’s the emergency?" 237 asked.

"He’s drunk and he took a lot of pills. He said he wants to die."

237 relayed my information into the phone.

"What kind of pills?" she asked.

"Andrew?"

"Oh, I want you to suck my cock…"

"Andrew, what kind of pills did you take?"

"What?"

"Tell me what you took!"

"You’re supposed to suck my big, fat cock…"

"Tell me first."

He moaned in annoyance. I heard him fumbling around.

"Um… Looks like it says Kloponin," he giggled. "I mean Klonopin!"

"Klonopin?" I looked at 237, who continued feeding my information to the 911 dispatcher.

"How many?" she asked."How many did you take, Andrew?"

He laughed. "A lot!"

"How many?" I almost screamed. "Almost the whole bottle…" He sounded like he was falling asleep.

"Andrew, how many were in the bottle?"

"Oh, fuck, this isn’t fun anymore."

"Andrew – tell me how many were in the bottle and I swear we will have the best fucking phone sex you have ever had in your life!" I could feel 237 staring at me. "Now read the label – how many does it say were in there?"

A pause.

"Andrew?"

"Forty-five."

"How many are actually left in the bottle?"

He giggled.

"Andrew! How many are left?"

"Three…"

I squeezed my eyes shut and wished my head would explode so I wouldn’t have to deal with this anymore. I turned to 237.

"At least 30," I told her."Andrew, I’m going to take just the tip of your big, hard cock into my mouth. I’m going to run my tongue all around it –"

"What’s the apartment number?" 237 interrupted.

"Andrew, what’s your apartment number?"

Nothing.

"Andrew?"

Silence.

"Andrew!" I screamed.

"What?" He sounded irritated. Fuck strength. I started sobbing. I couldn’t help it.

"What’s your apartment number?"

"Twenty-one. I mean twelve. I mean – fuck what is it?" I could barely understand the words he was saying. I closed my eyes and tried to picture the door to his apartment in my head. I realized in horror that none of the doors in his apartment building had numbers on them.

"I don’t know," I sobbed to 237. "I don’t know the apartment number. The doors don’t have numbers on them." 237 spoke into the phone, and then back to me."Is his name on the buzzer in the lobby?"

"Yes yes yes! Andrew Hill! Andrew Hill!"

"What?" Andrew sounded further away.

"Andrew, listen to me –"

"Then will you finish sucking my dick? I don’t have a lot of time, you know…"

"Yes, Andrew. Now listen." I maintained control of my voice. "Some people are going to be coming over, and when they ring your buzzer, you have to let them in. Do you hear me? You have to let them in!"

"Why?"

"Because they’re going to help you, Andrew."

He sighed. "I don’t need help. I’m having fun all by myself."

"Andrew, please! Promise me you’ll let them in!"

Nothing."

Andrew?"

I heard him yawn.

"Andrew!"

"You know what – I gotta go…"

"What?"

"I’m tired…"

"Andrew, wait! I have to suck your dick!"

"I’ll suck my own dick."

And he hung up.I stood there in shock. The phone still glued to my ear.I redialed his number.I let it ring.I let it ring for what felt like weeks.

And he didn’t answer.

237 walked over to me and took my hand. I looked at her face, Andrew’s phone still ringing. She was my age, a little older, maybe. She lived with her boyfriend who worked nights. And that’s all I knew about her. She led me over to the couch and sat me down. I hung up the phone and dialed again. Andrew still didn’t answer.

I pressed "off," and sat with the phone in my lap. 

And I think I died for a while.

TO BE CONTINUED