Yesterday I had a second voice call with the sex-voiced Texan.
Early afternoon my time, 8pm his time. “So that you get to bed at a reasonable hour,” I said (our last call was 4.5 hours long).
When I call him, his webcam flickers. He beams at me with his killer smile.
I never asked him to turn his cam on but I love watching him when we talk. His face is expressive and open, sometimes he gets shy, when he laughs he lights up. I like watching his mouth move.
Topics are wide-ranging and eclectic. We argue when we disagree, we share our experiences, I push him a little on subjects I can see he’s uncomfortable with. We flirt some and laugh more. I use his name a lot. He likes the way I say it and I like the way it rolls off my tongue.
“How are you doing there? Are you tired?” I ask him several times as the call goes on.
He shakes his head emphatically each time. “I’m good! Not tired at all.”
He is though, towards the end, but he won’t admit it.
“What time is it?” I ask eventually.
He looks at his clock. It’s 5am.
I tell him to go get ready for bed and I’ll read him a bedtime story. This is something really sweet and intimate for me to offer. It feels right.
We say goodnight and I tell him I’m going to hang up when I finish the story, and it’s okay if he’s asleep by then. He nods.
He settles down into bed, the cam on his face, his eyes close. His expression relaxes as I start to read. He looks even younger like this, pettable.
“… The End.”
He has been very still, I thought perhaps he’d slipped into sleep, but immediately after I finish, his mouth curls up into a smile. He can’t see me smile back.
I say goodnight to him.
“Goodnight Sharyn,” he murmurs all Texan drawl and sleepy.
His mouth opens to say something else, but I have already clicked the button to disconnect from him.
I hang up just over 9 hours after we started talking.
He sent me a sweet email this morning: “It hardly felt like an hour…”
He’s right. Time flew.
Of course he’d be 8,000 miles away from me, right? Of course he would.