Week 15 - Rude Telephone

It was time to spend some of my Nan’s birthday money and the first thing I felt like buying was a computer. I decided that I was going to buy one of the best ones I could with money no object. Well, as long as it wasn’t more than two thousand pounds as I was hoping to buy a car as well and give some money to charity. The Computer Buyer magazine had an article comparing the top ten Home PCs. I wanted one that I could use on the Internet and would play some snazzy games. It also needed to have a five and a quarter inch floppy drive as well as a three and a half as some of my files from uni were still on the larger size. Should I consider a Mac? Maybe it is best to stick with good old Microsoft. The best buy was a Compaq with the new Pentium Pro processor that it said was set to revolutionise multimedia and especially graphics for games. It sounded impressive even to a non-computer geek like me. The fact that it came with Fifa 1996 and a rally game with a steering wheel swung it for me. So when my cheque cleared I would be buying one of these Internet ready machines. Perhaps I will soon be having online chats with a pretty young lady from the other side of the world. WWW here I come.


I was feeling quite jolly planning how to spend my money and I was looking at which new ‘N’ reg car I could afford to buy. Perhaps, though ten thousand pounds was not quite as much as I had thought. At that point the telephone rang, which in the last couple of months had been rare. When Becky was here I often complained at how often it rang as her many friends called her. I answered the phone after giving out a little cough to clear my voice.

“Hi is that Jon?” a quite posh lady asked. It clicked straight away that this was the lady who didn’t like prats. I indicated that it was me and a very difficult conversation started. The voice soon informing me that her name was Shirley. She seemed pleasant and soon the poshness in her voice started to fade. I didn’t really know where I wanted this conversation to go though. Was I aiming to get a date with this stranger and more importantly was I ready for a date with this stranger? I decided to take the passive role and just see where Shirley wanted things to go. She enquired if I was always such a prat on the phone and often forgot to leave a phone number. I felt this was a touch unfair, but decided to let it go. When Shirley asked where I lived I became concerned and not yet ready to take our relationship on to this level. What if she was a psycho and came around and stabbed me in my own flat? Would I be missed? How long before anybody came looking for me? I just gave a rough location of Lichfield.
It was nearly nine o’clock when my conversation with the extremely flirty Shirley ended. It had maybe run out of steam, or Shirley had become tired of my unwillingness to give away any personal details. I had enjoyed the chat, but still didn’t seem quite comfortable. I was not prepared to go into the reason I was thirty and single. Even when Shirley enquired whether I had homosexual leanings I still did not mention about Becky. Probably because I didn’t want the pity vote I wanted to show her the real Jon not the ‘Jon’ of ‘Becky and Jon’ fame. Towards the end of conversation my mind had started to get distracted mainly with images in my head of Heather’s perfect breasts. To her credit Shirley did keep going and I think even at the one point started describing what she was wearing. The mention of a pale blue thong did catch my attention but I decided not to mention my underwear as I didn’t really want to go there. They were quite snazzy black jockey style shorts with little buttons at the front, but I had only known this girl for an hour. The conversation ended with Shirley ordering me to ring her tomorrow night and making sure that I had written her telephone number down correctly. She was very positive about me and even claimed that I might have potential. She didn’t say potential for what though..
Even though it was less than seven hours since I got out my bed I was tired and ready to sleep. Maybe it was depression, but life just seemed so difficult at the moment. Within ten minutes I was back in bed although it was at this point that I realised that I wasn’t ready for sleep. My mind was somewhere totally different thinking of Becky, Heather, Becky, Shirley and Becky. For the first time I began to question whether Becky was the only girl for me. For so long I had been focused on the good times we have had, but now I was remembering times that were not so good. Arguments we had had when I had ended up admitting I was wrong just to stop the argument. Maybe there was more in that drunken kiss that Becky had shared with Darren Jones at that office Christmas party last year. Why was it that she had been able to walk away from our wedding after we had spent so many months planning it? If she had loved me like I loved her then she would still be here now. I would not have shared a bed with an ex-girlfriend on my thirtieth birthday. Perhaps it was all a sham?
My depressing thoughts were suddenly halted by the sound of the phone. Did I want to answer it? It could be Shirley phoning again or Becky ringing to apologise? I decided that the phone was too far away and I hadn’t got the energy needed to get myself to the phone. Anyway, by the time I got there now it would stop. But still it rang. Could it be important? Perhaps I should answer it. No, I wasn’t in the mood for talking I was too busy being depressed. Still it rang and rang. I would have to answer it or it would keep going all night.

“Hello”, I said to the night-time caller.

“Hi Big Boy”, the female replied in a very sexy voice.
After a few uncomfortable pauses I worked out that the lady caller was Heather and I think she had drunk a few glasses of wine before calling. She was certainly sounding bubbly and I don’t think she had been mourning the end of the Jean Pierre relationship. I was, of course, feeling uneasy about the conversation after what had happened in the early hours of this morning. Heather was calling from her bedroom at her mum’s and made it clear that she was alone in her bed and as naked as she had been in my bed. The conversation was again quite one sided with Heather teasing me by saying how she wished I was there with her and that when she closed her eyes she could feel me softly stroking her back just as I had done last night. I thought she had been asleep last night! Heather spoke so gently and slowly obviously trying to arouse my interest. There was obviously an agenda here and whether or not I was being used I didn’t really care, but Heather had one intention in her mind for this phone call. Heather admitted she had just finished a bottle of wine and was feeling very horny. I was unsure how to respond, but decided that I had no other plans and couldn’t sleep so why not. Heather continued to make some interesting noises and said something in French that I wanted to go and check in my pocket-sized English-French dictionary, but I didn’t want to miss a thing.

“I am feeling really tingly at the moment I wish you were here to help me”, Heather said suggestively.

“Where are you tingling”, I decided to play along.
Heather started to become more graphical saying that she was touching and stroking her nipples and wishing she could lead my hands over her body. I was starting to find this quite exciting and found my right-hand holding my willy. At least we were in different counties so it couldn’t really be counted as being unfaithful to Becky. As Heather used more French words and began to breathe slightly deeper I started to slowly move my right-hand. Heather now started to mention that she was very moist and her fingers were now gently rubbing between her thighs and softly pushing inside her. There was only one way this was going to end and as I remember from our previous sexual experiences with Heather it was going to be pretty loud. My hand was now moving faster as I could tell Heather was inserting her finger deeper and stroking herself firmer. This described the rhythm of her finger gliding along the inner surface. The moment of excitement was certainly building for both of us. For me it had been a long time. Self pleasure had been off the agenda since before Beckygate, in fact the last time had been the night of my Stag Do with thoughts of Becky in her white wedding dress on my mind. Heather was now becoming almost incomprehensible. It could have been French, English or Bulgarian but whatever it was sounded very very sexy. I was now really holding it trying to perlong the vital moment.

“Ah, Arrh, Arrh..nearly..more”, Heather was now so close to orgasmic satisfaction.
As I tightly gripped my erection the phone suddenly went quiet.

“Mum, arrh, go away I am busy”, I heard Heather yell.

“I don’t care if they are chocolate hobnobs…..I am on the phone… arrh”, Heather said between some very deep breaths.
Heather somehow managed to finish, but the thought of Mrs. Shaw put me right off my stride and with in seconds all that was left was three inches of limp floppy willy. At least it saved having to clean any stains from my duvet. Also again I had not been unfaithful to Becky, but what was going to happen now between me and Heather Shaw?

Next Week : A Date with Disaster