Dirty Talk (Get Dirty 1)
She laughs a little. “Maybe some people like a little head rush? For real, don’t hang upside down too long, this is a finishing move that will get you past your gag reflex like we talked about earlier with Eric. But don’t go falling off the bed and blaming your concussion on us.”
We bounce back and forth, taking calls and doing music breaks for the next hour. I try to stay focused on my job, but about halfway through, I get another buzz on my cellphone. Dad.
How is the show going tonight, Derrick?
That’s Dad, never uses a single text contraction or emoji or anything. Not bad. Hey, Jacob will be at home to play in a few weeks and got us box tickets. Can you go?
Of course I can go. It’s football so I’ll be watching either way, there or at the house.
Growing up, that was what he and I bonded over first. Not that he didn’t let me explore other things, but where some fathers would tell their son about the baseball greats, or take their sons camping, with us, it was football. Oh, we’d still go fishing or hiking, but his ‘old man stories’ weren’t about fish that got away, but about watching Dwight Clark make ‘The Catch,’ or Doug Flutie’s miracle throw while at Boston College. We bonded over the somehow fated Super Bowl win of the Patriots after 9/11, and now that my former college roommate is a pro and relatively local . . . well, Dad’s got a reason to closely follow the team.
I know he felt like it was the end of an era when I quit playing, but ultimately, I think he’s glad I did reporting. Especially with all the medical data these days about players getting their head smacked on the field. Now, I think he’s still trying to understand just what this whole Love Whisperer thing is about. Personally, I’m glad he’s probably not listening in tonight. Better for him to think I talk about love and relationships than blowjobs and swallowing.
OK, I text him. I’ll send you details tomorrow, Jacob should have them to me by then.
“Yo, Derrick!” Susannah growls, and I look up guiltily. “We’ve got a show to do!”
“My bad,” I reply, setting my phone down on the table. The light comes on saying we’re live. “We’re back, and I hope you’ve been drinking plenty of water, because it’s getting warm in here. What do we have next, Susannah?”
“A little offshoot from the norm,” she says, grinning wickedly. “We’ve got Jamie, who has one of my personal fantasies happening in real life.”
“Go ahead Jamie, I’m listening.”
“Hi Derrick,” a woman says. “I’ve just started a new relationship with a guy from France, and he’s had a lot more experience than me. Last Friday night, I came home and he . . . well, he was on his knees with another man. They invited me to join in, and while the sex was mind-blowing, I’m a little worried in that my boyfriend seems to be more into sucking cock himself than into me. He’s asked if he could invite his friend over again this weekend, and I’m not sure what to say.”
Well now, that’s awkward. I get through the call with the same advice I normally give, communicate and be honest with each other, because what the fuck else can I really say to that? But by the time we’re done, it’s time for another commercial break. As soon as the clear light goes on, I reach for my phone, tapping out a message to Kat.
1 hr left.
U can do it!
I smirk, naughty thoughts running through my head. Got anything to motivate me?
I seriously don’t expect her to reply, and at first I think maybe she’s busy. With about thirty seconds left in the commercial break, my phone buzzes again and I pick it up to see it’s a pic.
“Oh Jesus,” I whisper as I see Kat, naked from the waist up, her hair framing her face as she shows me a mouthful of what’s obviously milk or something, but the image gets through, especially as she’s let a little dribble from the side of her mouth.
Motivated enough?
I gulp, my cock surging in my pants until I’m nearly desperate to have some relief. With shaking thumbs, I text back. Don’t plan on sleeping alone. And no panties 4 our date.
She sends back an evil smiley emoji, and I’ve got a very horny and very worried feeling that I’ve unleashed a long repressed . . . perfection.
So what is a second date to you?
Kat’s quick with her reply. It’s late, so pick me up. We can have drinks at a bar around the corner.
I’m aware enough to see Susannah giving me the signal, and I go back to the show, faking my way through another email. As soon as I can, I’m back on my phone with Kat.