Telephone Reality


The man at the bus stop cussed loudly after the first raindrops spattered his face. A few adolescent girls with tawny skin complexions and golden colored sneakers giggled as if they had overdosed on magic mushrooms and rushed ahead with their arms stretched open. An elderly woman unfolded her umbrella with a visible worry etched on her face and raised it over her curly, gray head. She was probably worried sick that the water dripping from the sky contained a high percentage of acid that would harm in some way the precious peppers and tomatoes tucked comfortably in her cloth bag. A businesswoman with a briefcase was waving in an annoyed manner at the yellow taxis passing by her.

It was that type of rain, one of those brief, summer episodes that would come rushing in and then withdraw just as quickly. However, all the participants caught in those episodes were always running for their lives, just like a pack of rats sneaking out of a sinking ship.

Divna* was walking in a shamelessly lazy way among the bumping crowd, her hips swaying gracefully. She always acted as if even that humdrum, dusty street was a catwalk beneath her feet. Every footstep was calculated and she never made a single surplus movement. Her friends who fancied themselves to be much more intellectual than her always threw out hints to her that such type of behavior of a fashion model and sexual predator is rather ridiculous. She gave them a candid innocent smile and piped in such a sweet way that nobody would doubt her sincerity.

“Well, that’s just the way I walk.”

Her long, wavy hair was soaked due to the sky’s wetness and it was sticking to her clammy skin. She was holding a big bag full of ripe, black cherries that brushed past her hip. The facts that she was drenched to the bone and had no umbrella or raincoat was not a serious stimulation for her to move faster.

Divna was in a hurry for nowhere.

She looked around and smiled sarcastically at the rushing characters darting on their ways. One of her favorite ways to spend her time was to observe people and make up stories about them. Not all of them were suitable to be disclosed before audience though, so she collected them carefully in her mind. Perhaps some day she would sit and write them down. However, she had always been a much better speaker than writer.

Divna loved talking. Not in the way some chatterboxes do, discussing everything under the sun without a stop, pouring every random thought that passed through their brains. She had the gift to choose exactly what the other person wanted to hear. She was capable of wielding her speech in order to catch attention and keep it long after the echo of her voice had died away in the distance.

Her elocution was just like her walk; slow, in a leisurely, elegant manner. Nevertheless nobody ever accused her of being phlegmatic. Her highbrow mates would probably tell that it didn’t happen due to her impressive body shapes. She would just smile in a seemingly silly manner, laugh, expose her pearly teeth and utter;

“Well, most probably that is correct.”

Nobody would dare to throw another biting remark after that.

She climbed up the stairs the same way without worrying too much that her skin was goosebumped and that chills were running down her spine. Divna never used the elevator. Her daily grind had turned into a series of carefully performed rituals she didn’t want to deprive herself of. No matter that most people would describe her as “chaotic, messy and artistic”, Divna really cared for the order in her personal universe.

She wasn’t obsessed with housework, albeit she always did things in certain manner and the idea of change wasn’t enchanting to her at all.

After hanging her handbag on the hat and coat rack in the hallway, she soaked the cherries that were ripe with dark juices in a bowl of cold water. Then she walked slowly to the bathroom and removed each piece of clothing from her shapely body. The woman loved walking around her apartment stark naked and would often “forget” to drop her curtains. It was genuinely entertaining for her to imagine that someone might be watching her on the other side.

She secretly hoped that there was such a person.

The hot shower stream caressed her creamy skin as she turned the water on. After she spread the chocolate shower gel all over her skin it was time for her intimate massage. Divna shoved her thin fingers between her thighs and started playing with the folds of her pussy. She pressed her back and shoulders against the terracotta tiled wall and let the shower water rain all over her breasts and stomach with its hot drops.

She picked her pace, sank her teeth in her soft lips and hissed like a wild cat while she brought herself to a climax.

It was another occasion to enhance the fact that no man or woman she had ever met in her life could touch her in the way she was capable of touching herself.

She had no idea why.

It didn’t make her feel proud or unreachable like a goddess that the mere mortals cannot please.

Just a little confused.

However, that did not change the fact she had a glorious orgasm.

She brushed her teeth carefully.

Whenever Divna would give in to her favorite fruits she hated if there were remains of any other food on her teeth.

She sneaked out of the bathroom and the tendrils of her hair like shining snakes pleasantly covered her skin. As she was wiping the water off her body with the big, fluffy towel she practiced her catwalk movements in front of the mirror.

The woman staring back at her from the glass surface was more charming than beautiful, with a contagious smile and air of innocence to herself.

Divna had the habit of staring intensely into her own reflection ever since she was a little girl. That was the time when she started questioning her existence, what relates the person from the reality to what she was seeing in the mirror. What if her world wasn’t just a strange illusion created by the deceptive glass, as smooth as lake? She was staring at her face on the photographs (and she was one of those people who looked different on every picture). That increased her sense of doubt even more. That was the reason earthly pleasures meant that much to her. They helped her remember that she was real and alive.

However, most people simply thought she was vain.

That was fine.

It would be worse if they knew the truth. The last thing Divna wanted was to labeled as an “airhead”.

She shimmied into a short, transparent teddy that fit perfectly her firm body. The lace caused pleasant sensations in her nipples. Divna headed for the kitchen where she was met by her cat. The purring animal curled its fluffy tail around her leg.

The woman took one of the washed, sweet cherries and ripped its flesh with her teeth. Her lips that were usually pink and thin got tainted with dark red blood.

She licked it and caressed the pulp and the pit with the tip of her tongue. The sensation that this seductive juice caused in her body almost made her groan. Divna sucked it greedily and left the cherry stem in a plate.

Her phone rang just when she was about to remove the stems of those little, black seductresses.

Divna grinned widely and there was not even a sign of innocence in that smile.

For she knew who was calling.

Therefore she retreated to her spacious sitting room and spread her wet hair over the little cushions. After she placed the glass bowl next to her Divna raised her teddy slightly.

It was only after that ritual was performed that she answered the impatient caller.

“You always take such a long time to answer!” The voice on the other side could belong to an old man or a boisterous youth. It was hard to discern.

“Would you like me all that much if I always answered your call immediately?”

“Probably not. And yet sometimes I really crave for an obedient little slave girl who always does as she is told.”

“You will get bored the first week.”

“Don’t be so sure.” He laughed and continued speaking after a short pause. “Tell me what are you doing right now.”

Divna took up with describing what she was wearing. She told him the tale of the darkest cherries that she longed to brush over her swollen clit before they would penetrate her mouth.

“Do you have whipped cream somewhere around you?”

“You know I dislike whipped cream. It’s a silly cliché.”

“You have no taste.”

“And you are banal. I bet you would also ask for champagne.”

“Why not?”

“Only special guests drink champagne at my home, directly from the hostess’ body.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“I don’t know, what do you think?”

“I can interpret it as I please and take advantage of that so generous hostess. However right now I want to hear her playing with herself.”

“Don’t you prefer watching instead of only listening?”

“Your language, my sweet Divna, is a much more tempting snake, even in comparison with the adult films of the highest quality.”

“Your flattery is even emptier than the hat of an apprentice beggar. You are lucky that I am vain enough and I allow you to fool me.”

“Is she wet?”

“No however right now I will lick my finger and I will slide it carefully over its tender slit while I suck one of the cherries.” Divna put the phone on speaker so she would have two free hands and started implementing all she was describing to him.

“Make sure it is very slow. Tease yourself for me and brush your clit very lightly. Place the cherry on top of your tongue and wrap your lips around the stem. Think of how hard I am while you play with it, imagine how you would suck the juices dry.”

“Just like I would dry your hardened member that you are probably stroking now wishing it was in my mouth instead of that cherry?” She laughed and tossed her head back while she raised her delectable ass and caressed the hood of her clit. Her pink tongue was running against the surface of the fruit and was leaving stains of spit. “I still would like to believe that the cherry would be just the additional ingredient that I can add to your precum while I am down on my knees.”

“Well, well, who would have thought our goddess would be so submissive.”

“Who is talking about submission?” She moaned and pulled the fruit from between her tight lips. “I am about to devour you, to add my favorite fragrance and take you for the ride of your life with my tongue and mouth. I will blow you till you are turned into a begging, panting mess.” The confidence was pumping in her veins the more she spoke. Divna pressed the cherry to her exposed clit and moaned out loudly. “And if you are a good boy I will let you mix the fruit juice with your spunk. I will milk your balls dry if you please me with your words.”

“Keep talking.” He added briefly and stayed silent. Even if he was affected by her words he didn’t let it show.

After half an hour of dirty talk Divna finally achieved her goal and coaxed a moan out of him. He always provoked her with his restraint… just like he evoked her insecurity and willingness to please. When all you have is a voice that serves as a compass all of your senses get acutely sensitive.

For Divna that sensation was a lot like sex in a dark room, with a tightly stretched blindfold on her eyes.

She felt the rush of courage after that success and allowed her fantasy to roam freely. The flow of words escaping her lips was in perfect synchrony with the wetness all over the tender skin between her thighs. Divna threw away the redundant piece of cloth around her tense body.

She took a bite of one of the cherries and spread the juice along the entire surface of her flesh. The pulpy bits of the fruit were rolling between her breasts. Then the aroused vixen spread her nether lips and stuffed a few of the ripped cherries deep inside her.

“Roll them nice and well, I want you to fully soak your juices and mix them. Don’t stop rubbing your clit.”

“I imagine that you are kneeling before me and part my knees so you can wrap your lips around my slit and suck the pulp out. Your hands are grabbing my hips and I spread myself for you. I pull the hood of my clit with two opposite forefingers letting you see how it throbs for you. Your tongue plays with the cherries pushing them deeper…”

The moans on the other side reminded her of steps in the darkness on a road to the core of their mutual pleasure.

“Cum for me…” He grunted in an almost annoyed manner trying to control how aroused he was. “Push your hand inside and fuck yourself to climax. Now!”

Divna screamed and used her tight muscles to take the smashed cherries out her. She placed them on top of her breasts and slid her four fingers deep inside her puffy, soaked lips. Her eyes were wide open while his words were gradually leading her to the inevitable. When the orgasm struck her like electricity, Divna was content to hear him cry out in his own release.

“There, I made such a mess because of you.” He laughed and the pleasure that hit her at that moment was equal to the ecstasy in the moment when she came. The knowledge that she made him lose control for a moment was even more precious.

Nevertheless as soon as her climax hit its peak, she rested on the table fully exhausted and captured by the same sensation of emptiness and anxiety.

Just like those times when she faced the mirror and felt drawn to the abyss of doubt.

Discrepancy between the image and the sound.

“Shall I ever see you?”

“Would you still be interested in me if you ever saw me?”

“Do you want to bet on that?”

“It is all much more enticing when it is far away from me.”

“You’d lose plenty of beautiful things if that is how you think.”

“I’d take the chance if the alternative meant to lose the magic that I do to myself whenever I am with you. No other woman can do it the same way. Even you if I knew you in real life.”

“You could not know that.” Divna uttered playfully even though she wasn’t feeling cheerful at all.

“You are just like me. You admitted that the pleasure you do to yourself exceeds greatly that done by others. Why would you need a substitute then?”

“Because it is real.”

“Reality is a matter of point of view.”

“You sound like a schizophrenic.”

“Perhaps I am. I am nothing but a voice. Don’t be so sure that you want to know the person on the other side of the telephone line. Goodnight, Divna.”

She spent a long time gazing at her phone.

Her hand felt her face and hair for reassurance.

That disconnection with reality was driving her out of her mind.

And she was desperate for proof she belonged.

*Divna – Slavic female name, means “wondrous, miraculous”.

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