Telephone Banking

Butterflies in my stomach, my fingers cold and trembling, I dialed the last two digits of a banker’s number. Then the ringing tone. One. Two. Three.

“Good morning. Harold Burns.” His voice calmed me down instantly and I felt the warmth spread inside my chest just as it did that evening almost two weeks ago.

* * * * *

While Mike was on the Internet checking out new car deals, I paced around waiting for the kids to get ready for bed. Usually they wash and then I read to them, while Mike surfs on the computer, and afterward he and I snuggle on the couch in front of some reality TV show. It’s a very quiet, content domestic life we lead.

When the phone rang, Mike looked at me, uncertain as to whether he should pick it up. Was I going to run downstairs to fetch the cordless phone with the call display? We’d learnt to never answer calls without glancing at the call display first—too many telemarketers and useless survey people drove us crazy.

The phone had already rung three times, and after another ring the answering machine would switch on. I wasn’t going to race downstairs to check the caller id. Besides, I had a few minutes to spare while our seven-year-old twins splashed in the sink and showed off their spotless teeth to each other.

So I leaped across the room to Mike’s side to answer the phone. “Hello?”

“Good evening, may I speak to Mike Williams, please?” said a tenor.

“He’s not home.” I smiled. “Could I take a message?”

“Are you his wife?”

“Yeah.”

“My name is Harold Burns. I am a financial advisor and I wanted to introduce myself to you and Mike. I dropped off a brochure about various mortgage plans at your door a few days ago. Do you remember getting it?”

“No,” I said. Almost every day we find endless amounts of unsolicited mail on our porch. People think that if you just moved to a new construction neighborhood, you must be necessarily rich and ready to fork out money for all kinds of activities and services you don’t need.

“Well, that’s okay. That’s why I am calling to see if you and your husband would be interested in meeting with me to discuss the options available for you to increase the value of your property and to pay off your mortgage sooner.”

“I don’t think so… ”

“Well, I could just quickly tell you what I have to offer, and then you can think about it and decide whether you’d like to find out more. How about that?”

His voice was honey-sweet and poured into my ears with melodious smoothness. His beautiful, clear diction and soft, velvet timbre caressed my ears and imagination. How about that?

“Okay,” I answered meekly.

He went on talking about the mortgage and investment options on the market and God knows what else, because I didn’t listen to his words. All I did was hear his mellow speech and soak in that rich, masculine sound, letting its melody invade my brain, my mind, and my soul. It warmed my heart. I knew I began to beam.

Mike thought my smile was sarcastic. He glanced at me for a second with the sort of compassion that’s supposed to say you see, you shouldn’t have bothered picking up that damn phone! and then he turned back to his cyber research.

Harold, I thought, was a proper name for a bearer of such a deep, charming voice. What a perfect combination. I wondered if his looks were matching too. I wondered how he would sound in bed.

“So, do you think you’d be interested to meet with me?” He woke me from my reverie.

“I don’t know. But you do have a nice voice,” I answered giggling at my own boldness.

Mike peeked at me; what are you doing, Carla? I winked at him and smirked.

“Thank you. The consultation is absolutely free.”

“So how do you get paid then?” I inquired, the dirtiest ideas flashing through my suddenly wild mind.

“Well, if after our consultation you decide to change your mortgage or to invest for the future, I would be paid then—a small percentage.”

“Oh, I see. I don’t think we’re ready to meet with you, not yet.” I declined, feeling kind of sorry that the conversation had to end. “Let us think about it and maybe call you back.” I renewed my hope to hear more of him sometime.

“Of course. Are you ready to write down my number?”

I scribbled it with a pencil on Mike’s sticky notepad. I said my name was Melissa. I don’t know why I said it, but I did. Mike gave me one of those looks that said why not just hang up?

“Thank you for your time, Melissa. Hope to hear from you sometime soon. Good night.”

I hung up. The kids were finally ready for the bed-time story.

I knew today was going to be calm at the office. No meetings or special clients were scheduled, but nevertheless, I dressed with meticulous attention, as I decided to call Harold. I carefully pulled on my beige stay-ups that I haven’t worn in a long time. The coffee-colored lace of my underwear lightly tickled my buttocks. I shivered and proceeded to dress my bosom. The lacy beige bra nestled my breasts and straightened my posture.

I stood tall and proud, looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. My eyes caressed the reflection of my body. When I looked up at my face, I noticed a mischievous twinkle in my eyes and I felt very young, as if I were going to seduce a classmate. I couldn’t help smiling.

My white blouse was a nice, refreshing contrast to the brown tones I love so much. I decided to leave the top three buttons undone. My fitted taupe skirt suit was freshly ironed and felt perfect on. All I needed now were my high heels.

Silently, I laughed at myself. It’s not like I was going out for a date. I could as well wear a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt — no one was going to see my lingerie, not through the phone. All I wanted was to hear that voice again.

Still, looking good usually made me feel superior and confident. So I spent an extra ten minutes perfecting my makeup. I carefully applied the foundation and smoothed it out evenly, sprinkling some rouge on my cheekbones—not like I needed it; I was already blushing in shades of crimson. I plucked my eyebrows, painted the top of my large eyelids with soft grey and the lower part with brown, and outlined with the brown eyeliner. I brushed and colored my lashes, and added a touch of caramel gloss to my lips. Brushing my straight hair away from my face, I finished my preparations with a light squeeze of the perfume nozzle directed at my collarbone and behind my ears. I breathed in the fragrance. What am I doing? Why? But I winked my confusion away.

My face looked fresh and mysteriously happy. How could I not like it? Although no one in the office noticed. No one said a word. So nothing really special was going to happen anyways, I decided.

At noon everyone was gone for lunch. I was the only one in the office because I had a few extra files to organize. Instead, I dug in my purse and fished out the wrinkled, sticky memo with fading numbers. I stared at it for a few minutes, feeling my limbs get tingly. I squeezed the paper in my fist while I walked to the door of my small cubicle and shut it.

Slowly, I returned to my desk and sank my nervous ass into the chair. Of course, I could just get busy with my files, or get a snack, toss the note out and forget about this silly idea. I loved my husband. I loved my children. But I craved to hear the magnificent sound of his voice just one more time.

Harold knew my address, but I was not calling from home and he didn’t even know my real name, so I could still hang up on him and stay safe if I chose to. The worst thing he could do was refuse me, but then he’d lose a potential, valuable customer. The worst thing I could do was just drop the idea.

Finally, I picked up the receiver. Ouuuuh. Four-five-two. Six-nine. Two-three. I felt hot. Extension sixty-nine. What a coincidence. I felt cold.

Toot-toot. I was freezing.

“Good morning. Harold Burns.”

“Actually, it’s lunch time,” I teased.

“Oh, you’re right. Good afternoon, then. How could I help you?”

“This is Melissa... I thought about what you told me… about investing for the future… and I think I need you to tell me some more in-depth details, you know. Are you free right now?”

“Certainly. You have so many options. Mutual funds, bonds, I can help you make the right decision. You could readjust your mortgage rate to have more funds available for investment…”

I readjusted my chair and put the phone receiver on my lap. His honeyed voice slowly oozed under my skin. It washed over my loins.

“Where would you like to start, Melissa?” His voice was smiling.

“Mutual attraction… I mean, funds sound promising.”

“All right. Imagine…”

I imagined his hot, large hand sliding along my thigh. I got even more comfortable in my chair: I stretched one of my legs onto the desk, right across the keyboard and all the paperwork, and pulled the other leg up to hold the phone up with my knee and closed my eyes.

He spoke softly, so close into my ear as if he were right beside me. Right on top of me, in fact. I could almost feel his lips touch my neck, his skin rub against mine. I could almost smell his scent, masculine with a hint of sweetness. Harold.

My skirt slid up shamelessly, but I didn’t care. The cool air-conditioned breeze felt good on the back of my exposed thighs.

My stocking bands felt sticky and hot. I couldn’t wait for Harold to roll them down. Harold. Roll them down.

He did. Maybe I helped, so that he could kiss the whole length of my slender legs. His tongue slid down my tanned and lotion-smooth leg, while my fingers moved aside the crotch of my coffee lace-spandex mix.

He would come up and whisper into my pussy, just like he did into my ear. I longed for him to kiss me there. My finger moved around and stumbled across the nub—that was going to be Harold’s favorite spot. He was going to lick, suck and chew it. For now I was just warming it up for him.

My finger gently dug in between the folds that were pulsating and steaming. I felt the moisture. Warm flesh, soaking wet. The finger slid within it. Up. Down. In. Out. One. Two. Three. Four. Harold.

Occasionally I managed to breathe out an aha to keep him talking and explaining money matters in his tempting, bewitching voice. I’d never even imagined that accounting and business subjects could be so engaging.

“You’re a good listener,” he said.

My finger glided around faster. My buttocks slid to the edge of the chair and clenched together. The phone was perched precariously on my knee, in danger of slipping off and crashing to the tile floor at any moment.

“So for your utmost benefit…” he continued.

And I continued, too. Only then two of my fingers were playing. They stretched my muscle open in different directions. They massaged my bumpy texture, pressed tenderly and then harder. They became completely engulfed by my pussy. It clenched and tightened its grip. Harold.

I moaned and gulped.

“Melissa… are you all right?” he asked with a hint of a worry.

“Yeah… yes, I’m fine, thank you. Just thinking about what you have said. Trying to comprehend. It’s a bit confusing, you know…” I pulled my dripping fingers out and reached for a tissue. I fixed my underwear and slid back up in the chair.

“Yeah, if you’re new to this,” he laughed. “I’ve been in the business for a while. It’s simple. No one can play games with me now.”

“Play with you maybe… oops,” I giggled. “Just kidding. But I think we may need to meet and talk this matter over a coffee or a lunch sometime. It may be more comprehensible in person. What do you think?”

“I’d be glad to.”

“Yes, me too. I know this small place, it’s very cozy.”

“And I will show you an illustrated pamphlet, explain deposits and share a couple of wise tricks.”

“That sounds very good. I’ll call you next week then.”

The door behind me squeaked open. “Carla? Lunch is over.”

My boss’ eyes were ready to pop out. “I hope you didn’t spend the whole time on the phone! You should have eaten—we’re staying late.”

“That’s okay. Somehow I feel very energized,” I said to her with a faint smile as I hung up the phone. “Let’s get to work now. I need a day off next week.”

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