Thinking Outside the Phone Box

“What’s your type?”

“What? Type of what?” I knew she was meaning what type of guy I wanted, but that topic of conversation was for another day. I wasn’t looking for anyone and the thought of making small talk made my stomach strain around my beer. Fuck cocktails I’d been encouraged to down and acting like a lady.

“Guy, you dumb blonde. I don’t know how you got that spot as a secretary for Mr Big Shot Needle-in-the-face guy with the speed at which your brain works. Here I am, slaving away at a call centre every day. Here you are, sat with your string of pearls - they from Tiffany’s, huh? - yet you don’t look for a guy to complete the package.”

“Not today. I wanted to have a beer at home. You didn’t just bring me here for a free beer.”

“You don’t want to talk about guys. You don’t want to go out. I had to force those cocktails down you. It’s like you’re - what? - depressed? Are you depressed now? It’s because you need a guy-”

“It’s not!” I regretted losing my temper when I saw her cringe and lean back in her chair. “I have a lot going on right now. That’s all. When I’m ready, I’ll find a guy.”

“Too bad and too late with the excuses. I don’t give a shit if you’re grumpy. Put a smile on your face. He’s going to be here soon and first impressions are everything. Everything!”

The smug grin on her face told me that it was a total setup and I wondered how long she’d been working on it. Was this going to be some hellish threesome where no one wanted to be there. I had no escape plan. There was no one that would be waiting to call me so I could say my cat had chipped a tooth. There was no fake disaster. I could always hurl myself out of the bathroom window.

“Smile… Smile!” She hissed the words, covering her mouth with her wine glass. I followed the direction of her gaze and hadn’t been expecting what I saw. At least she hadn’t misunderstood my lack of male company and decided to throw a girl at me.

Tall, dark and handsome? Just rather average.

He moved forward and toward me, drink in one hand and the other reaching for mine. I took it without pause, on auto-pilot from so many years of greeting women in the middle of a panic attack because one tit was bigger than the other. Entitled. The smile was fake and a struggle.

“Hello. I’m Vivianne. It’s nice to meet you though a little surprising.”

“I’m Daniel and it’s nice to meet you too, though I was told your name is Vivi.” He let go of my hand and remained standing until the matchmaker insisted that he took the free seat beside me.

“Not many people call me that. It’s just a silly nickname from a year ago.”

“You think it makes you sound childish.” It wasn’t a question. “I don’t think it makes you sound young or immature at all. I think it’s cute and maybe someone can tell me how the nickname came about?”

“Aha! You see one day she threw a complete tantrum. You know how toddlers sprawl out across the floor down a supermarket aisle? She was like that and all because people weren’t pronouncing her name right!” My friend - bless her stupid heart - thought that she was being funny.

“Oh…”

The silence that fell between the three of us right then was enough to make me want to crawl under my chair but Daniel’s next words were a life saver.

“My teacher in first grade called me Dani-well for a full year. Every time I was late I’d hear ‘well, well, Dani-well!’ so I get it. Vivianne.” He held out his hand again and took a hold of mine, encouraging me to my feet as he continued, “I think your friend will find all those charming businessmen at the bar more interesting than us two boring nickname phobes. Shall we leave this table for her?”

“Oh yes!” My friend was eager to get her claws into any guy that would buy her a fresh drink. “You two go! Have fun! Oh god, I feel like a parent! I think I need a tissue, I’m so proud…”

I chose not to look back at her or even arrange a plan to meet up later. She’d driven us here but there were plenty of taxis, buses and tram stops nearby. Besides, she would be whisked off by some bigwig in a matter of minutes. Drunken voicemails of how she’d found the love of her life would be heading my way.

“No one has ever called you Dani-well, have they? You… Just made it up.” Our own table was out of the way and we sat across from eachother, him still sipping his drink.

“Of course they did. Are you trying to call me a liar?” Tutting under his breath, he rolled his eyes. “I want to know what people were calling you that pissed you off so much. Were your panties in a twist for good reason?”

“I’m not five. I don’t wear panties. These days I rarely bother to put anything on at all down there.” It wasn’t something most acquaintances found to be appropriate, especially in public, but why worry? I didn’t know him. I could walk out and not see him again. But deep down I knew that I no longer had a censor on what came out of my mouth because it had been too long. Too many weekdays all alone at home. Fuck that. If I have to sit in public then talking about panties is what I’m going to do.

“Are you telling me that you don’t have panties on under that skirt? You went to work like that?” He wasn’t in awe but he was certainly interested, leaning forward in his seat and over the table. Thankfully he wasn’t slouching to try and get a peek.

“Work.” I grimaced into my drink and nodded. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

“Did you pull a sick day from work today?” His smile was sly.

“Er, no. My work situation is a little complicated right now and I’m not really supposed to talk about it outside my boss’ office.” A quick cover up that I hoped would stick. He didn’t know where I worked or who my boss was and the secret wasn’t being leaked yet. Or I hadn’t heard of it, but I’d been sat on my sofa with beer cans rattling every time I wiggled my growing ass.

“Something you’re not getting off your chest? I’m not some spy. I won’t run off to your friend over there as soon as you go to the ladies.”

I look over my shoulder at one of my oldest friends leaning over the bar with her cleavage on full display. “Speaking of bathroom breaks.” I get up with a wobbly smile, leaving him and his raised eyebrows.

A minute later I was sat in the corner cubicle, perched on the very edge of the toilet, knowing I couldn’t stay for long. There was a constant flow of women in and out and soon enough there would be tipsy ladies knocking on my door. So I did what every awkward liar would do. I lingered in the corridor, right by the tampon dispenser.

“Two quid for a tampon. Need change?” He was stood behind me, hand already stuffed in a pocket. The jingling of loose change had me shaking my head.

“I don’t.. I’m not - I don’t need a tampon. Thanks.”

“Yet you’re lurking all the way out here. Did you even need to pee?”

“No.” The scent of him and the idea of being caught out with my lie was making me woozy and leaning against him felt better than the cold, rusting metal of the dispenser. He accepted my weight readily and put a hand on my hip, warming through my skirt and tights.

“Do you need to sit down and have some water? You feel hot.”

“I just need to cum, if we’re being honest here.” It was the alcohol talking, I’m sure. I never drank cocktails and had underestimated their strength. That’s what I’d tell myself later, anyway. Where else can the conversation go after you’ve discussed a lack of panty wearing?

“Alright.” What a response. No shock, no appalled gasps at how a woman could speak in such a way in public. Just a tightening grip on my hip, thumb rubbing so I could feel it grazing nylon.

“Used to women telling you that they need to cum?” I turned to face him, keeping tight to him as he let his hand move around, dipping between my thighs, right at my crotch before setting on top of my ass.

“Used to it? No. I would say that I’m more curious than anything.” And then he crossed the line and slid a few fingers down between my skirt and shirt. A couple of women giggled and strutted past, looking back to get a longer look.

“Not here.”

“So where?” He looked around, scouting out a good place and I could feel his chin scrunching up my hair.

“Fuck sake. Outside. Let’s go outside.”

He took the lead effortlessly, guiding me through endless bodies. Chattering and clinking of glasses filled my ears and I looked to the floor, wary of tripping or stabbing someone with my heel. We were both silent as we reached the side entrance, him holding the door as I stumbled out, the humid air flushing my cheeks. I tottered after him and his lengthy strides, my suede heels causing me to skip the majority of the way to dodge puddles.

“A phone box?” But it was too far to go home and would take so long that either the moment would have passed, or we’d end up fucking on the bus. Fucking on public transport is frowned upon, sadly. I stepped in first and he crammed in behind me, as soon as the door was shut I was being turned, lifted up to perch on the box beneath the old black phone.

“Nice and tight. Isn’t like we need much space, is it?” He was hesitant at making the next move so I took the initiative and attacked the front of his pants, finding him hard and ready to go as he leant forward, unbuttoning my shirt just enough to get at the top of my tits. Hot air right there felt delicious.

With his pants halfway down his thighs I saw my first cock in months. Even in the grotty lighting, I was pleased with what I was seeing, tights beginning to stick to my inner thigh as I kneaded the base softly.  He grunted against a nipple, having shoved my boring nude bra out of the way.

“You got a condom?” I knew I didn’t. I’d stopped carrying them over a year ago and hadn't had a single use for one in all that time.

“Mm, but we don’t need one right now.” And then I felt fingers pressing, finding tights still in the way. “Just get them out of the way!” I couldn’t be bothered to try and save them and I wasn’t even sure there was enough wiggle room to get them down without elbows in eyes. He got the hint and I lifted my legs, hooking my heels around painted metal  bars separating the glass walls, giving him room to work.

A huff from him, a wiggle from me and a screeching tear from my tights later, thick fingers were probing. Gentle at first, as soon as his fingers were thoroughly coated he went deeper. I squirmed on the box, leaning back against the harsh angles of the phone and let him do as he pleased. I was fast. And when I came a shoe fell and I reached forward, one arm going around his neck, pulling him close as my thighs spasmed, threatening to cramp.

“Condom. Condom time. Right now.”

His fingers were still in me, just beneath my g-spot and stroking out the aftershocks. He gave a laugh and nodded, keeping his fingers lodged in my cunt as the other struggled to grab, hold, and open the condom packet.

I watched him fiddle but my mind wasn’t there, too busy focusing on keeping my legs up while his fingers kept moving. The tiny layer of lube that covered the condom he was now sporting glistened as it came towards me and I shuffled to meet him. I wished there would be no down time in the transition from fingers to dick but there was. I felt the loss and realised I was throbbing as my body waited for him. I hadn’t been this turned on for years, even when I’d had boyfriends and flings - my body was trying to make up for the drought with a flood.

Unlike with his fingers, he wasn’t messing around with his dick, balls deep in the first thrust. With a fuck under my breath I felt myself clench around him, this time both shoes falling off. He pushed through my orgasm in search of his own, not bothered by my hush-hush orgasms that had always been a cause for concern with others.

A hand that smelt so strongly of myself was slapped over my mouth and I thought to protest. To scream. To kick. But the tip of his dick ramming my cervix forced a scream from me before I could react voluntarily and then all I heard was the loud squelching between my legs in time with his thrusts.

His orgasm was quick to follow and his final thrusts were shallow and short, filling the condom. Slumped forward and against me, his forehead pressed into his own hand that was over my mouth and the pressure was good yet awkward, leaving me breathing harshly through my nose. His hair was going to make me sneeze.

My other arm joined the first around his neck and I stared at him as he composed himsef, his hand still firmly over my mouth. When he dropped his hand he replaced it with his mouth and the kiss he gave - hard lips and nipping teeth - suggested he’d be ready to go again soon.

Still not enough time to get a bus home.

“My place isn’t far and you’re in no state to drive.”

Condom and shoes were discarded on the floor and as I wiggled back into the now grubby heels I saw all the fliers taped around, promoting fabulous looking ladies for anything from a strip show to a speedy blow job on your lunch break.

“So what did you do to get called Vivi?”

He hadn’t forgotten even after two fucks and a lounge in his bed.

“My boss called me Vivienne. It’s Vivianne. The a is important… Or to me it is. One Monday morning, hung over, I yelled and then no one called me anything but Vivi. Pussies.”

“Should I call you Vivi then?” His hand patted my pussy, now bare and sated. “Or should I ask you to work for me so that you can afford some new panties and stop getting drunk alone while watching daytime tv?”