Hotline Fling

16: Privately Seeing the Privates

Juneau's POV

A few evenings after my 'movie night' with Damian, I took a moderately successful 'one of these times I might jog' attempt. Under a beautiful sunset of yellow and orange streaking through the gray fall sky, I walked briskly halfway to Battery Park before side stitches deterred me.

Once my sides pitched as if a pair of cleats kicked them, I gave up and walked home. Within the confines of my small, pink-tiled bathroom, I lit some candles and drew a bath in my small tub. My phone buzzed with an incoming text message, giving me a huge smile that rushed liquid happiness through my veins.

Sergeant Hotpants: Hey beautiful, hope I'm not bothering you.

"Not with that greeting," I murmured, closed the toilet, and sat on the lid. Celia canceled our bar plans because of a personal situation, which she hadn't said, but boy, was I happy I called Damian Saturday night. The man turned my insides into Jello. Hot, horny, Jello.

Me: Never. I'm just hopping in the tub.

Sergeant Hotpants: Really?

Me: Yes.

I wasn't bold enough to attach his dick pic to his contact profile, but I sure looked at it since we last talked. He deserved to know that.

Me: Btw, your picture. 🔥 Is that actually you?

There was a long pause. Either I stunned him or caught him with someone else's pants down

Sergeant Hotpants: Yes. Sorry to disappoint?

"Oh no." I hit the call button. Another example of why I couldn't sext to save my life.

"Hi, June," he answered on the second ring. "Look, I'm so–"

"Don't you dare apologize," I accused him in a false angry tone. "Or even think that picture you sent me was a disappointment. I honestly figured it wasn't you because, well, you're perfect."

"Perfect?" He echoed with confusion thick in his voice.

"Fuck, you're going to make me spell this out, huh?" Not that he saw me, but I palmed my forehead.

"Of course." Such a tease. A big, temptatious cock tease.

"Hmm." Heat rose in my cheeks at my suggestion, and my heart pounded. "Guess you'll need to give me proof that's you before I give you a piece of my dirty mind."

His low laugh hit my ears. "Proof, really. How?"

"Use your imagination," I replied in a flirty tone then hung up. My heart pounded in my ears, and my entire face flamed hot beyond my exercise exertion. What would he send?

My phone sat silent, so I peeled off my sweaty clothes and stepped into the warm bath. The tub was child-sized, but warmth caressed my skin. I planted my feet, bent my knees, and leaned my head against the cool tiled wall. With a few random curls of my wrists, I swirled the water over my shins and watched the clear beads trickling down my thighs. A few hairs fell from my messy bun, but I let them be, heaving a sigh and dropping my shoulders into the soothing water.

Right when my eyes slipped lazily closed, my phone buzzed from the sink edge. I shook my hands dry, flicked the last drops off my fingers, picked up my phone, and nearly dropped it into the tub. Oh my fuck, he sent me....

Damian sent me a repeat picture, his hand grasped around the same large erect cock, but this time the words 'Hi June' were written in black ink in a vertical message right up the side of his shaft. Holy cannoli, he wrote my name –correction: his nickname for me– on his dick. Why was that message cute? Even better, from the picture angle, he gripped himself with his left hand, where his fourth finger was noticeably absent a wedding ring.