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Edward ushered me in ahead of him and turned on the light.

It was a small studio apartment, immaculate, with very few personal objects. He took me to the sofa and then settled himself on the other end and looked at me.

“What?” I asked, smoothing my hair, wondering if I looked worse to him out of the dim light of the bar.

“I'm really into calling 900 numbers,” he said. “I think I'm almost addicted to phone sex.”

I was curious. “What's it like?” I asked. “I've never called one.”

“I don't talk to the same girl, but I always get off, listening,” he said.

I felt myself growing aroused, wetness dampening my panties. I thought for a moment, then said, “Do you have a second phone I could listen in on?” He handed me the phone, retrieved another from the floor, and punched in a number. I lifted my receiver, and when he nodded I pressed the TALK button on my handset.

The woman's voice was low and husky, exactly how I would talk if I were working a sex line. I knew her goal was to keep Edward on as long as possible, and she did a good job, starting slow, asking him his name, describing herself for him, then asking his fantasy.

“Two women,” he said immediately.

“Oh,” she purred. “Me and — do you have someone in mind?”

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