Sexto Virgin or SMS….Save My Soul

In her life up until this crap period, Miss Marble had no use for a cell phone. She didn’t work, had no important obligations, didn’t like talking on the phone much and rarely answered even her home phone. She didn’t like the idea of always being available or having to lie to people, “My phone wasn’t charged.” etc. Plummeted out of her jar, she began looking for work . She realized how close she was to just another pretty, damaged marble rolling in the gutter. Not keen on the idea of homelessness, she snatched up her husband’s old cell phone, bought a pre-paid phone card and suddenly, she had her own personal number, her own SIM card! She had officially joined the masses of The Modern Technology Era. She never actually found a job but maybe the cell phone is what showed her how much she enjoyed writing, how powerful the written word could be….the erotic potential of the text message! Had someone told her before this time in her life just how arousing a tiny message on a tiny screen could really be, she would have never believed it.

Much to her own surprise, she called that Roaming Hands firefighter the following day. It was in an effort to locate each other that she received her first text messages. She was not even very sure how to answer. At any rate, they found each other. His hand was once again on her ass. She appreciated the gesture. Her husband was not comfortable with Public Displays of Affection, much less Public Displays of Naughtiness. This had always made Marble feel like he was somehow embarrassed of her, although he had no good reason to be. Twenty-one years her senior, she had always felt that he should prouder, more demonstrative. This had never been the case. Not because he wasn’t proud but because he was reserved with his feelings and his actions. She had never been reserved at all. Her new friend was a good four inches shorter than her but nonetheless he was all over her. Men are sometimes uncomfortable with tall women, I guess it makes then feel less virile. This was not the case for the fireman. She was shocking herself, walking with another man in her own city, having drinks in a pedestrian zone where she could have easily run into friends or family. Doing something so forbidden right there in the street for all to see was extremely exhilarating to her.

Theirs was a short lived physical relationship, he was only in her town for a week. He was in his training during the day and she was not so available at night. The day they met in her city ended in a mad groping scene on the beach but it couldn’t go any farther as she had to get home, her own conscience ringing in her ears. He had shown her photos of his wife and family. She understood perfectly his intentions and they coincided well with hers. This brief union was consummated in an emergency vehicle,  not a super-cool American Red Firetruck but an emergency vehicle, with a siren. She found great symbolic value in this. She imagined him fishing her out of the icy Seine, his hands frantically searching all over her body, trying to bring her back to life. She imagined him pumping new life into her as one would do with a deflated bicycle tire or a smashed blow-up doll. Her need to be saved was huge at that time in her life. He held her tight and she was relieved to finally have a life-jacket. She had never had sex  in any type of vehicle before, probably because six feet tall is not so easy in, say, a Fiat 500. It was not really the Greatest Fuck of the Century or anything but it was really refreshing to be with someone new. To feel so wanted, to watch how men, like peacocks, try to impress a girl with their various qualities. It is all quite animal, sex. Her whole life she had wondered if there was really any sort of connection between love and sex or if that was just a myth designed to keep people from doing it constantly thus hindering the development of society.

On his eight-hour road trip back home, He sent her messages and more messages. That is when it all began.


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