I’m wearing a camisole and a pair of shorts. Sexier would be better, but there’s no time. I drop my pants and check out my panties. They’re horrible. My phone’s already ringing. I accept the call, then rush back over to my dresser and yank open the top drawer with all my underwear. “Hey. Gimme a second.” I’m not sure what exactly Randy has in mind, but if we’re going to have video-phone, mutual-masturbation sex, I need to be wearing nicer panties. I also make sure my door is locked and find my headphones. “Why am I looking at a ceiling?” Randy asks. “Just hold on.” “Oh, I’m already holding on.” A rush of warmth floods my body, settling low in my stomach. All Randy has to do is speak, and I feel it right in my magic marble. He’s a human aphrodisiac. I root through my undies until I find the pair he bought me. I check my girl parts. I took care of business yesterday, so everything’s a thumbs up there. So are my legs. After Randy-bathroom incident number four, I’ve been way more regular about shaving them.
