Page 96 of Sexting the Pakhan

I remember closing my eyes. I remember pressing the phone briefly against my chest like that could settle me. I rememberthinking that I was too old for this, too tired for this, too much of a mother with two lunch boxes in the fridge and school forms clipped to the table.

Then I typed anyway.

Me:Maybe I wanted to feel like a woman tonight and not just someone’s mother.

His answer took longer that time.

Unknown Number:Then be a woman.

My breath caught.

Unknown Number:Tell me where you are.

Me:In bed.

Unknown Number:What are you wearing?

I looked down at myself and almost laughed.

Me:An old T-shirt and shorts. Very glamorous.

Unknown Number:Take the shorts off.

I pressed my thighs together under the blanket.

Me:You’re very bossy for a stranger.

Unknown Number:You like it.

I whispered, “Unfortunately,” to the empty room.

Me:Unfortunately.

Unknown Number:Good. Shorts off.

Now, I stop at another light and glance at my phone on the passenger seat like it might accuse me. The screen staysdark. Sensible. Innocent-looking. As if it didn’t spend last night burning in my hand while I tried to breathe quietly enough not to wake my children.

The worst part is that I listened.

I put the phone beside me, pushed the blanket down, and slipped out of my shorts with my heart pounding like I was doing something forbidden. Technically, it wasn’t forbidden. I was an adult woman in my own bed. I was allowed to touch myself. I was allowed to want.

Still, the apartment felt full of invisible judgment. A lunch box magnet shaped like a strawberry was staring at me from the dresser.

Me:Done.

Unknown Number:Good girl.

The words went through me so fast I almost dropped the phone. I hadn’t expected that to still work on me.

I wished it didn’t.

Me:You can’t just say that.

Unknown Number:I can.

Me:You are impossible.

Unknown Number:Touch yourself.