Filthy Mind – An Erotic Story
Claire Woodruff·November 11, 2024
20 mins read
“Why would a woman do this?” Paul growled as he flung himself onto the center sofa cushion, making its springs eek. “She said the filthiest things! And then she leaves no way to get a hold of her? That’s torture! It’s insane.”
“Then maybe you don’t want to find her—if she’s insane, that is,” Ricky said, holding a banana, while his friend, ten feet away, wailed about a woman.
“Any woman who’s willing to say those things is a woman I definitely want to meet. I will decide afterward about her mental state.”
Paul sat forward and rubbed the heel of his hand against his forehead. With his other hand, he picked up his phone from the coffee table. He stared at the blank, black screen.
Unbeknownst to him, the night before, a woman had spoken, off screen, into his video recording. She left a tantalizing message, and he was still shocked by her message.
“I just had this phone recording me doing my karaoke bit. You know the one,” Paul said.
Ricky sat on a high stool, leaning his back against the kitchen counter. He slowly pulled down each of the banana’s peels, with a wry smile on his face.
“Unfortunately, I do know the karaoke bit. I am trying to forget it.”
Paul made a sarcastic face. “So, I play back the video and I hear her.”
Ricky took a bite off the tip of the banana. Through his gooey chewing, he mumbled, “So you have no name, no telephone number, no picture, nothing but a voice—a sexy voice—from her.”
“Yeah, a sexy voice, and—” He raised a finger to emphasize his point. “—a filthy mind. A very important feature.” Paul looked at Ricky. “A sexy voice reading a McDonald’s menu can be hot but add the dirtiness and it shoots everything to a new stratum that only a woman can reach.”
“‘Shoots’. It seems to be the appropriate term.” Ricky shrugged as he chomped on the banana.
Not hearing the comment or caring about it, Paul touched the phone’s screen. It brightened, and the woman’s voice began.
“Paul, you are so hot. A damn-fine man. I’m ready to invite you into my bedroom. I’m imagining you playing the guitar and me playing too. I’m on the bed rubbing on my pillow. Can you hear me?” Then the woman unleashed a gravelly moan.
Paul paused the recording.
The voice had a slippery sexiness. A deep luscious tone.
He touched play again.
“Got me so horny the second I saw you. No need to talk to me, not paying any special attention. Just looking at you, I’m all hot and ready to do you.” And she moaned again very close to the phone. Paul almost felt her warm breath on his neck.
Paul paused it there to catch his breath. He looked toward Ricky. His friend had stopped chewing. He was frozen in place, his mouth agape, the yellow banana barely in his grip.
Paul touched the Play arrow once more.
“I want to nibble on your bottom lip and then go lower.” There was a light throaty giggle. “A secret: I’m a great cocksucker. I love good cock. Nothing better than your dick in my mouth.”
Paul stopped the recording. He took in a chest full of oxygen, because the voice had shut down his breathing.
He set the phone on the table.
“Yeah, see what I mean?” Paul whined. “Do you understand why I need to find her?”
“And why to decide if she’s stable after meeting her, not before. I completely understand.”
Ricky tugged the collar of his shirt and twisted his neck.
“Nothing … nothing identifiable?” Ricky struggled to say as he still reeled from the aftereffects of the woman’s words.
“Only her hand came into view of the camera for about half a second and a curl of hair,” Paul said. “She knew what she was doing. She’s torturing me.”
“Has probably done it tons of times. Kind of her M.O.,” Ricky offered.
“Don’t say that,” Paul retorted. “She really did think I was good-looking up there on stage.”
“Anyway. Was there a unique feature on the woman’s hand? What color hair did she have?” Ricky asked. “Let me hear her again. The voice may tell us something.”
“You just want to hear her filthy—” Paul stopped. “Look at you! You’re behind the counter. You’re…”