"After ten minutes, a phone sex professional realizes that she's been talking to her teenage son."
“Really? What are you wearing?” Sybil asked in her most seductive voice, while she updated her Facebook status on her Ipad. She sat on her bed, door closed, phone connected to the headset lying next to her. This is where she worked from, so that her fifteen-year-old son did not discover that his latest smartphone upgrade was paid for with the money she made talking dirty to people who had a preauthorized credit card.
“T-shirt and jeans,” the young man’s voice answered, a little shaky and unsure.
“Where are you?” the silky tones inquired. She hated talking to the young one’s – it made her feel even dirtier than she usually felt about her second job.
“In the basement, sitting on the couch.”
“Are you alone?” she asked, enticingly, as she straightened her over-sized, pink “Save the Boobies” shirt.
“No, my Mom is upstairs in her room. She always goes up there after dinner, and talks on the phone. I think she may have a boyfriend, or something.” A nervous laugh follows the data dump.
Sybil sits up in the bed, and starts to take closer notice of the voice on the other end. Fear gripped her, as she looked at the timer on the phone. She was required to keep him on for no less than five more minutes or she would be written up. Mustering everything in her, she forced the seductive voice to return, while dreading the next question, but fearing the answer more.
“What is your Mom’s name?” she closed her eyes tightly, praying to whatever god would listen.
“Sybil.”
She hung up the phone and ran to the bathroom, retching the entire way.
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