Erotika | Phone

You groan. Low. Almost pained. And that sound—that perfectly imperfect, unguarded sound—is more naked than either of us will be tonight.

I hear your smile. It’s not in your voice—it’s in the silence after, the one you hold like a held breath. Then you say, Leave it. phone erotika

The phone grows slick against my cheek. I switch it to the other ear, and your voice follows me, seamless, like a ghost that learned to love the living. We are not two people in separate cities. We are one circuit, incomplete until the other speaks. You groan

As if love and lust could be compressed into bandwidth. Then you say, Leave it

But right now—midway through, at the burning center of it—the phone is not a device. It is an extension of nerve and need. It is the thinnest possible wall between solitude and skin.

The phone is a third hand now, warm against my cheek. Not the sterile, glassy cool of morning screens, but something almost alive—conductive. I hold it like a secret, like a shell pressed to my ear, and inside, instead of the ocean, there is you.