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it.”
           “I don’t.   I just worry that you don’t know his name, or who he is, or if he’s really sane.   And if you’ll end up dead next time you give him your crotch and do whatever …”
           I stop myself from defending my actions.   It’s not necessary, and Isaac has every right to wonder what stupid things I might have done.
           “I needed to tell someone,” I say.   “Someone that can’t stop me …”
           “What if I tell Robby?”
           I bristle.   “You’ll make a mess of my life,” I state succinctly, adding a heavy dose of conviction to my voice.   “I am all right.   And if I’m not, well, you know … someone knows.   And …”
           “Lynnie.”
           “Shuuush.”   I try soothing him with the sound of my voice.   “Besides, Isaac, I think Robby and I will be living together full time again soon.   I’m about to take my old job back.”
           “You are?”
           “Yes, and I just need this fling, that’s all it is.   The guy’s safe, I’m sure of it.   And I don’t want you to worry … so how’s Greece?”
     
           Isaac is so accepting.   A lot of guys would have raised a decent ruckus, and be calling my friends and God knows what else, but I knew Isaac wouldn’t.   Perhaps that’s why I chose him to tell even if it was a completely unconscious act.   In telling him, my motives made sense.   But explaining the crudity without glossing over the facts only instills my desire for the stranger more.   I know there will be another time and it will be more disturbing than the others.   Even if my story about Robby and me is a fib, it actually makes sense.   Makes me wonder, when this “fling” finally ends, if I’ll confront the bastard, throw Chelsea out, and make a determined effort to put the marriage back together.   It sounds like a genuine idea.
     
           Wide-awake after talking with Isaac, I’m doubly aroused.   All I can think of is sex and getting off.   But not getting off in fantasy, or to the picture of Shelley, or any other of Isaac’s babes on tape.   Being crude feels like more fun, though without the stranger, I’m not sure where to turn.
           I stare at the phone for a while, like it’s beckoning me with a bony finger into a lurid and dissolute land.   I’m reminded of Robby, the months we spent apart a few years back, how our salvation was the phone calls …
           I pick up the phone and dial.
           When I hear him answer, his voice sounds far off, he’s either been asleep or having sex.   I’m so thrilled with that thought, I start right in to see if I can capture him before he realizes what has taken over.
           “Hi, sweets, I was missing you …” I purr in that sex-charged voice I use for lovers.
           “You were?” he still sounds drowsy, but anxious.
           “Yeah, I wish you were here.   I just took off my clothes and am lying on Isaac’s couch.   He has this really wicked video of some old girlfriend with little tits masturbating in front of a mirror.”
           “You’re watching that?” he asks.  
           “Hummm …” My hand’s between my legs.   I’m not sure what makes me happier … the feel of my spasming clit or the mounting arousal I hear in Robby’s voice.  
           “You say she’s masturbating,” his voice lowers.
           “And dancing …”
           “Dancing …” the timbre lower still, I imagine by now he’s stroking himself.
           “You remember how I used to dance for you … in that see-through blouse and the lace g-string … how I’d brighten my nipples with rouge and ride on those slippery dildos …”   I hum between phrases, the natural lilt of my voice riding the pleasure I feel now.   I’m mellow, so very mellow and so very pleased as Robby’s breathing becomes more