Connection

Yes, whatever. So I hung out online a lot this weekend. He knew I did; I was DJing at Lady Ann’s when he popped on PalTalk with a PM and asked how the boys were doing. I called him back on his cell, which was cool, and he kept checking: is all well, did I remember this or that, how’s the money holding out, oh by the way there’s this pre-made dinner he made and it’s in the downstairs fridge.

Plus:

• miss you,
• love you
• miss you again
• miss you more

French baritone. Yum. Sounds so good on the phone. His accent gets thicker when he’s all tired and jet-lagged and it’s like a shot of DC current running from my clitoris to the base of my brain and back. And he’s not micro-managing me, he cares.

Yum.

“I wish you were here,” I said, after a pause.

“I wish you were here, and Grandmother and Grandfather were at home, caring for the kids. I’m more alone in this place than I ever have been anywhere,” he added.

“What would we be doing, if I were there?” I asked him.

A pause. “Wonderful things,” he said, finally.

“When you get home, I will need you.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Inside me,” I continued, whispering.

“I know,” he said, simply, “don’t worry.”

“‘Don’t worry’ like, you understand? Or ‘don’t worry,’ you’ll take care of me?” I persisted.

A pause.

“I’ll take care of you,” he said. “Be good, and be well. Don’t stay up too late on chat, all right?”

“Yes, monsieur,” I said.

“You will need your rest this week,” he added.

“Yes, monsieur, I’m about to log off.” I said goodbye to the chat room and exited.

“You will also need your rest for when I come home,” he added. I could hear the smile in his voice.

“I – yes, monsieur,” I said. I blushed. I sneezed.

“Salud,” he said, with a knowing little chuckle.

“Merci,” I said, then added, “Merci. De tout.”

“For everything?” he asked.

“Yes, monsieur,” I said.