Serial Touch Dialer

He had sensory deprivation issues from a delightful experience with one of his former amateur lovers on the telephone. He tried to call me and confide in me so many times but another woman on the telephone continued to interrupt him when she felt he and I would talk to each other too often. She didn’t want him to slowly fall in love with me without every dating first, like a normal flirtacious couple without third party interjections. Anyway, last weekend, so many of those other men stopped by for a short visit. One of the younger men, who’s a serial touch dialer, he touched himself to my voice, or so he told me, requested that I have a talk with him. I obliged him again. I could have said no when he asked my permission after a long, drawn out provocative back and forth exchange, but he kept pestering me and tried to invite me to an afternoon matinee. He wrote increasingly flirtatious compliments of adoration and respect. He had been staring incessantly at some of my words, images and eavesdropped on some recordings for weeks. I felt like he’d been spying on me again after he promised me he would not sneak around and obsess about me anymore. He’d obsess over my undergarmets, all of them, from socks and hosiery to my camisols and bralets. He imagined overpowering me while I would humiliate him, like call him and his girlfriend or wife filthy dirty names. I didn’t enjoy his kisses because he behaved like such a sex starved savage, I’d have to close my eyes and try to brainwash myself into a state of belief, acceptance and affirm that what he wanted to do to me in his mind was not exactly what he said he wanted to talk about before. The more he spoke, the more anxious I became, but not in a bad way. When he became silent is when I worried most because I felt he was going to do or say something offensive and try to entice me into doing other nasty stuff simply by hearing his intoxicating words and experiencing his hand work first hand. He worked well with his hands.