A second later, John made a ragged noise, like pleasure was being torn from his lips. Need spiked into Zack so intensely he had to bite his lip to distract himself. The knowledge that John was orgasming right now was almost unbearably hot. After a few seconds, the line filled with John’s labored breathing.

Zack fell silent. He was turned on to the point of discomfort, and despite John’s heavy breathing, he was pretty sure there was no oxygen left on Earth. He didn’t usually get hard on the job, let alone straining-in-his-jeans hard. The temptation to palm himself through the denim was almost too much. No matter how badly he wanted relief, however, he had a job to finish.

John’s breathing had quieted, which meant Zack needed to speak before things got awkward. He cast about for something appropriate to say. All his usual contrived good-byes seemed cheap, considering how genuine their session had been. But what else could he say? Thank you? Please call back soon? Was it good for you too?

He’d just settled on a simple compliment—Hey, man, that was fun. Let’s do it again sometime—when he heard a distinct click, followed by dead air.

It took Zack’s arousal-laden brain a moment to process what that meant.

John had hung up. Without saying good-bye.

Zack pulled the receiver away from his ear and looked blankly at it, as if expecting it to explain itself. After a solid thirty seconds, he placed it back in its cradle.

He stared at it for a moment longer before shifting his gaze to his clock.

He and John had been on the phone for eighteen minutes.

Three days passed, and John didn’t call back. After a week, Zack stopped snatching up his phone every time it rang.

It was foolish of him to get his hopes up. He knew better than that. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment, though. John had seemed different from the others, at least at first. Zack’s frustration was compounded by the fact that he hadn’t had a single promising client that week. Nothing but mouth-breathers, prank callers, and men who were clearly trying to get off before their wives came home.

Zack was halfway through his shift on the eighth John-free day when he started to worry he was going to fall asleep at his desk. He’d just gotten off the phone with a man who’d barely managed to get through introductions before coming in his pants, and Zack was feeling especially bitter. He checked the queue to see if there were any random callers who hadn’t yet been assigned to an operator. It was empty for what felt like the first time in days. He breathed a long sigh of relief.

His thoughts drifted to John for what must have been the hundredth time. Dealing with his usual clients after his call with John was like chasing Dom Pérignon with stale beer. Part of him knew they weren’t any worse than usual, but that part was getting harder and harder to listen to. Zack sighed and rested his face in his hands and muttered, “I’m an idiot.”