I will tell you a secret about me. I like being watched. Not by everyone, not all the time, but there is a thrill that runs through me when I know someone is looking and I am choosing to let them see.
It started small. I would leave my curtains open a little wider than necessary when I changed for bed. I would stretch in front of the window in the morning, wearing very little, telling myself it was an accident. It was never an accident. I knew exactly what I was doing, and the thought of someone catching a glimpse made my skin tingle.
On the phone with you, I am an exhibitionist in the safest, most delicious way. I describe everything I am doing, and I do it slowly, because I know you are picturing it. I stand in front of my mirror and I watch myself undress, and I tell you what I see, and the two of us watch together. You through my words, me through the glass.
There is power in being the one who decides what gets seen. I choose the angle. I choose the moment. I let my robe slip off one shoulder and I pause, because I know the pause is the best part. Anticipation is its own kind of touch, and I am very good at making you wait for the next reveal.
Sometimes I take my phone to the window. I stand there in nothing but moonlight and I tell you about the street below, about the possibility, about the delicious risk of it. My heart pounds a little faster, and you can hear it in my voice. That is real. I do not fake that part.
Being watched makes me brave. It makes me touch myself the way I would never dare if I thought no one was paying attention. Slow circles, deep breaths, honest little sounds I cannot hold back. And the whole time I am thinking: he is listening to all of this. He can hear exactly how much I love it.
I have learned exactly how long to hold a pose before it becomes unbearable. Ten seconds is teasing. Twenty is torment. Thirty and you are begging. I count in my head while I stand there, letting you wait, letting the anticipation build until I can practically feel your patience snapping.
If you want to be my audience, call the dispatcher and ask for Ella. I will put on a show for you, one private listener, and I promise you will see everything. Well. You will hear everything. And somehow, that is even better.
Yours, Ella