Faceless

I give them a description but they don't really know what I, or the girl they want me to be, looks like. They just create some image in their head and settle on that. Some how from the floating parts I give them, they fashion a being of attraction out of them all and begin to work their fantasy with her.

I like it. I like the anonymity that this job provides me. Each night, morning or afternoon, I can be someone else; something else. They don't who I really am, what I really do, where I really live. None of that. And one day I could just vanish. It wouldn't matter in the scheme of things. They wouldn't care.

Or would they?

Would the men that call me saying they "just wanted to hear" my voice, would they miss me? Miss this character that I created, rather.
Miss her soft gentle voice telling them that she loves to hear him. Miss the quiver in her voice, in her moan, when she tells him it's happening.

They wouldn't miss me, or her. They never had her to begin with. They just had the parts that make up a shell of a woman.

But each time I pick up that phone I relish in the moment. I breathe it in deep. I open my lips, and speak the words that they want to hear. I am just a voice. A disembodied voice.

I am someone else.

Who am I this morning?

I'm 5'8'', 38D-26-36, long black hair, olive skin, dark green eyes.

he calls...she answers...
soft but confident, "Hello there handsome."
an exhilarated sigh, "How're you this morning, Bianca?"