Just when I thought I was totally way up there in the league of "crazy," my friend Heinrich (aka Erick) came raining (hell, hurricaning) on my parade. Over six bottles each of San Miguel Strong Ice (I'm totally off the hook with the darned antibiotics), Erick told me what's been up his sleeves lately.
Apparently, Erick met someone online (yes, we still do that). Let's just call her Fiona of Mactan, Cebu. Being the tease that he is, he started corresponding both on- and offline with her. Erick's an investment banker, while Fiona's a balikbayan from Sydney whose job is to manage a chain of restaurants in Cebu. For the whole frickin' day, the two of them were exchanging SMS and MMS.
When Erick got home around 11pm in his condo, which is about a few doors from where I live, he starts dialing Fiona's mobile phone. There was instant connection. Fiona was funny, smart, engaging, and flirtatious. Perfect pair. (I am yet to see how this Fiona girl looks like [she's in his Friendster list, apparently], but from how Erick described her, I'd say she's got a little Cindy Kurleto going on. Damn hot.)
About an hour into their conversation (yes, they were on frickin' mobile phones. You do the math), Erick started things going. "Fiona, I'm a very visual person. Describe to me what you're wearing and what exactly it is you are doing right now." Fiona said, "My roommate's gone for the day, I'm on my bed, just slipped out of my blazer and skirt, down to my undies. I am playing with the cord of the phone, and my legs are crossed and rubbing each other." Erick bit back, "I"m wearing sando and my boxers. I am touching my crotch as you speak. My eyes are closed, and I'm imagining licking your nape, as I run my fingers on your breasts." He thought he went too far because he heard Fiona just breathing quietly on the other line...until the breathing turned heavy. "Keep talking, Erick," was what she said after.
Yes, I think you know how this story would end. Suffice to say, to give you a general idea, Erick told me that he collapsed on his LazyBoy recliner with nothing but a soiled towel (and not just with sweat, mind you)...and Fiona with nothing but a few rounds of giggles and more heavy breathing.
If you want the blow-by-blow, go email me. I'll tell you the nasty details. After all, I have permission from the "owner". Hehe.
Erick, Erick, Erick...I swear, I'm going to beat you to the real thing. You smutty, smutty, phonesex-ing boy.
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