Scary, Erotic, or Both?

Have you ever had an obscene phone call?  Did some part of you enjoy it and the anonymity of the call? How long did the call last? Hmmm? Keep reading if you’d like to see the prize you could win.

I only had one and my husband had to spoil it! (He’s my EX now, but not because of that.)

My husband was home for a sandwich when a call came. He was there to eat, not talk, so I answered the call. The caller’s polite questions sounded like he knew me, like he was someone I should know, so I kept talking. The Ex kept asking who was calling and talking loudly in the background. Hubby wanted me to get off the phone and fix his lunch. I could call back later, after he went back to work.

When I told the guy I didn’t recognize his voice, he explained that he liked to call strangers and talk about sex.  OK! Finally! My first obscene call! I wanted to see how far he would go, but with my spouse, who had no sense of humor, asking questions about why I didn’t hang up I couldn’t. When the stranger asked if I liked to talk about sex I told him my husband was there and we could both talk. He hung up. I guess he wasn’t into having a Ménage à 3, and my Ex certainly wasn’t.

He wasn’t amused that I would talk to a strange man, and I wasn’t amused that he spoiled my ONLY sex call!

Sooo, I created an obscene phone call scene with the villain of Protective Instincts and the heroine and her reaction to his words .  I’d like to know how you react to this scene. Are you 100 % turned off or even a tiny bit curious?  Could this be rewritten to make it work for  a sexy scene or is it sexy in an odd way?

Half asleep, Brit reached for the ringing phone. She was disoriented from a dream that left her breathless. She’d seen Tommy’s body fly over the hood of the truck that hit him. She’d heard herself scream. Then she’d seen a masked man staring at her, his look menacing. When he’d started toward her, she’d turned and run ’til she couldn’t catch her breath.

The pleasant fragrance of the garden sized arrangement in her dining room now permeated her bedroom, cloying, oppressive. She glanced bleary-eyed at the luminous clock. Two o’clock? Who’d call at this hour but family with an emergency? She snatched up the handset.

She cleared her throat and gathered her wits about her. “Hello.”

“Havin’ a real nice night, sugar?” The voice, raspy, deep, and very southern made her skin crawl.

“Who are you calling?” She tried to sound reasonable. “Wrong number? Please check your numbers before you call again. You keep getting me instead of whoever…”

“Did you enjoy the little romantic surprises, darlin’?” His voice was a cross between a caress and an insult.

“Surprises? What surprises?” At that moment, she realized. Her chest constricted. She bolted upright in bed so quickly her head swam.

“Aren’t the flowers gorgeous? Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady. Intoxicatin’ fragrances, huh?”

“Who are you? Am I supposed to I know you?”

“Not as well as I know you, lovely lady.”

“Why – How did you change my order? Who are you?”

“You deserve beautiful things,” he purred.

“But you shouldn’t send me gifts. I mean it.” She didn’t recognize his voice or the lazy southern drawl. “The flowers were extravagant. The food was way past too much.” She hit her pillow.

He seemed to ignore her. “You need a new robe, silky, sheer, and black, Sugar. That’s some sexy body under all that terry cloth, smooth, sweet, warm from sleep. Are your beautiful, white breasts aching to be touched?”

Brit gasped, yanked bed covers to her chin. Someone had been in her house, had invaded her space. Her expensive dinner, the one he’d had sent, threatened to come back up. “Look, whoever you are –”

“Is the sweet place between your thighs wet, Darlin’? Bet you’re wanting it as much as I do.” A long pause was followed by, “Oh-h-h, Sugar, love the old claw foot tub. I can wash your ….”

She’d hoped to learn who the pervert was by using her head and staying calm. Don’t let him get to you. She swallowed hard before she could speak without choking. “I’m too tired for this,” she started to hang up. She’d hit star-whatever, then call the police. Maybe she’d use a neighbor’s phone, so he couldn’t listen.

“Bet your heart’s just pumpin’ away, ‘ma bella’. See you soon. Think about me, Darlin’. See you in my sweet dreams.”

If you’d like a PDF copy of this book, respond and leave an email address. I’m considering using a scene like this in a book I’m writing but not necessarily with the villain.

Mary Marvella
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