Paradoxes of Possession and Desire

1: Fantasies

I am a voice on the phone—faceless, bodiless, speaking right into your ear.

“What’s your fantasy?” I ask you, my voice low.

There is silence, save your breathing, the rise and fall of your chest as your lungs inhale and exhale. If there were a phone cord, you would twirl it on your finger, but there is not, so you merely run your hand through your hair.

You give a small laugh. “I don’t know. What kind of fantasy are we talking?” Your voice comes out hoarse in your own ears.

“Physical,” I say. I am far away, not in the room, nothing of me anywhere near you. “What would give you pleasure. Physically.”

You flex your forearm. “I guess I’m a masochist. I’ve always liked to be dominated.” You can almost forget what I look like. You can almost believe I am nothing but soundwaves, my existence starting at your phone’s microphone and entering your ear.

I am silent, and you wonder—have you said the wrong thing? The silence makes you anxious, so you stand up and walk around. What are you doing, talking to me, this bodiless voice who speaks of pleasure. What would your mother think, and your boyfriend. But they are not here, and they cannot hear me. This is between you and me.

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