A Thousand Words

Chapter 12

From a Distance

[In which Erik and Christine discover that telephones are good for more than just talking]

I sat bolt upright in bed as the telephone jingled merrily away in the darkness of my bedroom. The clock by my bedside informed me it was 3:12 a.m. in big, glowing blue numbers. Only the hospital would call me at this hour. I wasn't on call so there must be a real emergency. I reached for the receiver.

"Dr. Denton here," I said into the phone, my voice thick with sleep. I yawned into the receiver.

"Oh, my darling, I'm sorry, I forgot all about the time difference. I woke you, didn't I?" It was Erik's voice; I recognized it even though it was muffled by the huge distance between us.

"Oh, no, not really," I lied. In fact, I had just fallen asleep. I was unable to stifle another yawn, and I was sure he heard it all the way across the Atlantic.

"Yes, I did. Do you want me to call back later?"

"No, no, it's okay. How are you, Erik?"

By this time my heartbeat had slowed back down to its normal rhythm, and I settled back into bed and pulled the covers over me. The room was extremely cold, and the last thing I wanted to do right then was get out of bed to turn up the heat.

"Tired. Jetlagged. Mad as hell. You know, the usual. I needed to hear a friendly voice."

I giggled. "I take it the visit is not going so well?"

"As well as can be expected, I suppose. I knew what would happen. Or at least I should have known."

"Oh, baby, I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

"Yes. Get on a plane and come to Paris."

I sighed into the phone. "Believe me, I wish I could."

Erik had tried twice more to convince me to accompany him on his trip to Paris, but as much as I would have liked to have gone with him, I just could not get the time off from the hospital. My heart ached as I watched him board the plane, knowing that I wouldn't see him for an entire week. It would be the longest space of time we had ever been apart.

"I know. Forgive me, but I had to try. It's just horrid. Who would believe that a joyous occasion like an anniversary could be so stressful? Mother is fussing about every minute detail of the party, Father is his usual self - stonefaced and silent, and Jacques, well..."

"Oh, Jacques. How are... things with him?"

"I'm not sure. He hasn't said a word, and I don't want to press him. But I gather from his current mood that it's not good."

He sighed heavily into the phone. He sounded defeated.

"But the party's the day after tomorrow, and then you can come back home." I tried to sound upbeat about it. "I miss you," I added, nearly whispering into the phone.

"And I you. Oh, I dread this party. It'll just be more of the same: 'When are you coming back for good,' and 'Why don't you come to your senses and give up this silly art hobby thing of yours,' and 'When are you going to get a real job and live a normal life.' And this not only from family, but friends as well."

"So no one has quite accepted you in your chosen profession, have they?"

"No. No one. I'm beginning to wonder why I came back here at all."

"Because they're your family. And you'd never forgive yourself if you weren't there to help your parents celebrate. Give them some time; they'll come around when they realize you're serious. Or when you become world-famous."

He chuckled. "I suppose. But I wish I were there with you right now."

"So do I, believe me. You could help keep me warm. It's freezing in here."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

"Are you in bed?" he asked. His voice had dropped a bit. I recognized that tone; I knew it very well. It sent a shiver down my spine, even coming all the way from France.

"Yes."

"What are you wearing?"

I was wearing flannel pajamas and woolen socks, but I wasn't about to admit that to him.

"What do you wish I was wearing?" I asked, even though I knew full well what his answer would be.

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

I laughed softly. "That's what I thought." My voice grew deeper, breathier. "I'm lying here, all alone, in my big bed, under all these soft, luxurious blankets, with absolutely nothing on."

"Mmmmmm. I like that. Can you imagine me there with you?"

"Yes," I replied. Just hearing his silky voice in my ear was all that I needed to picture him there with me.

"Where are you now?" I asked.

"In my hotel room, in bed."

"Can you imagine me there with you as well?"

"I can always imagine you," he purred into the phone. "I have a very vivid imagination."

"Mmmmmm," I answered. "And are you... clothed?"

"Not a stitch on," was his reply.

"Good," I said.

"Close your eyes," he whispered. His voice was very low, very quiet, almost hypnotic.

"They're closed," I said.

"C'est bon. I'm there with you, in bed with you, right next to you. Can you feel me there?"

I sighed. "Yes."

"Can you feel my lips brush against yours, softly, tenderly?"

"Yes." I lightly touched a finger to my lips, imagining his lips there in its place.

"I'm kissing you, moving my lips across your cheek, down your throat."

My fingers trailed down the side of my face, down my neck, as his voice sounded in my ear.

"I can taste you, the sweetness of your skin," he whispered. "You are so tantalizing. I want more of you."

I squirmed a bit in my bed. I had no trouble picturing him with me; just having his mesmerizing voice in my head was enough to arouse me. I could feel my nipples hardening and the familiar warmth begin to grow deep in my loins.

"Yes. More," I whispered.

"My lips are moving down, caressing your shoulder, tasting more of you, going down farther, rising along the slope of your beautiful breast. My mouth is covering your hard little nipple. Can you feel my tongue there, stroking you?"

I touched my breast. Even through the flannel the nipple drew up tightly, becoming hard as a little stone. I ran my finger in circles around it, rolling it, envisioning Erik's tongue tormenting it as he had done so many times.

"I feel it." My breathing was already deepening. I was sure he could hear it over the many miles.

"My hands are caressing you, loving you," he whispered into my ear. "Can you feel them?"

My own hand trailed down to my stomach. A delicious chill ran down my spine as I thought of Erik's hands and how they felt as they caressed me.

"Yessss..." I whispered.

I could hear him breathing into the phone. I could only imagine what he was doing on the other end, and the thought of that excited me even more.

Erik continued whispering naughty things to me over the telephone, making me even more aroused, and I answered each one of his naughty utterances with one of my own.

He called me a shameless vixen.

I called him a bad influence.

We grew more and more aroused, more and more excited; our breathing shallower and more erratic, until could hear that Erik was as close to his climax as I was. I wanted us to experience it together, despite the distance between us.

"Oh, Erik, I'm so close..." I whispered into the phone.

"Yes, my darling, let it come," he purred into my ear between gasps. "Let it come."

Just the sound of his voice was enough to send me over the edge. I dropped into the void, crying out Erik's name as I fell. Erik was right behind me; I heard him cry out my name over the phone between great gasps for air.

We both were silent for a long while.

Then Erik chuckled.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"The miracles of modern technology," he said. "I can make love to you even though you're half a world away."

I smiled. "It's almost as good as being there," I said with a laugh. "Almost, but not quite."

"My darling, much as I want to make love to you again and again, I should let you get some sleep," Erik said.

"Yes, I do have to go and save lives in the morning."

"Thank you," he whispered into the phone.

"For what?"

"For giving me something wonderful to think about during that horrid party."

"You'll survive the party, and then you'll be back home in no time."

"Yes, and for that I cannot wait," he growled.

"Good night, Erik," I said.

"Bonne nuit, mon ange."

"Mon what?" I asked.

He laughed. "Mon ange. It means 'my angel'."

"Mmmm. My angel. I like that."

"You should, for that is what you are," he whispered.

"You are too kind, my good sir," I said with a giggle.

"I only speak the truth, my fair maiden. Good night, and pleasant dreams."

And then he was gone.

I hung up the phone and, with a smile on my face, rolled over. Before I drifted off to sleep again, I found myself wondering how many other people had had sex across the Atlantic that night.