He only calls me when he’s called every other woman in Ohio, including his mother and sisters and none of them seem to want to talk to him, or they are too busy, or he just gets their voice-mails on their mobiles and at their homes and he has already called Moviefone and the Weather network and he has dialed a few people accidentally hoping any woman would answer the phone and talk to him for a while even if she was forty, or fifty or seventy, as long as she sounded good enough to make his dick hard and dial tone after dial tone he hunts down a voice and he has even called a few of the 900 lines to talk to men who sound like women and listens to them breathe and laugh and he feels so much taller and wittier but he hangs up on them before they ask for his credit card because he has no money for that in his account and nothing is working right now and he needs a release and he is lonely and he has a girlfriend and a wife but he never wants to talk to either of them because they get on his nerves and they always want something and their voices grate on his mind and nothing is ever enough and he just wants someone to make him feel good for once without having to do anything to get it and he is so stressed out and desperate when he remembers that he has one other number that he hasn’t tried, that he hasn’t called in months, or years  because we really have nothing to talk about, nothing in common, we don’t live in the same state or do the same work  or like the same foods or movies or music and we aren’t really friends but we had sex twice in the late nineties and if it finally boils down to it he hits me up.

We talk for hours.

I feel like Mother Teresa.

He feels like God.