[Fiction] Call for a Blow Job

Read the winning entry for our week of May 25 contest, A Truth Between Strangers

Call for a Blow Job
by

Prachi Lohia

She finds the number scrawled in the back of a stall in the girls’ toilets. Scribbled underneath are the words: call for a blow job. So odd, she thinks. For one thing, its written in the girls’ bathroom who typically wouldn’t be the ideal market for this service. For another, she has only ever found boys capable of this behaviour—sharing names, numbers, photos without consent, offering girls up as a sport for other boys to play. Is it possible that a girl wrote this? There is an ocean of desire within her—she yearns to be touched, to touch. Often, she imagines a face pressed into her chest, her own face between amorphous legs, her tongue tracing skin, licking, biting, tasting. The audacity of her body, she thinks, of harbouring so much desire and being so undesirable. Late at night, she dials the number. She hears it ring, the staccato rhythm of her unsteady heart. Hello, a voice answers, I have been waiting for you to call. Her stomach, the Grand Canyon. Do you know who I am? Do you? The voice is a girl’s, brazen. She falters. This was a mistake, she thinks, but she knew it was before she dialled the number. No one has ever called before, the voice goes on, you are the first one. Well, offers for blow jobs don’t usually lure girls in. Didn’t stop you, though? A hint of amusement in her voice, like a skateboard in the air. I just wanted to know it wasn’t a hoax. Would you have liked it to be? She deliberates for a moment. No, she says, I am glad you are real. A pleased kind of laughter. Likewise, the voice in her ear has transformed—a cool breeze to a sugar syrup. I could never have done what you did, she says. She is surprising herself by talking so much. I am shocked that I am even calling you. Why did you, the voice asks, I have a feeling it wasn’t purely investigative. Her skin jumps with a desire she is afraid to name. Because I could never have done what you did, she repeats. Why did you do it? A quiet hum. I thought the only people who would call wouldn’t be looking to cash in on my offer. It is an offer without being an offer. Besides, I would only ever give blow jobs to girls. A laugh erupts out of her, unbidden. Her skin is dancing in anticipation, her body rejoicing in its invisibility. Tell me, she says. She is hearing her own voice for the first time. Show me how that would work.

A Note From Our Guest Judge,

Tommy Dean

This story started with something unusual that revealed the pain and the yearning of this character immediately, and I couldn't stop reading! I had to find out where calling this phone number would take her! Here's a character we can root for in her loneliness, but also in her willingness to take a risk!

About Prachi Lohia

Prachi Lohia

is a researcher in the field of human rights. She loves reading and hoarding books, adores all animals except rats, and enjoys a good gin and tonic. She is based out of Bangalore, India and writes at Prachi’s Substack.

This piece was written in response to the prompt A Truth Between Strangers.