Flatmating

Saturday morning. I woke gradually, grateful that I could linger under the covers without the urgent cry of the alarm clock calling me to action. My husband, Sam, would not be back for another couple of days so I was not even being importuned to get up and make a cup of tea. Of course, the bed felt very empty without him, but I can't complain. His willingness to take on long distance haulage on a fairly regular basis has paid well over the last few years. Between that and my job in the school office we can afford a nice home, holidays abroad and other luxuries. We are comfortable and we are secure.

At last I pushed back the covers, got up and walked through to the bathroom for my shower. I've got used to walking around the house naked in the morning, while the curtains are still drawn, since my son, Steven, moved out about a year ago. Still, there is a part of me that listens for him moving and still I sometimes expect to hear him. I got into the shower and relaxed as the warm water tumbled on my shoulder length, brown hair and ran in soft rivulets down my skin; enjoyed the familiar routine of soaping my body and smoothly stroking it with my hands, running them through my hair as the water rinsed me down.

After towelling myself down I returned to our bedroom. Standing in front of the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door, I looked myself over. When I turned forty I decided I ought to at least try to keep in some kind of trim. For the last three years I have been reasonably successful. My stomach isn't, perhaps, as flat as it was twenty years ago, but I have kept the weight off pretty well. My breasts are still full and firmer than I expected them to be by this age and have dark brown aureoles. My hips look a little broader than they did and my thighs show some cellulite, but my skin, on the whole, is still smooth and a pleasingly tan colour that sets off my dark brown eyes. My arse.... well let's just say that sometimes I'm glad it's where I can't see it.

Sam used to compliment me on my arse, I thought as I swayed slightly, watching my movements in the mirror and smiling coquettishly at my reflection. Every night, it seemed in those days, he would wrap his arms around me and cup my breasts, pressing his bulge against my bottom. I would feel him harden in the warmth of my cleft and his hand would move to my groin. It happens so rarely these days - problem with him travelling so much. Among other thing.

On a whim I lay down on our bed, my legs spread. One hand on my left tit, pinching my nipple, the other stroking my stomach softly, moaning softly I closed my eyes and conjured my current favourite fantasy involving a certain young PE teacher and the stationery cupboard at work. Imagining him kneeling in front of me, raising my skirt and pulling down my knickers, my hand strayed South to my crotch to massage my pubic mound, slipping a finger between my now-moistening folds as I pictured him bringing his tongue to bear on my mature married pussy.

My finger moving inside me now, I watched his thick, hard cock and my fingers wrapping around it, stroking it and running my thumb over its engorged crown as I listened to his short gasps. My breathing coming faster and waves of pleasure flowing from my pussy, I repositioned myself in my imagination, bending over the storage racks full of paper, pens and notebooks and with my legs astride as he stood behind me, gave my arse a playful slap and teased the head of his generous manhood along and between my lips before finding my opening and entering me. My hand moved faster and more urgently, running my fingertip over that specially sensitive place inside as the heel of my palm ground against my clitoris...faster...faster. In my mind his taut young arse was dimpling as he thrust deep inside me over and over....faster....faster. Sensations becoming more and more intense...my legs starting to tremble... biting my lip as I came closer to the edge.

Then my phone rang. "Fuck!"

I considered leaving it unanswered but a glance at the screen told me that it was Steven calling and my maternal worry circuits kicked in. Taking a few seconds to collect myself and to allow my breathing to return to normal I clicked the button to accept the call and said, "Hello, Darling. I thought you were in Croatia. This calls going to cost you a fortune.

"I'll be quick," he replied. "I need your help. Could you do something for me?" Steven has been able to wrap me around his little finger since he could barely talk, but he's smart enough to know that asking for a favour works better when I hear his voice, rather than sending a text.

"What kind of favour?" I asked.

"I forgot to give Zac my share of the rent before I came away and it's due on Monday and there's no way I can get it to him from here. Could you pay him and I'll pay you back when I get home.

"No problem," I said. "Text me Zac's number and how much you owe him. And have a great time tonight. Bye love!" A few moments later my phone pinged and displayed a text showing Zac's phone number and '£250 x'. I had only met Zac once - a well-mannered young black guy was about all I recalled of the meeting. He had been Steven's flat mate for only a couple of months. Steven's previous flatmate, Colin, had moved out to live with his fiancée for the weeks before their wedding. It was Colin's stag party that had taken Steven and a few other mates to Croatia for the weekend.

I got up and crossed to the chest of drawers from which I plucked the first bra and pair of knickers that came to hand: both black silk. Call it foolish vanity in a woman of my age if you like, but I like a bra that pushes my breasts upward and together to produce a decent cleavage. And who doesn't like silk on their sensitive bits? Taking a quick peek through the curtains I decided that it looked like it would be a warm Summer day, so I selected a loose, low-cut scarlet dress of light cotton and left the tights in the drawer.

Once I had dressed I phoned Zac. It took a fair number of rings before he answered. 'Hi. Zac. Who's this?" he asked, his voice suggesting that he had just woken up.

"Hello. This is Kelly Field - Steven's Mum" I replied.

"Oh. Hi".

"Steven says the rent is due on Monday and he wants be to bring his share round," I reported briefly.

"Yeah. Sure. Give me an hour" Zac answered dopil.

He rang off and I went to my shoe cupboard. I have way too many shoes - most of which I never wear. I picked out a pair of black slingback high heels that I hadn't worn for years but which I thought would be cool and airy if the day turned out to be as hot as it promised. Putting them on, I picked up my phone again and called for a taxi to take me into the town centre. Then, sitting at the dressing table, I put on my make-up. At my age I don't venture out of the house without at least foundation, eye-shadow, blusher, mascara and lipstick. Fortunately years of practice mean that it takes just a few minutes and, by the time I heard the taxi driver sounding his horn outside, I was ready. I grabbed my handbag and headed out.

The taxi dropped me near the bank and I drew the required sum from the ATM before stuffing it into my purse. The day was even warmer even than I had expected and I found myself in a really good mood, as bubbly and carefree as I like to fancy I was in my teenage years. Even the pinching of my shoes couldn't spoil the day. Thinking I had twenty minutes or so to spare I popped into the department store across the street from the bank and tried on a couple of perfumes. One, a deep musky scent with overtones of pinewood, was one I particularly like and I decided that Sam was going to surprise me with it for my birthday.

I got in a taxi at the rank at the back of the shopping centre out to Steven's flat, which is in a slightly grubby area. All red and yellow brick with a patina of Victorian and pre-smog soot that had never been scoured away because this was a part of the city where tourists and wealthy homeseekers never came. I walked up the three-step path from the gate to the front door and pressed the button for Flat 3A on the buzzer system. Then I waited. And I waited a little longer. I pressed the button again. And I waited. At last I heard Zac's voice, "Yeah? This is Flat 3A. Who is it?

"Zac?" I replied. "It's Mrs Field. I called earlier.

There was an almost inaudible "Shit!", then I heard the sound of the door lock opening and he said, "Come on up." I opened the door and went inside. My shoes becoming a little sore now, I climbed the four flights of stairs in the dingy greyness of the the stairwell until I came to a landing with two doors marked '3A' and '3B' . I knocked at the door of Steven's flat and waited. After a few moments I heard the sound of movement inside and of the Yale lock turning.

"Sorry," Zac said as he opened the door. "I got... distracted, then I kind of nodded off and went back to sleep," he said as he ran his hand over his closely cropped black hair. "Come in." He opened the door wide and I stepped into the flat. It's a fairly typical of the area - a couple of bedrooms, an open kitchen/lounge area and a bathroom. It's also fairly typical of flats occupied by young men: there were unwashed plates on the table and that low pungent odour of sweat and pizza.

"Sit down, I'll make you some tea." Zac said as he closed the door and gestured toward a coffee table and a settee. As I sat and watched him as he went to the kitchen area to put the kettle on I realised just how deeply black his skin was. The highlights shone almost blue instead of dark brown on his high cheekbones and forehead. He was wearing what he had evidently had to hand when I had rung the doorbell - a black t-shirt and loose grey sweat pants. The t-shirt was tight over his well-formed chest and muscular upper arms. Clearly he spent some time working the weights in the gym. What caught my eye, though, lay below his waist. Clearly he was wearing nothing beneath his pants because, every so often, the material would fold in such a way as to delineate a fair representation of what lay beneath and, from what I could see, it was pretty impressive.

Feeling my cheeks flushing a little I lurched into small-talk. "So, am I right in thinking that you didn't know Steven before you moved in here.

"No," he replied as the kettle came to the boil and Zac poured boiling water onto teabags in two mugs. "It was a friend of Colin who knew that I was looking for a place. He told me Colin was moving out and put me in touch. Milk and sugar.

"Just milk," I replied. He added a little to one of the mugs and as he walked over to the table carrying the tea I tried desperately not to keep my eyes from the way his bulge moved in his pants and failed. "Thank you," I said as he put the tea on the table in front of me and sat in a chair opposite me. I fancied that he was looking at my cleavage as he placed it down, admonishing myself, You're projecting - pull yourself together.

So we chatted for a while as we drank our tea. Zac talked about how he had trained as a joiner in London but hadn't been able to afford a place there and so had moved here; how he had stayed in digs and slept on friends' sofas until this flat had become available and about how he had got a job with a local building firm. I talked about my job at the school and about Sam driving across Europe; about the house seeming empty with both of them away. As we chatted my eyes kept drifting to his eyes, his shoulders and, yes, his crotch. Stop it Kelly, I'd find myself thinking, you're a married woman and you're old enough to be his Mum. But then again, there's no harm in looking.

When we had finished our tea Zac got up and, picking up the mugs, took them and put them beside the sink, then he returned and sat next to me on the settee. "So, you have some rent money for me?" he said, laying his arm along the back of the sofa.

"Yes," I said in a voice that I hoped did not betray the way my body was responding to his proximity. "Two hundred and fifty pounds, yes?" I lifted my handbag onto my knees, took the cash from my purse and handed it to him.

"He didn't need to send you round with this," Zac said as he took it from me, his eyes holding mine. "The landlord's pretty decent and I'd have paid my half". Then he smiled a warm smile and added, "But I'm glad he did. I've enjoyed your company. It must be so hard for your husband to get in that cab and leave you behind.

"He doesn't always show it," I said with a sigh as I got up to leave.

"Oh! Hang on!" Zac shot to his feet. "There's a couple of things I've found about the flat. I'm not sure if they're Steve's or Colin's. Can you give me a steer? Some of them are a bit...personal.

"Sure," I answered curiously. "What are they?"

"I've got them in my bedroom," he said, leading my to his bedroom door. "Don't worry, " he added with a laugh, "you're perfectly safe.

"Pity," I replied with a flirtatious giggle before entering his room.

"Give me a minute!" He hurried off. "There's something else." I looked around the room. It was a typical young man's room - socks on the floor, a mug on the bedside table, the wardrobe doors wide open. Zac and Steven were alike in that, I thought. On the bedside table Zac's laptop stood open and he had been browsing pictures. Idly I walked over to it and sat on the bed next to it.

I literally felt my eyes widening and my pulse accelerating as I looked at the images Zac had been browsing. The search field read "mature woman young guy" and they featured women of about my age having sex with young men and clearly having a whale of a time. One image had been enlarged and featured a woman of about forty, her head thrown back, her skin glistening and her mouth framing a perfect 'O' as she rode a young man of about twenty.I heard Zac returning and quickly turned away from the screen. 

"Sorry, couldn't find it," he said as he came back into his bedroom.

"No problem," I replied as I got hurriedly to my feet. "AH

"What is it?"

"Cramp!" I said. Those damned shoes! "I've got cramp in my foot," I yelped as I fell back onto his bed, the arch of my right foot spasming and curling it into a horseshoes. 

Zac chuckled. "Turn over and lie flat," he said. "I used to get that all the time and my Mum used to sort me out.

I turned face down on his bed and I felt him take my shoes off and heard the thumps as they landed on the floor. Then I felt his strong thumbs rubbing firmly but evenly and slowly along the arches of my feet. "The trick is symmetry," he said, his voice deep and husky. "It's about bringing them into alignment". I didn't really care about the theory and alignments. It felt good. I felt the strain easing out of my muscles as he massaged them to be replaced by a tingle and a warm glow. A soft sigh must have told him that his hands were working wonders.

"The problem often comes from the Achilles tendon and strain in the calves," he continued, his voice low and relaxing as I felt his hands glide up the back of my legs as far as the knee. His fingers worked my muscles, relaxed them and sent warm sensations up my legs to meet and mingle in my groin. Yes, I knew I shouldn't be letting him do this. Yes, I knew that I shouldn't be just lying there and enjoying this young black man's hands stimulate me like this. I couldn't deny, though, that they were stimulating me, that there were knots of excitement in my stomach and that my heart was beating faster as his hands approached the backs of my knees. I knew they marked a line and I found myself wondering what I would do if he crossed it.

I did nothing. Nothing other than let out as small gasp and open my legs a little as he began to stroke my thighs; the backs of them only at first, but then, softly the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs. At last, I found my voice, but all I could find to say was, "I...I...saw what you had on your computer.

"Uh-huh?" he said as his hands began to nudge the soft, light material of my skirt further and further up my thighs, revealing more and more of my leg.

Moaning softly I asked, "Do you...like...older women?"

"Mature women," he answered, his voice rich and deep. As his hands caressed my thighs and came ever closer to my arse and my crotch he kept speaking: "What's not to like? With a mature woman there's none of that angst you get with girls. You know your needs, you know your body, you know men's bodies and you know what you want. That's a real turn-on." By now he had completely uncovered my silk-sheathed arse and he added, "You appreciate being appreciated and you, Mrs. Field, have a wonderful bottom." With that he ran his hands over my too-ample buttocks and sent tremors of almost girlish excitement straight through to my crotch.

Abruptly he got off the bed and stood beside it. "Let's see if you can stand on that foot now," he said, offering me a hand. Sitting up I took it and stood up.

"Seems fine," I said. He put his arms around my waist and pulled me closely to him. I turned my face upward without a moment's thought of my husband or my son and opened my lips as his met mine. Our tongues rolled over each other and fenced with each other as I clung to his strong, muscular torso, stroking his back and his arms, slipping my hands beneath his t-shirt to find the soft sensitive skin of his flanks. At the same time his hands drifted South and cupped my buttocks, pulling my crotch hard against his and I felt his bulge against my lower body, creating a small cavern in the loose flesh of my abdomen. And I wanted him. I felt it like a small glowing furnace in my groin. I wanted him.

So my hands started sliding his t-shirt skyward, stroking his warm skin and rediscovering skills they hadn't used for way too long; seductive and sensuous skills that get forgotten when sex becomes unsurprising. At the same time I felt the shoulder straps of my dress being pushed off with a firmness and a gentleness I hadn't felt since I was a college girl embracing her first romance. My dress was gliding down my body and it fell in a heap on the floor around my ankles. 

Kicking it off I slipped my hands under Zac's jogging pants and cupped the solid muscle of his arse as my wrists eased their waistband over his hips. Down over his firm thighs I pushed them until he kicked them down and off. I unhooked my bra and shucked it off because, from years of experience, I know that men can't do bras. I sat back on the bed and looked at his cock, now firm and erect, black and ridged with blood vessels. It wasn't huge - thank God! - but a good hand and a half and with a thickness that said 'heft' - the kind I've fantasised about when I've been alone in my bed and my fingers have drifted between my thighs.

"You like it?" Zac asked. By way of acknowledgement I wrapped my fingers around the base of his shaft and guided the tip toward my mouth. I had never been with a black guy before and was fascinated that the crown, as I drew back his foreskin, was the same dark chocolatey colour as the rest of him. I rolled my tongue around its now fully engorged head eliciting a gasp and a soft moan from the fit young man in front of me. Reaching round his slim hips I clutched his firm buttocks as I took his cock into my mouth and sucked on it.

I felt his strong hands stroking my hair and I took him a little deeper, his arse dimpling as his hips began to move in rhythm with the movements of my mouth on his throbbing member. There was a part of my brain that knew that this was wrong, that I was married and that the man whose hard veiny shaft was sliding back and forth between my lips was about as young as my son. That part of my brain, though was bypassed by the aching need in my groin that grew as Zac's gasps told me that I was making him feel really good.

After a few minutes he pulled away and pushed me back onto the bed. I swivelled so that my legs were on the bed an I parted them, offering myself to him. He gestured to my knickers and made a 'gimme' gesture. Without a moment's hesitation I hooked my thumbs into their waistband, wantonly lifted my arse and pulled them under, then down my legs and off. I tossed them to Zac and, smiling, he caressed his cheek with them and said "Mmmm...nice and warm".

Then he was on top of me. His hard young cock was pressed against my belly as his lips met mine and our tongues danced together. His firm hands were caressing my skin and my arms were around his well-toned muscular body, pulling him to me, gripping his strong arms. His mouth moved to my neck, then down to my breasts, nibbling my now rock-hard nipples and sending shockwaves of pleasure lancing to my groin.

Slowly, slowly, agonisingly and deliciously slowly he kissed his way down the loose flesh of my belly, his hands drifting down my flanks to my hips, anticipation building, heightening, swelling; my breath getting faster along with the pounding in my chest until, at last, his tongue insinuated itself between my pussy lips and I let out a sudden gasp. God, I must have been so wet! Rolling over my clit before driving down to the entrance to my pussy over and over and over again he was making me feel like a teenager again, experimenting, learning how different guys treat you and seek out what makes you feel good. More than that, though, his tongue was driving me closer, closer with every lap or tease or roll, closer to an orgasm that promised to be a proper explosion. I was rolling and panting on this young man's bed.

Then he stopped

He sat up on his haunches, his hard gorgeous black cock standing proud and priapic from his groin. "So, Mrs Field", he said, stroking that sensitive parts in my hip cage. "What do you want?"

"I want you inside me," I replied, my eyes on his cock.

"You can say it simpler than that," he said with a grin.

I held his eyes with mine and stroked his firm abdomen and said, aiming for 'huskily', "Fuck me".

He guided the swollen head of his rigid shaft up and down the cleft between my pussy lips for what seemed like an age, wringing sensations of pleasure and need from a part of me that had felt too neglected for too long; singing to me of the nights when I was young and sometimes went back with the guy I'd been dancing with after a party. And then, with a gasp-inducing gentle but insistent thrust, he was inside me. I thrust my legs wide apart, my toes already curling, and let him take me; fill me; fuck me.

I remember biting my lip, as if this was my first time, as he began to move inside me. I cupped his arse with my hands, feeling it dimpling and flexing as he drove himself into me then relaxing as he retreated; as every movement jangled nerves in my already stimulated pussy. He started so slowly, so tenderly and so teasingly slowly, eliciting gasps from me responding to to the signals I was sending as I raked his back with my nails: "Harder!"

His pace picked up and he started pounding his thick young cock deeper and deeper into me. Shit, it was good. With every thrust he stretched me a little more inside - not so it hurt, but that it filled me; filled me like surgeon's hand fills his glove. It's been a long time since that happened. Dimly I was aware that I was panting, yelling out, yelling out my need for him to bring me to where I hadn't been for way too long. Surges of pleasure were welling up from my clit as the base of his cock ground against it and I was dimly aware that I was yelling out my need for release and keening out the pleasure that was rolling out of my groin.

And then I was there. Fuck, I came so hard. I have no idea what I was yelling, what I was begging for. I just know that it felt so damned good; it felt good in a way I haven't felt since - well, way too long.

Then he pulled out of me. For a moment I was confused. Had he seen to many porn films involving older women like me? Was he going to cum on my face or my tits? My mind was whirling. How did I feel about that? It had been a very long time since I had had to process and deal with questions like that.

As it was, though, his strong, dark hands planted themselves on the crests of my hips and guided me onto my stomach then, coaxingly, lifted them so that I was on all fours. "You want more?" he asked casually. Right then I wasn't sure. I was still quivering and my pussy was so sensitive. He was stroking the head of his cock up and down, past my entrance and teasing my now so sensitive clit, eliciting jolts of insane pleasure or, at least, sensations I hadn't experienced for a very, very long time. "YES!"

Then he was inside me again. His thick, hard shaft was ploughing me. God! That was when I remembered what it was to be fucked by a young, strong man who just wanted me; who wanted to have fun with me without all the reservations that come with with relationships. The fun that comes with the primal need for sex. Almost immediately I collapsed onto the bed. Maybe, at first it was my arms that gave way, but my legs went slowly after. Soon I was a juddering , shaking, gibbering body floundering as he ground my clit against the sheets of his bed and as his cock thundered into my pussy. Oh God how I was loving it! I was loving the sheer, uncomplicated thrills of pleasure. I was loving the scent that had gathered in the air of sweat and sex and need. I was shrieking and laughing and filled with sheer incandescent joy.

When he came he collapsed on my trembling body, roaring into my left ear as with thrust....thrust....thrust he propelled himself all the way to my cervix and I felt the heart-warming warmth of his young, vital seed coursing into my quivering, married pussy summoning sensations I hadn't felt since Steven was conceived. We lay there gasping and he tumbled off me to my right. His strong arm wrapped itself over me and cupped my left breast and I snuggled into him, my ass to his softening cock.

I think I nodded off. Whatever, it seemed a moment later I felt him hard between my buttocks and so warm curved around my back. I rolled over and pushed him over onto his back. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and said, "You want something, Mrs Field?"

"I think you can call me Kelly now" I said as I wrapped my fingers around his shaft and threw myself over his slim young hips, rising up over them and guiding the head of night-black head of his cock to my still-wet entrance. "You fucked me, so fair's fair". With that I impaled myself on him, my still-tingling channel singing as it stretched around him, my ample arse planting itself on his thighs. I shuddered with lust and delight as slowly I started to ride him.

Slowly, deliciously at first, guiding his hands to my breasts, gasping as his fingers tightened around my nipples I rose and fell on his shaft. He chuckled and started thrusting upward to match my movements as sweat beaded on his chest. I stroked them away and ran my hands over his firm young abdomen and laughed with sheer unbridled joy as we fucked the way I remember fucking after parties and nights out when I found myself in strange flats and strange beds all those years ago.

Then faster, grinding forward and back, guiding his hand again, this time between us to find my aching clit. His strong finger curled upward and over it and teased it, cajoled it, fell aside and ground it between its neighbour. My arse was grinding back and forth faster and faster, more and more urgently as thrills and sweet sensations soared from my groin, up my spine and began to shine behind my eyes. Oh My God, I thought, I am going to cum so hard.

"Kelly!" He gasped, his fit trembling young body bucking under me, "I'm gonna cum". He was tossing from side to side. And I threw myself harder onto his thrusting cock, sensations swelling and growing and swirling and surging from my groin to my abdomen to my chest to my brain and I howled out my orgasm as felt him swelling inside me and pumping yet more semen into my undulating spasming pussy.

Panting I fell off him and laughed lustfully "Oh my God!" I gasped, panting on the bed beside him. He was breathing heavily next to me, his sweat covered chest rising and falling, a sheen of refracted light on his black skin. "Oh Shit, Kelly. That was amazing," he said and smiled a broad white-toothed smile.

"I'd better go" I said at last. "I have stuff I need to do at home. Can I use your shower before I go?"

"No," he said, and laughed. "It runs a bit hot at first." I got up from his sweat-soaked bed and staggered to the shower. As I stood under its jets of hot water I started to feel twinges of guilt. I started to think about Sam and about our marriage and about how I'd just bedded my son's flatmate. It was wrong - so wrong - but the tremors that reverberated in my groin and in my stomach still thrilled me as the water cascaded over my body.

I came back to Zac's bedroom. He was still lying there on his bed, his dark young body standing out proud from the white sheets. I looked around the room. "I can't find my knickers" I said, my face flushing.

"You gave them to me," Zac said. "They're mine now. Feel free to take a replacement pair". He pointed to the top drawer of the dresser and I opened it. I took out a pair of grey boxer shorts and put them on. "These?" I asked and we both laughed. I got dressed as Zac phoned for a taxi. A few minutes later Zac's door buzzer rang. "Taxi for Mrs Kelly".

"Look," Zac said, taking my arm as I walked toward the door. "After Steve comes back, if your husband's away and if you want...if you want.. you know... give me a call." Then his door was open, the taxi driver was outside and I was following him down the stairs to his cab. All the way home I felt the cab driver's eyes on me in the rear view mirror. Did he know what had gone on in that flat, that bedroom, between me and that young man? Was that a smirk I could see in the rear view mirror? Could he see the hem of Zac's boxer shorts under my short skirt? Could he smell - No! I'd showered, right?

So that was a week ago. Since then Sam's been been back. We slept together in our bed. He's rolled over a couple of times and said he's tired. So have I. And I've got to wondering if he has - you know - women at the places he drops off his loads. Of course he does. Maybe he doesn't. I don't know! All I know is that a few minutes ago I retrieved Zac's boxers from their hiding place under the mattress and held them, pensively, in my hand. Now my phone is in my hand and there's a deep brown voice replying, "Hi, this is Zac. Who's calling?"

"Hi. This is Kelly. You know what you said...?"