Sex Line by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

It was when I lived with this one in the city
who worked for a sex line
catering to horn dogs in the Hartford area
and she would bring her friend home from work
and they would laugh about some of the things
they heard each night manning the phones
you wouldn’t believe what those girls say,
she would tell me later,
the men are bad enough but these dirty girls
are worse.
Many of them were underage and used code
to not get kicked off the line.
Her friend met a guy on one of those sex lines
and they started hanging out in her bedroom all day.
No sex, just calling in sick to work
and playing video games, very strange.
Do you think he will murder her?,
the one I lived with asked.
I don’t know, maybe.
She said she met him twice and he seemed
like the type.
The type of what?, I asked.
The type who dismembers girls and stuffs them
in garbage bags.
I told her that was highly unlikely.
That any man who calls up a sex line
and demands a woman like ordering a pizza
does not have the patience or energy it would take to break down bodies.
This seemed to make her feel better
as she saw me off to work
before going to bed.

Ryan Quinn Flanagan
Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a happily unmarried proud father of none. His work can be found both in print and online in such joints as Your One Phone Call, Horror Sleaze Trash, and Dead Snakes. He has an affinity for dragonflies, discount tequila, and all things sarcastic.

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