Sexting and Jennifer’s Lost Phone…

A while back I mentioned that I have a lot of my most frequent phone contacts listed in my phone with a numbering system. That way they stay at the top of my contact list for easy access. The current set up is:

1 Jennifer

2 Safety

3 Eldest Daughter

4 Youngest Daughter

5 and below are work contacts…

“2 Safety” is actually my own phone number, that way if I somehow miss key a dirty message to Jennifer, I might slip one number down, but not two. All that happens is I text myself a dirty message. It’s texturbation.

Now Jennifer has a very similar numbering system for her phone too. But once in a while I grab her phone when she’s in the shower or something, and quickly change my name in her contacts list to something a little more edgy than merely “1 Athol”. Something like…

Big Daddy

Happy Penis Man

1-800-HUSBAND

1-900-HOTSTUD

It’s Business Time

The Captain

So when I call her, my name pops up on her called ID as “Spanking Tonight” or something else hopefully panty melting using my patented “Goofy and Groping” style of Game. Usually it just cracks her up and sometimes embarrasses her a little if it pops up at an inopportune time. So I usually unleash the first contact while she’s driving to work in the morning. Then I figure she can change the name back in her contact list, or she just wants to be getting calls from “Ride The Thunderbolt” at risky moments.

Then she lost her phone…

Somewhere at a fair she lost her phone with one of my stupid names still on it. Somehow I just know this is going to come around and bite me in the ass. We’re looking all over place for the phone and just not finding it, so eventually I just have to break down and start calling her phone, hoping someone with both a sense of humor and decency will have picked up the phone.

It took six calls before this guy answers Jennifer’s phone.

He sounded very… uncomfortable.

After a short conversation I explained my wife had lost her phone and I was calling it to try and track it down. As fortune had it, he lived about two miles away and I said I’d come over and pick it up. It’s her phone, she lost it, but apparently my stupid name trumps that and I’m now the responsible party. So I drive over there and ring the front door bell. This middle-aged guy comes to the door and before I can say “Hi I’m here for my wife’s phone.” He holds up the phone and with this sour, tired look on his face says to me.

Of course I have to identify myself as Cockzilla because I want the damn phone back.

Now as he hands me the phone like it’s contaminated, around the corner of his living room, comes a woman who I guess was his mother because she looks 75 years old… going on dead. She’s riding one of those little Rambler electric wheelchairs and hooked up to oxygen, with a cigarette in one hand. There’s like two inches of ash hanging off the end of this cigarette as well. She’s the Queen of the land of Emphysema. Then with this horrible raspy voice she says…