Phonesex

The ex had given good service and I did feel slightly guilty about dumping her but it was time to move on. In her glory days there had been something ineffably satisfying about her touch. Her smoothness. The way she’d nuzzle against my ear and purr gently. I knew instinctively how to press her buttons.

But she’d lost her shine quickly. Begun to look dated, dull and slow. Times had changed. I had changed. But she just couldn’t keep up. We spoke about a facelift – we shouldn’t have; it only got her hopes up. The truth was, down at the fundamental level, she could no longer give me what I needed. It wasn’t her; it was me. I had moved on. My aspirations had changed. I wanted more than she could give.

Initially work sorted me out with a little something on the side. A model that they’d pay for. One of the perks of the job. She wouldn’t ever really be mine but I could use her during work hours. For “work” business. And I have. I’ve used her good and proper. I have availed myself of every one of her amazing services. She’s sleek and fast. And she’s slim – God; she’s so slim – and she warms herself so lightly in my hand when I hold her.

But this new mistress only highlighted even more how much my old girl wasn’t up to it. How far she’d fallen from the top of her game. But I kept hold of her. For old time’s sake. For home stuff; for personal stuff. We were still officially “an item”.

But it couldn’t last. We couldn’t go on. It got to the point where a parting of the ways was inevitable. The new model was shaming her into dysfunctionality. She’d breakdown on me when I needed her the most. Throw moodies. Dirty protests. Her little face that used to light up at my merest touch now refused to acknowledge me altogether.

With my new mistress practically living in my pocket I just couldn’t justify going all out for a top of the range full-on replacement. I’m not made of money and two high maintenance babes would be beyond my meagre means.

So I went for the cheap option. A Nokia 2330. Only £30. Calls and text. Internet as well but the display is £30’s worth of cheap and nasty. The phone’s clunky. I took the memory, the SIM card, the very soul of my old lady and stuck her into the body of this new one. It felt like bad voodoo. She awoke to find herself in a body that was new but somehow not as good as the original one she’d had in her prime.

It was the ultimate betrayal.

My new mistress laughed cruelly into the vastness of her onboard MP3 memory and I knew – felt for the first time – that I’d truly done my old girl wrong.

How could I have been so callous? So uncaring? Didn’t over 100 numbers stored on her old battered SIM card speak of a relationship that was worth saving?

So I’m looking at the £30 body. The bland shell that houses the life of my beloved. And I’m thinking if I can transplant her soul once I can do it again. Make a deal with the devil or with God or whoever and transplant her into a body that will allow her to run, to skip and to pole-dance for me once again. Just like the good old days. In short, why not flog the “old” new body on eBay and then supplement this remuneration with a little more dosh and insert my sweetheart into the mobile phone equivalent of a Bugatti? The new Nokia 5230 for instance? I mean just look at the body on it...

My fingers are tingling just at the thought of those keys... that smooth purple back. The option to slip an SD card in and out of her whenever I feel like it. And best of all a touch screen that I can caress and manipulate! That I can finger gently. This could be a new honeymoon period for us both. A reaffirmation of our vows. My girl will be young and firm again. Eager and responsive to my touch...

And as for my mistress... well... She fits snugly into my back pocket. There’s no need for her to see anything. No need for her to know.

I won’t tell her if you don’t.

Although... thinking about it... maybe they’d be up for a little call sharing? Conference calls...? A little blu-tooth connectivity?

Ooh!

Excuse me, folks, I have to go. My mobile phones are ringing.