Page 6 of Can I Tell You Something?
“I’ll be right back,” I say, bolting to take the stairs to my room two at a time.
This can’t be happening.
It can’t be possible that my brother is home for Christmas, and of all the people he’d bring with him, he’s brought the man I’ve spent over a year fantasising about.
Audio erotica voice actorMac’n’Pleaseis in my house.
Maybe he has a twin. A doppelgänger. Maybe I’m hallucinating. It’s the wine and cheese.
I grab my phone and pull up his Instagram stories to see if he’s posted anything since I last checked. Sure enough, there he is. A selfie on the plane, in the same black Vans hoodie as the one he’s wearing downstairs in my living room.‘The mountains are calling and I must go’written over the top in his preferred aesthetic font.
He’s actually here.
For winter break. Which is two weeks long. I am doomed.
Within a month of finding his Reddit account, I’d listened to everything he’d posted, and I’ve been refreshing his page daily ever since.
Like a schoolgirl with a crush, I soon found his Instagram, where he posts pictures of food, dogs he meets, sunsets, and clues about his next recordings that I never get bored of trying to solve. From there it was an easy slide to subscribing to his website, where he posts exclusive audios, his direct to listener series, and tasteful photos that aren’t naked enough for my liking. But his Instagram stories are my favourite place he shows up online.
Sometimes he livestreams from his bed first thing in the morning. I’ll be heading home from class, and I can watch along, imagining his words are only for me, wishing I was there in his warm sheets, my face pressed to his chest. I just know he smells so good.
Sometimes he doesn’t post all weekend and I wonder if there’s a girlfriend, someone keeping him busy, but I don’t let myself think about it for too long because in my head, Mac is mine.
I know I’m ridiculous. I know I’m being presented with a persona, but there is something so comforting about his content, about listening to him describe the way he wants to touch me, his listeners.
Don’t judge me. After a long day at work there’s nothing better than a self administered O and falling asleep basking in the afterglow with a man who’ll never leave you, hurt you, or do you wrong. Why would you bother with a real man when you could have an audio one talk you through pretty much any fantasy scenario you can think of?
Want to get frisky with your co-worker in the copy room? He has an audio for that.
Always fancied a friends-to-lovers hook-up on a pile of coats at a party? He has an audio for that too.
Got a fantasy about one last hate-fuck with your toxic ex? Well no, not personally, but when Mac plays the role, then yes, I most certainly do.
The closest thing I can compare it to is someone ringing me for top tier phone sex, calling me a good girl, and then shushing me to sleep. It’s practically a meditation exercise at this point.
I’m not deluded, except I am a little bit deluded because I want him so much. Not just for his words, but his brain, too. The way he laughs, his little jokes. He’s a smart guy, curious about the world and people, with ajoie de vivreI am personally lacking.
I’ve spent countless hours zoning out and daydreaming about him. I listen to his Spotify playlists, for fuck’s sake. I wonder what it would be like to go to a party that he also attends. Would we make eyes at each other across the room? Find ourselves on adjacent seats in a quiet spot in a garden?
Never in a million years did I imagine I’d actually meet the man. Mere hours ago I was listening to the sound of him moaning in my ear as he played the part of a hot DILF next door who’d popped round to fix my shower and drag me underneath the water with him.
“Hannah, dinner’s ready,” Dad calls up the stairs. I tug my hair loose, fluff it in the mirror, change into actual clothes, then scramble through my make-up bag for a touch of mascara.
Everyone is seated at the dinner table when I make it downstairs. It’s a huge rustic piece that’s been in the chalet for as long as I can remember, surrounded by locally made wooden chairs with traditional alpine hearts carved into the backs. It seats ten, but with only five of us here, Dad has set the places at one end, giving Cameron the prized spot at the head of the table, on my left.
“So tell us about you Cameron, what do you do?” Dad asks once we’ve all loaded our plates with steaming piles of carbonara.
“I’m a sound tech at the same studio as Ryan, and I do some voice acting on the side.” I nearly choke on my water.
“Wow,” Mum says, clearly impressed. “What sort of shows do you work on?”
“Right now I’m working on a Netflix adaptation, but I don’t think I can say any more than that.” He holds his hands up and shakes his head.
“And would we have heard your voice on anything?”
Mac, sorry,Cameron,shifts uncomfortably in his chair and clears his throat. I stare into the middle of the table, certain my cheeks have turned into two bright red cartoon circles. Surely he’s not about to admit to what he doesto my parents.
“I’m not sure about that. A couple of commercials, nothing special.”
