“And that, ladies, is why you should always tell your man where exactly you want him to bury his tongue. That’s what I call ‘quality time.’ Am I right?”

I was just getting my dinner ready and missed the opening segment of Derrick’s show, but now, as he gives advice to a woman who wrote in about her partner’s oral skills, I have to set my fork down before I drop it on the floor. The deep intensity in his voice sends a shiver through my body even as he talks to the whole state. It feels like he’s talking just to me.

Setting the bowl of pasta down, I hold my breath, not sure if I’m listening to Languages of Love so I can get to know Derrick’s heart a bit better, or BDSM to get to know his sexual leanings better. I’ve never been into hardcore BDSM, but the way Derrick speaks . . . maybe a little spanking wouldn’t be too bad at all.

Of course, there’s always a degree of fakeness for the airwaves. Derrick’s careful. He’s not going to divulge too much personal information, but he always manages to weave enough of himself into the advice he gives that you can’t help but get to know him. So I keep listening, mixing in the little tidbits he tosses the listeners with the information he’s shared only with me . . . and liking what I’m finding more and more.

“Okay, here’s an email from Lexus,” Derrick says. “Now, I’d like everyone’s opinion on this one. It says, Dear Love Whisperer, I’ve been with my boyfriend for three years now, and I’ve got a problem. You see, I only really feel like he loves me or gives me attention when he buys me things. For the first two and half years of our relationship, he bought me diamonds, pearls, even a new car for my birthday. Recently, though, he lost his job and he’s tried to make up for it with what he calls ‘little things’ like cooking me breakfast in bed or drawing me pictures, but it doesn’t feel the same. What should I do?”

“I have no idea what she should do,” Susannah says, “but if I were Lexus’ boyfriend, I’d be thinking it’s time to trade her in and see if there’s a better ride that doesn’t cost so much.”

“Hold on,” Derrick says, barely holding back his laughter.

I snort, thinking Susannah’s right. But the special guest tonight butts in. “I disagree,” she says in a haughty voice. “It’s obvious that L has felt a lack of dialogue with her partner as their situation has changed, and she must take the initiative to make sure both of their needs are being met on a level they agree on—"

Derrick interrupts, his tell-it-like-it-is self not wanting to wait his turn. “Let me put it to Miss L straight. I get that some people feel loved with gifts, surprises that let you know your partner was thinking of you and wanted to give you something to make your day a little brighter. But hell, honey, it sounds like you’re venturing into gold digger territory here. It seems like you don’t want a boyfriend. That’s a relationship of partners, of equal give and take across all areas of your life. That’s what it sounds like your boyfriend’s tried to do. I’m curious how many late bills he’s accumulated to buy you those diamonds and pearls. Unless he happens to play second base for the Red Sox, I would think quite a few.”

“Now, hold on—” the guest says, but Derrick is on a roll and wants to finish.

“Sorry, just one second. L, what you want is a sugar daddy, someone who will just take care of you and spoil you. And just so it’s clear, there’s nothing wrong with that. Just recognize what you really want and set out for that. Find someone who gets his joy from buying you things.”

It’s surprisingly good advice for a listener who sounded rather unlikeable from the whiny tone of her email. Maybe they were a little harsh, but with an email like that, it’s hard not to get a little snappy.

With that, the show goes into a song break, the recognizable beats of Iggy Azalea’s “Fancy” blasting out of my speakers. Feeling light and happy, I dance around my apartment a little bit, the song infectious and making me laugh at how decidedly not fancy I am.

I’m mid-twerk, dropping it down at the start of the second verse when my phone dings on the table, signaling a text message. I’m surprised to see it’s from Derrick.

U listening? Just had a doozy.

Always listening, I text back, smiling. U kno I’m ur #1 fan. Btw, can you buy me a Benz, Daddy?

Stop it. I’m on air. Can’t laugh yet. Suz is still pissed at me.

Then y r u texting me?

Song break. Was thinking of you.

I smile, the simple idea of him thinking of me while he’s supposed to be focused and attentive at work somehow making me feel good.

He’s all I think about too, playing and replaying the phone conversations and texts over in my mind. I bite my lip, knowing I shouldn’t do what I’m considering. This is going to take things to a whole new level, but it’s not too serious.

U want something to really think about?

There’s a bit of a delay, and in the back of my mind, I hear the song change over from “Fancy” to “Yeah!” by Usher. Nice transition.

Song says it all.

Fuck it, if a man is willing to send me messages through the radio, I’m doing this. I slip into the kitchen where there’s better light and pull my V-neck tee down, revealing the deep line of my cleavage and the pretty floral bra I selected this morning because I was feeling extra sassy.

I snap a pic from above, being smart while doing something totally crazy and making sure nothing else is in the shot. No face, no room, nothing identifiable. Ensuring it’s flattering and anonymous, I click Send, along with the note, think about these.

I’ve never done this before, but he makes me feel so wanted even though I’ve never met him face-to-face. And something about the whole thing with Kevin makes me feel like taking this risk, like it’s a common cultural phenomenon I’ve somehow never participated in and am maybe missing out on. This is a fuck you to Kevin, an invitation to Derrick, and a shout from my spirit that I am the head bitch in charge of my destiny. Seems like a lot to ask from one spontaneous shot of my breasts, but I have to admit, they do look great from this angle.

The response comes back so quickly that I know he’s watching his phone like a hawk. Holy shit, KK. So fucking hot. Look at that, they’re begging me to taste them and mark them as my own. Bad girl, gonna make it hard for me to focus on the next segment because all my blood is rushing to my cock.

I smile, glad that it worked. This is a big step for me. And a big step in whatever this is I’m doing with Derrick. Phone calls and texts are not the same as real-life pics, and I’m well aware how quickly a simple pic can send things into a tailspin.

But I’m not cheating like Kevin was, and I’m not trying to get more out of Derrick. I’m just having a bit of fun. I’m single, he’s single, and it’s all good.

Right?

Give me a call later. Maybe you can see . . . more.