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“MmmmmHmmmm. . . Yeah. . . That’s right. Yesssss.”
These are the words I heard Lo saying as I walked in the door for lunch. I turned the corner and entered the living room where I saw Lo at her makeshift home office desk in front of the open window that looks out onto the street from our apartment. She was business on top, naked on bottom. Her legs were spread. She had a small oscillating personal fan on the floor under her desk blowing on her bare mons Veneris. She held her phone with her left hand and was stroking her air-cooled puss with her right. There was a small puddle on the hard wood floor beneath her task chair.
She looked over her shoulder at me and interrupted her self-pleasure just long enough to communicate to me in primitive sign language that the computer screen in front of her, on her desk, was on for a Zoom call with work. She covered up the speaker of her phone and whispered, “It’s on mute.”
“You sure about that?” I asked.
She gave me the finger before going back to finger herself.
“MmmmmHmmmm. Yeah, I’m here. Yeah. Tell me again what you are doing.”
I walked away from the sight and left her to her own coping strategy for remote work.
I was on a mission: Lunch.