I felt just like the Michael J. Fox character on “Family Ties” when I was recruited right out of my Midwestern law school to work at a prestigious New York City legal firm. My salary was healthy enough to enable me to lease a one-bedroom, rent-stabilized apartment on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, which I filled with the usual yuppie accoutrements — leather sofa, state-of-the-art stereo and video system, track lighting and, of course, cellular phones.

Still, despite company soirees and business lunches and occasional visits to singles bars, I wasn’t having much luck in the romance department, and after three months in the Big Apple, I was desperate for female companionship. Then, amazingly, a guardian angel erntered my life.

It was after eleven o’clock one Thursday night, and I had just finished up some paperwork I’d brought home from the office. I was in my underwear on my water bed, a beer at my side and the television remote control in my hand, when the telephone rang. Normally, at that time of night, I let my answering machine pick up any calls, figuring that if it’s important, I can catch it before they’re disconnected. But this time I almost automatically reached for the receiver.

Instead of the usual phone salutation, I was greeted by a sultry contralto voice purring, “Are you alone?” Thinking some old hometown friend was playing a practical joke, I kind of grumbled, “Of course.”

“So am I,” whoever-she-was mewled. “I’m all alone in my high-rise overlooking the East River, lonely, hot and horny. I’d love for you to come along on a little mind trip with me. Just follow my instructions, use your imagination and we’ll both have a great time.”

Her moist voice in my ear, coupled with my longtime lack of female companionship, convinced me to go along for the ride, wherever it might lead. I grunted my assent.

“I’m wearing a red merry-widow corset,” the voice continued. “It pushes my breasts way up high and hugs the curves of my waist like a race car on hair pin turns. At the bottom are black lace garters, which hold up black, seamed silk stockings. The stockings caress my long, lean legs, all the way down to black patent-leather spike heels. When I move my legs, I can feel the silkiness of my midnight-blue satin sheets rub against me.”

By now I’d figured out that this was no joke. I was searching for something to say when my mystery wench informed me that she wasn’t wearing panties.

“My cunt is covered with dark, dense, curly hair, and, in the candle-light of my bedroom, I can just make out glistening drops of wetness in the forest of my bush. I’m getting all nice and squishy down there just thinking of you on the other end of the line. In my mind I see you wearing tight, white jockey shorts, and perhaps your cock is swelling beneath them. I hope so.

Pull your shorts down — no, not all the way, just to below your balls. Can you feel the tightness of the material bunched up there? Let your dick lie free on your belly, slowly stiffening. And don’t touch yourself .”

Breathing hard, I did as directed. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Images of my mystery caller flashed through my mind as I tried to picture what she looked like. Partial to brunettes, I decided she had shoulder-length dark brown hair and, of course, a perfect figure.

“I’ve unlaced the tight strings that tie me into my merry widow. My breasts are free now and lolling on my chest. I’m squeezing them together, pressing them, hard, into each other. My nipples are dark brown and quite large. I’m rolling them between the thumb and forefinger of each hand. Hmm, they’re getting nice and hard. How about you? Is your dick getting hard?”

“Yes, it is,” I breathed into the phone.

“Now I hope you’re not touching yourself. If you are, stop right now.”

To be honest, I was stroking myself at this point. But who could disobey that scintillating voice? I took my hand from my cock and contented myself with stroking my thighs.

“I’m going to turn over on my back now,” my telephone temptress continued. “Ii I lean on my elbows, I can still hold the phone to one ear as I support myself on my other arm. I’m sticking my butt high in the air. With my free hand I’m caressing my bottom. I want you to turn over, take off your shorts and squeeze your ass-cheecks too. I like to press my long, red-lacquered nails into the fleshy part of my behind. If you were here, you’d be able to see the light pink indentations my dragon-lady nails make on the white flesh. My index finger is the only one without a long nail. I’ll bet you can guess why.

“Now, baby, I want you to stick your index finger in your mouth, as far back as it can go. Get it wet, suck on it. That’s right. Give me a minute to give my finger the same treatment.”

I had an idea where this was going, and I gladly complied. With my finger in my mouth, I listened to the soft, sensuous sucking sounds emanating from the telephone receiver.

My sexual savior cooed in my ear, “I’m ready, sweetie — are you? My finger’s hot and wet; my ass is wiggling in the air. Do this with me. Rub your asshole with the pad of your finger. Circle it, tickle it. Oh, can you stand it? My ass is begging for penetration — isn’t yours? Ease your finger in now. Doesn’t that feel good?”

“Yes, it feels good,” I admitted in a raspy, lust-charged voice. “Very good.”

“Are you ready for more? I am. Push that finger in and out. Go ahead. Can you keep up with me? I’m pumping it in now. Oh, it feels so good. Pump it. Come on, baby. God, that’s great!” There was a brief pause, and then: “All right, now pull your finger out, and let’s both turn over.”

Maybe I’d been without loving for a little too long, but this seemed like the best sex I’d ever experienced. And I was alone!

“I can barely keep still,” my telephone lover groaned in my ear. “I’m wriggling all over my bed, I’m so horny for you. My juices are flowing so fast, I’ve made a little damp spot on the blue satin sheets. Are you as hot as I am?”

“God, yes,” I said, aching to touch my raging hard-on.

“You may begin stroking your cock, but slowly! If you were here, lover, poised to enter me, I’d shove my hand between us and finger myself while you plunged inside me. But I guess I’ll just have to content myself with you moaning in my ear and my own two dependable hands. I’ve got my index finger rimming my cunt. My hole is so wet and hungry that it practically sucks my finger in. But one finger certainly can’t equal your masterful manhood, so I’ll slip another one in. Now I’m inserting my ring finger, and now my pinkie. Do you believe it, lover? I’ve got all four fingers way up inside me!”

The deliciously lewd mental picture of my beautiful mystery caller masturbating had me this close to coming.

“I’m starting to pump my hand in and out of my cunt, so I guess you can jerk yourself off faster now. Try and match my rhythm. Come on, in and out, in and out. My ass is bucking right up off the bed, I’m pumping so hard. Are you ready? Will you come with me?”

I couldn’t speak, intent as I was on pumping my cock while taking in her sultry commands. I could hear her panting, and I could hear the little slapping sounds her body was making on her satin-covered bed. After we moaned together for a minute or two, I let fly a torrent of semen, my come shooting straight up in a milky arc before splattering on my stomach and crotch. Through the receiver, I heard a high-pitched scream, and then I heard the receiver drop to the bed, followed by a muffled thud that I assumed was her body hitting the sheets. It took both of us a few seconds to recover.

“Hello, hello — are you still there, lover?” she inquired. I managed to whisper a reply. “Good,” she said, because now I want you to taste yourself for me. In return, I’ll taste my own love juices for you. I’m sticking my finger way up into my cunt one last time, to make sure it’s all sticky with come. I want you to scoop up a nice, big fingerful of your come. Now, don’t be bashful, lover. I want to hear you slurp up all that come right off your finger. Mmm, I know you taste so good, and I want you to listen to me while I lap the love juice off my fingers, the love juice you coaxed out of me with your hot and heavy loving.”

After a few minutes of sleepy slurping noises, the moment I’d been fearing since eleven o’clock came. “I’ve got to sign off now, lover-boy. You’ve been so good, so hot, I just know I’ll fall asleep dreaming of you and your amazing lovemaking.” In vain, I tried to get her number, but she demurred. “Oh, I’ve got your number, honey, don’t you worry. Sweet dreams.” And then the phone went dead.

Although I waited for weeks, my telephone lover never called back. I missed her pretty desperately for a while, but even being celibate wasn’t so bad anymore, since I had the memory of her fantastic phone call to jerk off to. And a few weeks ago, at a legal conference, I met a beautiful assistant D.A. with a sultry, contralto voice. Could it be?

Maybe some night I’ll work up the nerve to surprise her with a phone call just before Arsenio goes on.