Clapham Calling
"Radio DJ Precious spins late-night lovers' rock from her Clapham studio—but when caller Jake shares his loneliness, she invites him off-air for a connection beyond the airwaves."
"This is Precious on Love Frequency, keeping yuh company through the lonely hours..."
Jake called every night. Same time. Same voice. Lonely, sweet, devoted to her show.
"Play Dennis Brown for me?"
"Anything fi mi favorite caller."
Tonight, she did something different. "Stay on the line after the song, Jake."
Off-air, her voice dropped its radio polish.
"Why yuh always alone, Jake?"
"I could ask you the same."
"Mi working. What's yuh excuse?"
"I'd rather listen to you than anyone else."
Silence. Then: "Come to the station. I'm here till 4 AM."
The station was small, intimate. She was even better in person—thick and radiant, headphones around her neck, smile that her voice had promised.
"Yuh even cuter than yuh sound," she said.
"You're everything I imagined. And more."
"Yuh want to see the booth?"
The booth was soundproofed. Very soundproofed.
She kissed him while the music played itself, that thick body pressing him against the mixing board.
"I been wanting to meet yuh for months," she breathed.
"Same. God, same."
"Then let's make up for lost time."
They made up for it thoroughly. The on-air light stayed off while they broadcast their own signals—her moans, his gasps, the sweet music of bodies finally meeting.
"Yes! Jake! Right there!"
No one heard except them. Which made it perfect.
Now Jake's a regular at the station. Off-air companion. On-air caller with a knowing tone.
"Play something sweet for your lover," he requests.
"Anything fi yuh, baby," she replies, and thousands of listeners hear love in her voice.
They don't know why.
But Jake does.
Clapham's frequency.
Tuned to love.