The stalks were already taller than both of them when the last of the daylight dropped. Mya tugged his sleeve and pulled him off the main path, laughing under her breath as the corn closed in around them. “Keep your voice down,” she whispered into the phone, even though no one else was close enough to hear. “This is corn maze phone sex the way I like it — half lost, half daring, and nobody else knows where we went.”

She described the ground under their feet, soft and uneven, the way the leaves brushed her bare arms and the thin sweater she’d thrown on over nothing much. Every few steps she stopped and made him listen. “Hear that? Just wind and us.” Then she told him to keep walking while she talked, guiding him deeper so the lights from the entrance disappeared. The further they went the quieter it got, and the more her voice dropped into that low, teasing register she uses when she’s deciding how far she wants to push.

She had him slow down and turn so his back was against the denser wall of stalks. Then she stepped in close and started describing exactly what she was doing with her free hand — sliding it under the hem of her sweater, between her legs, while she kept talking like they were still just wandering. “Stay still. If you move the corn will rustle and someone might come looking.” The risk stayed in the story the whole time. She kept reminding him how narrow the path was, how easy it would be for another couple to round the corner and catch them. Public play energy without ever leaving the maze.

The longer they stayed the filthier she got. She talked about dropping to her knees right there in the dirt and leaves, about pulling his zipper down while the corn towered over them, about making him stay quiet even when he wanted to make noise. Every so often she paused and made him describe what he could see and hear, then rewarded him by telling him what she was doing to herself in the dark. Exhibitionist tension, outdoor sex risk, no limits on how graphic she got once they were deep enough that the only sound was the two of them.

By the time she finally let the scene peak they were both breathing harder, still half-hidden between the rows. She stayed on the line while they caught their breath, laughing softly and telling him they should probably find their way back before the staff started sweeping the maze. Then she added, almost casually, that if he wanted the real version of this he could call her again and she’d take him somewhere even quieter next time.

Mya loves this kind of call. Sweet on the surface, then suddenly you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be and she’s the one deciding how long you stay there. Visit me at thesincenter.com/mya if you want to get lost with me after dark.