Wrong Number....The Ending

Note...I have had a really difficult time finishing this story and I'm not at all sure why. Perhaps the surprise of seeing the name of a man I have not thought of for years? I don't know. But here goes.

The next few weeks were busy for both of us. Bobby had taken a part-time job as an intern in a brokerage firm, and between nursing school, part-time work in a nonprofit organization and waitressing part time, my own time was very limited. Eventually, we arranged times to talk, jokingly calling them 'dates.' It was during one of our dates that the subject of my panties returned.
"What color panties are you wearing?"
I smugly answered that I was wearing black, silky french-cut panties. You can imagine my surprise at what came next. I could hear him breathing and was anticipating a compliment on my underwear choice.
"I really prefer my girl to wear white cotton. Bikini-style."
I laughed. "You're kidding, right."
"No, Jxxxxx. I'm not. Do you own any white cotton panties?"
"Bobby, I haven't worn white cotton panties since I was a child."
The conversation continued as normal, but I was left with a feeling that I had disappointed him.
I purchased several pairs of white cotton panties the next day and wore them for each of our subsequent 'dates.' I always made sure to tell him that I was wearing them. For him.
"Do you ever touch yourself and think of me?"
I blushed as I responded, "Yes, Bobby..."
"Do it now, Jxxxx. Touch your pretty little pussy...tell me how you feel. Touch it through those pretty white panties."
From that point forward, I touched, orgasmed (or not), according to Bobby's instructions.
At times, I felt closer to Bobby than I ever had to anyone. I could share all my dirty little secrets with him and felt he was doing the same. He became very important to me and very involved in my life - often giving advice about work, family, etc. He paid a great deal of attention to what I liked, what I did not like, often reminding me of things I had said to him previously. "Remember the night you...." And often making me blush.Stuffed animals appeared on my doorstep, notes under the windshield wipers on my car, cards in my mailbox.
I don't know why it never occured to me that I hadn't given him my address, but it didn't. It felt good...and I went with it.
About six months after the day he called me (the wrong number), my father passed away and Bobby actually signed the guest book at the viewing. He did not introduce himself to me and I still had no idea what he looked like, but he was there for me and made sure I knew it.
Shortly after my father's death, a well-dressed, handsome man in his mid-thirties came into the restaurant while I was working and requested my table. As I was taking his order, the man looked intently into my eyes. I felt my eyes lower and couldn't seem to look up. Finally, after I had repeated his order, he said "Jxxx. I'm Bobby." And so it began again.
Bobby and I spent every Friday evening together over the next few months, often dancing in a club I loved (one that didnt card cute underage girls!). It was at this club that our relationship ended. Bobby had introduced me to a friend of his earlier in the night and then the two of us went to dance. We were still on the dance floor, bodies close...my arms around his neck...his around my waist...swaying to the music..."Danny...I'm taking off now."
"Danny?"Yes, Danny. A 39-year old, married, father of two, who owned the brokerage firm for which he was "interning." Danny. Apparently that scholarship application was received by his wife - the chair of the scholarship committee.
He thought my eyes showed "energy and innocence."