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the opposite of phone sex

After months and months of talking with strange men about everything that gets them off, I have taken four weeks off with one of my partners to visit his homeland, a small-ish but crowded South Asian country where 89 percent of the population is Muslim, so incidentally I am not talking to any strange men at all about anything, let alone what kind of things they want to have stuck in their ass or stick in mine.

I am doing the opposite of phone sex.

It feels like a slight ache in the back left quadrant of my brain, as if I have undergone a delicate lobotomy and temporarily extracted the actual physical portion of my brain that normally handles the phone sex, and now the rest of my brain--including the tender bit that negotiates slightly fraught domestic life with sub-optimal skills in the local language and also the part that maintains the psychological defenses while I'm out in a car drawing stares from the rickshaw drivers and their passengers--is pressing down on that empty space and closing in.

I'm pushing back, of course; wouldn't be a PSO if I didn't have creative ways to keep the sleaze simmering. For example, I still have that sex-psychic vision overlay that puts little boxes of sex info over the heads of everyone I look at. It seems to function pretty well cross-culturally. I may not know the language well, and fetishes vary, but the basic impulses are still there, so that's a kick in the salwar kameez to play with. (Does anyone else play this game in their head, or is it just me?)

My Internet connection is working pretty well, so I still get to read status updates from my facebook friends, talking about pasties and piercings and burlesque shows in Germany and cabaret evenings in NYC and kink workshops in Arizona, and that helps me keep the flame alive. Sometimes I'll even lie around in our bedroom after bathing without any clothes on, and let the cool air from the ceiling fan brush past my (currently) unmentionable bits.

I'm not getting paid for it right now, but it's nice to know that I can keep that dirty space open and charged in my brain.

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