making strange men come
At one point in my play Phone Whore, I spin out the list of things that I like about doing phone sex, and I admit that I like making random strange men come. “I really do enjoy the power,” I say with a wry smile that I never have to fake in a performance, because it is totally true.
I have always really, really enjoyed the power of making people come. This pre-dates my involvement in paid phone sex by decades. It’s definitely not only phone sex, either. I get the thrill in video-chat encounters and face-to-face fucking, too. But yesterday I think I isolated the thing that gets me going, and it is in the voice, whatever else may be going on.
I suppose this is another thing that makes phone work a particularly good match for me: I love to make people audibly lose it. It’s not an ego-stroke thing for me. It’s not even a pleasure-giving mission, although I’m always glad to help and I’m happy when people feel good. It’s… Wait. Let me start over.
Yesterday I made someone come. I got to watch, but mostly I was listening. His breath quickened, harsh and uneven, and his voice trembled as he approached release, went higher, and higher still as he lost his verbal abilities, gasped and stuttered, and then simply cried out, pleading for me to say the words that would let him go. Because it was for me to say.
(This is also true in paid phone sex too, but that is mostly a function of my being the one to watch the clock and pace the encounter. With this person, that is our arrangement. He comes when I say.)
And so I said it. Come for me. Come for me now. And he did, in a flurry of inchoate sound that pierced me right between my lungs, a sharp joy that left me breathless, that brought tears to my eyes as I listened to the rapture of his pure, unselfconscious core. Afterward, while he was catching his breath, I tried to explain. Maybe I was explaining as much to myself as to him. “I’m not religious or spiritual or woo-woo, really I’m not,” I said, wiping my eyes with a little bit of embarrassment, “but I think that is my way of worship.” I don’t know what I’m worshiping, exactly, but I know, if I’m lucky, I get to worship every day.
So yeah, I do like to make strange men come. Sometimes it’s a new guy, or maybe it’s a favorite regular. Maybe it’s someone I know well, or someone I just met and want to be closer. Doesn’t matter, and now I know why: Even though the personal connections are different, and the moans and groans are different… it’s all one core. I get to hear it, I get to see it. It is my privilege and honor and, yes, power to add fuel to that sacred fire. If I listen carefully, the path is clear, and at the end of it all, for just a few pure moments, the sounds of their wordless frenzied bliss will rush in to fill my heart.
Hallelujah.