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CALL OF THE DAY: some holes are not as easy to fill

This guy’s calls are a bit tricky, and only last week did I figure out why.

In terms of content, it’s smooth sailing, right out of the playbook, if there were one, but there isn’t, but sometimes there might as well be. With him I’m a dominant “she-male”—I have never yet been asked to be any other kind, in nearly 7 years on the phones—and he wants to taste everything that comes out of my body, all of it. Yes, even that. There are other details, and OF COURSE the obligatory pounding with my nine-inch fully functional cock, but it’s all pretty textbook material, rarely with any plot or through-line. Standard Tab A, Slots B and C.

But he wants the slots and tabs for a half-hour at a time, which is a long time to talk about the hydraulics of it, and even though there is nothing particular in his calls for me to hang onto, no additional characters or notable happenings or special birthday sex to turn our sessions into memorable sex soap opera, he expects me to recall details from two or three sessions ago as well as he does.

In other words, it’s a half-hour of unimaginative, if vigorous, sex that has WAY more charge for him than one might expect from mechanical fucking. But even so, I was not expecting what happened during our most recent call.

We chatted a bit at the beginning, e.g. “what are you wearing,” where he likes to hear some realistic outfit, and “what have you been up to,” where I am listening for any potential grist for his mill. We both confessed that we were recovering from illness, but I said, hey, erections are important, and he laughed. Especially mine, I added, and he laughed until he started coughing.

We got through the normal “ass, cock, balls, cock, ass, ass, COCK COCK COCK” sequence, and still had four or five minutes left in that half-hour package, when he said, “Hey, I wanted to ask you for one more thing, as part of the fantasy.”

I was a little taken aback, I mean, normally guys just don’t have it in them for a second round. Sure, I said, what is it?

“Can you tell me that you love me?”

- Just like that?

“Yeah, I’d just like to hear it.”

-[pause] I love you.

In real time, that pause felt like it went on forever, as my mind clicked over and I remembered other clients to whom I have said, I love you. I was trying to figure out why this time it felt so different.

“I love you” really doesn’t make it out of my mouth much at all during paid phone sex, except when the customer is saying it to me during the throes of orgasm, and clearly would like to hear the same from me during the throes of my “orgasm,” OR when it’s Bilingual Papi and there really is a blooming little relationship there of sorts, so it doesn’t feel wrong or unethical to say it, in either language. In both cases, “I love you” is part of the sex act, either the foreplay or the climax. It’s just words, I think to myself, for when they want to get tender in the middle of filth.

But with this guy, well… he asked for the words outside of a sexual context. He had already come. He wasn't saying it to me; he wanted me to say it to him. His request for an expression of love was a stand-alone thing, but something he perhaps needed as urgently as my dick, maybe more urgently, or else why did he hold onto it for so long? Why was he so embarrassed when he asked for me to say it? Why was I so initially hesitant to say it to him?

After I said “I love you” to the caller, I asked him, gently, if something was wrong. “Oh, I’ve just been so busy lately, and I’m recovering from the flu, and I just needed to be told that,” he said. “I miss having someone to say that to me.”

Ah, I said. That’s important, too.

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