"a smart, complex, sex-positive one-woman show, with a sadness that is buoyed by Moore's darkly brilliant humour and ability to see the humanity in everyone."
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"... beautifully and insightfully written, precisely directed and exquisitely, unflinchingly acted. ... Cameryn’s play is the kind of show you’d expect to see off-Broadway or in London’s pub theatres as is her performance and we’re getting to see it here in the little Artpoint Gallery space."
"She appears nervous at first, stammering out apologies to the audience in between frantic phone calls to see when her fellow performers are going to arrive, but it’s clear that Moore’s in full control the whole time, playing on our sympathies for the person who’s laying her heart so bare to a room full of strangers. She’s also got perfect comedic timing and a knack for casually dropping hilarious one-liners."
"Cameryn Moore bares all. She enters the stage with breasts flying and body exposed, and by the end she reveals a pound of absolute humanity in a visceral and honest performance.
nerdfucker starts of as comedy but naturally evolves into a dramatic character dissection that will leave you in comedic stitches and guttural feelings."
In the last six months or so he’s become something of a regular, much to my dismay, because he’s got a thing for ass-to-vadge—in addition to his foot fetish and trigger phrase of “hairy cunt” and his sly, whiny voice—and something about all of this together has always made me feel a little icky.
People have asked me why this bothers me and not, say, the incest stuff. Because, yeah, I’ve handled much more graphic content, subjectively speaking. I think I’m dealing with two different things here:
- a caller’s fantasy is less likely to bother me the closer it is to some of my I do age-play, remember? and
- it’s more likely to irritate me, the closer it is to something problematic that I regularly see depicted out in the world, either in porn or what people actually do in sex. Hence ass-to-vadge, or insisting on “she-males” passing, etc.
And then there's how the caller presents himself. This guy is not even mean, he’s just insistent, which yes, is something I see out in sex tips. Lately I am being particularly set off by his insistence that I orgasm two or three times in a 10-minute call.
There are logistical reasons for my reluctance to do so. For the past six months I have been billeting in other people’s houses, with walls of unknown thicknesses separating my room from the neighbours’ flats; one orgasm can be excused as a thing, but three in rapid succession is stretching credibility. I’ve also been on tour, which means I have to take care of my voice, and fake orgasms are even harder on the vocal cords than real ones!
I can tell some of my guys that I can’t be loud; oddly enough, Extreme Top has been very good during the times when I am either protecting my voice or taking calls in a place where I can’t be loud. He accepts my quiet whimpers and manages to get off just fine.
But this “hairy cunt” mommyfucker is one of a cadre of callers who demand only the “best” and the loudest from me, and they won’t come without me coming, and if I accidentally or casually give them a second orgasm in the middle of a call, then they demand that from me ever after, until they get jaded on that and want a third one, etc.
It’s too much now. This is the sign of me burning out, I realized: when I can’t be bothered to act turned on, and faking an orgasm annoys me, and in the middle of my anger, I want to freak out and tell them The Truth, like “your stripper hates you” kind of truths.
In that moment, I give myself teeth marks on my hand from biting down hard enough to keep myself from screaming BUT "HAIRY CUNT" IS THE GROSSEST PHRASE EVER AND YOUR WHINY SLY VOICE DISGUSTS ME AND THE WAY YOU TALK ABOUT PUTTING YOUR DICK FROM MY ASS TO MY HAIRY CUNT MAKES ME THINK THAT YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT SEX HYGIENE AND ALSO THAT MAYBE YOU ARE TRYING TO DEGRADE ME BECAUSE YOU THINK THAT HAIRY CUNTS ARE NATURALLY GROSS AND SO WHAT'S A LITTLE BIT OF GERMY ASS JUICE IN A GROSS HAIRY CUNT FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FINE I'LL COME A SECOND TIME FOR YOU FINE I'LL BEG YOU TO FUCK MY HAIRY CUNT FUCK YOU…
In that moment, I realize that I will never get that relief that I crave so much from telling off all of my annoying customers. I will never be able to give anyone a loud sex-ed take on whatever physical act they just described. I will never be able to sit down and ask a caller, so seriously, you know stealing underwear is some shady shit, you may need to think about a contingency plan if your girlfriend ever figures out what you’re up to.
I will never be able to turn on Extreme Top in the middle of one of his more baroque concoctions and say, YOU STUPID, UNIMAGINATIVE, WANNA-BE DOM, I AM QUITE SURE THAT I COULD ACTUALLY KICK YOUR ASS, AND BY THE WAY, THERE IS NOTHING YOU TELL ME THAT ISN’T ALREADY ON FETLIFE SOMEWHERE, JEEZUS CHRIST, STOP ACTING LIKE YOU PERSONALLY DISCOVERED SCAT, INCEST, AND BUCKETS OF BABY EELS.
I can’t say any of this stuff to my clients; I can’t do a grand “fuck-you” screed at the end of my time on the lines. That would hurt my company, and I don’t want to hurt my company. They’ve been good to me. So… I have to keep going with the fake orgasms, and the only real satisfaction I will have is the only satisfaction I have ever had: blog posts and Facebook status updates. It’s not enough, but I guess it has to be.
Become a patron of mine on Patreon and be part of the financial life raft that will keep me afloat and creating while I transition out of phone sex work. Oh, and DON'T WORRY: I have plenty of other sexy and/or fascinating shit to cover.
I’ve been a full-time broke-ass artist for nearly 10 years, and yet somehow I never put it together in one sentence: poor people aren’t supposed to enjoy anything. We’re either arting and starving, or we’re scrambling through three part-time jobs and not arting. If you are not suffering, if you have time for anything else, you are not trying hard enough, either at being an artist or at not being poor. You should not have the time or the resources to be doing something that you love.
I catch a bit of this blowback any time I have to argue with someone over the phone about, say, why I can’t pay back my student loans in the amounts that they want, or why my taxes are so damn weird. The people on the other end ask, like it’s the natural question, why I’m not making hand-over-fist money if I’m touring. Surely touring artists must be rich, right? And if I’m not, then I need to get a different job. I need to give up. Poor people shouldn’t be trying to do this stuff; we shouldn’t be trying to do anything other than struggling and striving for more money. Talent and vision and desires and joy are not for the likes of us.
I shouldn't be out here doing this, I said to UK Muse, when I realized--within the last week, why did it take me so long to realize this?--how very much my desires clashed with my economic footing. Who do I think I am? I shouldn't be performing. I shouldn't be traveling. I shouldn't have met you. Clearly we shouldn't be together, I said to him, otherwise it wouldn't cost so damn much to get residency there.
UK Muse is also poor, and his committing to bringing me to the UK is going to cost. "I should have married a nice English girl," he agreed quietly, "and be doing DIY improvements around the flat on the weekends." But he has other dreams, bigger dreams than what he was born into, dreams of succeeding in his own solo-preneurial work, and now making the minimum income to buy my residency requirements and then take a vacation to an ocean-front cottage in Wales, because we both want some time away. What do people call that? A vacation. Holidays, in the UK. They call them holidays, I think.
Anyway, as poor people, we are not entitled to holidays, we are not allowed to do that, to take time for what will basically be a honeymoon. Poor people don’t take honeymoons or holidays. They maybe go sit in the park on a blanket and eat sandwiches they made at home and think about when the next bill is not going to be paid.
I have nothing against sandwiches in the park. But I want more than that. In spite of it all, I want to tour and create, and I want that goddamned vacation to that cottage in Wales.
Under the current rules of the game, we aren’t supposed to have room for holidays or working on one’s art and not starving. It’s unseemly, it’s debauched, it’s inappropriate, they say. Suffer for your art, or give it up and slog away in the trenches of capitalism. You are of the suffering class. You do not get to choose anything else.
I say fuck that noise. Monkey-wrench that machine. This is the original “life hack”: when you are jumping off the grid in pursuit of Someone or Something You Want/Need, well outside the bounds of what you are expected to do in your life. This is not finding a new use for an empty 2-litre bottle; this is not learning the fastest way to fold a fucking tee shirt. This is actually hacking your life, tenaciously shaping it into something that this world never meant it to be, something that perhaps the world is actively taking steps to keep you from doing.
The great part is, it’s the poor people who life hack the best. We have lifetimes of making do, and jerry-rigging, and scraping together, and pushing through. Putting all of that in service of creating, or going to the person you love, or both? That’s easy. I will totally hack the fuck out of that.
Something that helps me hack through this creative jungle is Patreon. Your small per-piece financial pledge becomes part of something larger, which enables me to keep making the good stuff. If you read my stuff and like it, consider becoming a patron!
Advice from a Phone Whore (a semi-occasional series): “Does my dream man have a case of death grip?”
So, I'm this picky millennial type who goes on a million dates but ends up going home alone because for me to like a guy, he has to be smart/cute/ambitious/local/liberal/friendly/clever and I'm beginning to suspect that there may be none of those within a half-hour radius of me.
Except for Nuri (not his real name), a dude I started seeing about two weeks ago. Ooh, he's cute. He's got these high cheekbones and that jet-black hair and that compact little body with a great kissing mouth just a few centimeters above mine when we're standing up. And he's smart! Medical background, job in finance, knows his politics, ambitious as fuck. He buys drinks for me and my friends and tells me I'm gorgeous.
I let myself get pretty damn excited about Nuri, which is why it was so damn disappointing when he couldn't keep a boner. Oh, he could get one, but unless I was jacking it so hard I wondered if it hurt, it'd wilt in my hands like an over-sunned plant. As soon as he inserted, after a few slow, anemic thrusts, we had to give up and lie together, defeated. Over three separate attempts, this happened nine times. Nine condoms (not cheap!) thrown away empty in my kitchen trash can, picked up from the floor the next morning.
I've tried to figure it out. I asked him how he jerks off. Maybe it's iron grip syndrome and he needs to spend the next few weeks/months/years using a fleshlight cuz he's calloused the shit out of his dick. Maybe it's his Muslim upbringing and he's got some weird shame spiral. Maybe he's secretly gay.
My biggest issue is that he's not keen on talking about it. "We'll figure it out together," he said. Not exactly comforting. I don't want my sex to be like a confusing jigsaw puzzle. I can work with bad sex. That's like looking in the engine of the Mercedes and finding a Ford engine. No sex is tougher. No sex is like looking in the engine and finding out it's actually a raccoon. Is there any forward from here? What do I do? Do I give up? This is wearing away my attraction to Nuri and it's all just so fucking disappointing.
Let us set aside the question of what else can a straight couple do sexually besides PIV (penis in vag). You know those things, I’m sure, and that doesn’t seem like the point. The point is, you like being the party dip for the right guy’s tortilla chip, and that is not happening here. The chip keeps crumbling.
Obviously I can’t tell anything about this fellow over the internet; I’m not a doctor, I’m just a fellow cock-lover and a prolific potty-mouth. “Iron grip” is a strong contender for the armchair diagnosis; “death grip” is what Dr. Nerdlove calls it, and it’s a pretty common thing. (The Doc even has some advice right here.) Only your dude can tell you what’s going on, but it sounds like he doesn’t want to go there.
That’s your sticking point, you said, and it sure would be mine, to be honest. Two weeks is pretty early to be having to roll up your sleeves and spend a whole bunch of time rummaging around under that particular hood (to carry on your car metaphor), especially when he is not even stepping up to do the work himself.
It sounds like you’ve got a lot invested in this guy being a really good prospect—Dr. Nerdlove calls it “one-itis,” as in, “he’s The One," and it's usually paired with anxiety about being too picky and/or such a special weird snowflake yourself that you could never possibly find anyone. Let me reassure you: your standards seem pretty, well, standard. Like, there's nothing problematic in that list, but you sound worried about letting him go over something like this, as if these other factors you mentioned are more important than whether or not you are getting the thorough rogering that you crave. Ultimately, whatever he decides to do about getting and keeping hard for a lover will be on him. You are entitled to have sexual things on your checklist, and to prioritize them.
I personally believe that the highest priority in any sexual relationship (that you want to last longer than a desperate hand-job) has to be communication. Sounds like you've already asked, but if he's still around and you really like him, give it one more try. Sit him down and and have that conversation (not in the bedroom), letting him know that you're bringing it up because you really like him AND sexual compatibility and communication are important to you. Maybe he decides to get some sensitivity back and you just do other non-PIV stuff in the meantime (get him to steer your favorite silicone schlong, for example!). Maybe he goes to a doctor, physical, mental, or otherwise.
Again, the actual steps taken aren’t as important as the if and how the two of you can talk about it. If you can’t even bring this up and get some forward action from him, then yeah, you need to think about how much of the emotional labor you are willing to put in, especially this early on in the game.
Got a question about life, relationships, and/or rogering? Send it to me at email@example.com, or on Facebook and I'll take a crack at answering. Change names and super-identifying details, obvs, and let me know your pronouns, please!
OH, and remember to sign up as a patron of mine on Patreon! That support, gained from small pledges from fans, is how I can keep up the writing AND touring AND Smut Slamming AND all of it!
Sometimes sex tips aren’t uniformly bad. Sometimes they aren’t even that bad at all, except for the title, which manages in just a few words to shift one’s whole sexual psyche into a state of confusion and inexplicable angst. The title doesn't match the content, and worse, it casts a terrible shadow over the whole.
So it is with this week’s Terrible Sex Tips: “seven sex positions to make you more uninhibited in bed.”
Did you see that? These positions will make you more uninhibited in bed. As in, do these positions and “poof,” you’re uninhibited!
Of course, no one would argue out loud that that’s what the author meant, but that sure is what it sounds like, and no position or activity can "make you" do anything or be anything other than what you are in that moment. You can look as though you're more uninhibited; that's acting, and I can tell you how that should look. But actually shucking your inhibitions, shifting them out of your body and your head, takes at least a little bit of focus, more than you can get in a half-hour of sweaty, semi-verbal shagging. I do happen to agree with the writer, that many sexual inhibitions stem from poor body image and/or fear of appearing ridiculous. But you can’t just do some really vulnerable position and flip that switch. Hell, if we’re going to use an electrical apparatus as metaphor, this is not a switch, it’s a slider along the whole goddamn body positive spectrum.
Yes, some people can bulldoze through discomfort, and for some things, “fake it ‘til you make it” is absolutely an awesome approach. I would like to humbly suggest, however, that naked sexing is a fairly advanced arena in which to start dismantling one’s body insecurities. What about the rest of us? How about some truly useful activities that can help edge us along?
- Mirror gaze with self-touch. Start by getting comfortable in front of a mirror. Standing, sitting, reclining… your position is not important as long as you can see most of yourself. Beginning at the top of your head, look at your body in the mirror. Just observe it: the shadows, the dimpling, the hair, the texture of your skin, the coloring, the shape. If you find yourself avoiding one part of your body, or feeling a strong negative reaction to it, just make a mental note of it, say “I’m not comfortable, but I can come back to that”, and move on. As you view your body, trace the path of your own gaze with your hands. Observe what those shadows and dimples feel like, what the skin feels like where it’s rough or smooth, where the muscles lie under the skin, where the weight of flesh falls.
- Fetishize my elbow! Prepare by making a short list of external body parts that feel relatively neutral to you, and writing those down on scraps of paper, which you put into a hat. Sitting across from your lover, take turns drawing items out of the hat, spending a few seconds appreciatively eyeballing that part of your lover’s body, and then lustfully describing that part or touching it, if they’re okay with it. Maybe it is what you can do with it or to it, maybe you focus on the visual aspect, or the tactile component, or all of it. Get super specific and stay positive. In fact, go ahead and get absurdly lavish in your praise! The person receiving this adoration of their elbow or whatever just needs to sit back and murmur “you know you want it” at regular and appropriate intervals.
- O FACE! This is something for you and your partner(s) in the heat of the moment, when you’re about ready to come. (Do discuss beforehand!) Instead of what you normally do when you orgasm (sounds or faces), do something entirely different, something COMPLETELY wacko like, oh, I don’t know, bleat like a goat when you come, or stick your tongue out and cross your eyes. You may not be able to keep your erection or reach an orgasm like this, you may bust out laughing, but keep it up for a few times, and keep O Face in your regular rotation of sexy-time games. It’s an important and hilarious reminder that no O face that you naturally make can ever be as silly as goat noises.
I just made those sex tips up, but I can pretty much guarantee that they’ll be dramatically easier on the psyche than anything in the problematically titled article. You can work up to keeping the lights on. You can ease into body-part appreciation, starting with elbows and gradually ramping up to bellies. I do think most people will catch more hang-ups with silly games than with straight-up sexing.
Testing out more non-terrible sex tips soon on my financial supporters. You can be in that select group by becoming a patron of mine over on Patreon!