Author: camerynmoore

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ASK A PHONE WHORE: Do you ever get attached?

ASK A PHONE WHORE is a semi-regular feature, appearing whenever I get a good question. Anything you want to know about my phone work, ask away! Make sure to read through the archives here to see if I've already addressed your question in a previous post, or to see if I've written about something already and you have follow-up questions. I may set up a separate page here to solicit questions, or maybe just put a widget up, but for now I'll be running my mail bag over on Facebook.

Q: Do you ever get attached to your clients?

Yes. Sometimes. Does that surprise you? It shouldn't. Let's go back to the restaurant and food-service analogies for a moment:

If you've ever worked as a server in a restaurant for longer than six months, you almost surely had favorite customers, who always requested to be sat in your section, who were nice and funny and/or smart (whichever you value) and always tipped well. They may have been particular in their food requests, but they could articulate their needs and didn't expect you to read their minds. When you saw them in the door, you were happy, not only because you knew that doing your job, at that table at least, was going to be easy, but also because you enjoyed their presence in your space, and felt some degree of authenticity and genuine pleasure in their company.

That is what I consider attachment: feeling something positive toward the client, beyond what they're requesting and paying you to provide them. And yes, I do get that with some of my phone clients. Thank god! I mean, I don't want to work with all assholes! And if someone is a good person and I work with them regularly, I will get attached!

I think sometimes people think of "getting attached" as a potential problem. Isn't this what happens in all the comedies that touch on phone sex? And the dramas, too, probably. This is how all the shit starts, right? If you meet someone you like, and you're talking sex with them, doesn't the intimacy and romantic entanglement, the inevitable falling in love, just overwhelm your judgment and sweep you off your sleep? Nope. That's only one kind of attachment, a kind that I have never experienced in the context of paid phone sex.

This question of whether I get attached kinda fits in the same category with a few other common questions that people ask: do I get off on calls? Do I ever burn out? It's all the same meta-question: how emotionally invested do I get, and/or how good are my boundaries?

And here's the meta-answer: I seem to be able to get enjoyment or feel empathy, you know, all of those good positive relationship emotions, without getting enmeshed or tired or so overwhelmed with desire that I forget what my job is and fling it out the window. I don't know whether that is really so hard to imagine, or if it's just that the popular (mis)understanding of phone sex has been colored by pop-culture portrayals of the work and the women who do it. Or maybe, in spite of how hypersexualized our society is, many people do get emotionally invested when they have sex, and don't really know how to handle that with one person at a time, let alone hundreds of people with cards in a file box. But so far, I seem to be able to interact positively with multiple people on multiple levels—personal and business and sexual—and not lose track of self.

I enjoy talking with Bilingual Papi and fantasize occasionally about what he looks like. I feel sad that I haven't heard from Larry in easily six or seven months, which means he's probably dead. Yes, these can be uncomfortable emotions sometimes, but I'm human and I have a large heart and I like to share it, in big and small ways. I will always be grateful to the clients who leave a little space in our relationships for that to happen.

CALL OF THE DAY: the case of the cuckold and the dry cunt

He's a cuckold, with the very common side order of forced bi action. Not a requesting-me regular, he and I have talked often enough that just his first name and last initial are enough of a trigger. That's enough to remember not only the story he likes, with his wife greedily servicing a bunch of men, but also to remember his wife's name: Courtney.

Her name is on his card, because he talks about her constantly, both during the scene and in the post-coital wind-down. In the scene, obviously, she can't get enough, going after all the cock she can stuff in her face. I've set up the cock buffet and she is going back for fourths and fifths. Out of the scene, in the real world, my caller tells me that she is actually very conservative, sexually. She has sex with him, but she's just not very "adventurous".

Let me hasten to point out that I don't think having simple tastes in bed is a bad thing. But I could understand including her in these particular fantasies if that is something he wishes would change a little. I was always sympathetic.

Until this most recent call. Or after this most recent call, rather. The call itself was standard issue: I was the boss lady and Courtney was my employee, and in order to save her job she had to suck off the entire board of directors at the company. He comes to pick her up, I lead him back to the board room, he acts shocked and horrified, blah blah blah.

After he came, my guy got into it again, how Courtney would really never do anything like that. She does have sex with him, he says, as often as he wants it, but "she's not that into it. Sometimes she's just dry. Do you know what to do about that?" And right there, my heart sinks a little. He's a younger man, she's a younger woman. Maybe she has problems with her pussy juice. Or maybe he's just forcing it on her when she's not ready. Ugh.

Well, I say, you definitely want to help her "get ready". I say this slowly and carefully; I don't want him to feel like I'm blaming him in any way. Like, her just being there and doing it only because you want to, that can't be very hot, for either one of you. Try more foreplay, you know, things that she likes.

"She doesn't really like anything."

Maybe you could try going a little deeper in that conversation.

"Maybe." He sounds skeptical.

And with that, I have lost all sympathy for this caller and his travails of being trapped in a marriage without adventure. If I were Courtney and he were sticking it in me dry, I'd probably be keeping the drawbridge up as much as possible myself.

The Phone Whore’s All-New Search-Term Review (and Advice Column)

training bra

I feel humiliated just looking at this thing.

Every now and then I like to look down at the stats page here and check out the search terms. In other words, how are people finding me via the Internet?

Most people find this site the normal way, or at least in a way that I find flattering—oh, look, they remembered my name!—they are searching for my name or some mangled version of one of my show titles. There are a whole bunch of encrypted_search_terms, which is a result, I think, of new privacy options for Google search; it just means I've got a load of searchers who don't want anyone to easily know what they were looking for. But below that is all the good stuff. Here I dug in to the last three months. Really, I'm just curious, but maybe I'll be able to answer some of the questions that led them here!

Mother and daughter porn. This and variations are heading up the list, with 29 searches winding up here for that. Hahaha, SORRY GUYS.

Interestingly, the Big Black Cock hits have dropped considerably since the last time I did one of these search-term reviews. There are three for that specific phase, two for "watching my wife getting fucked by big b", which I have to assume would continue as black cock, and just got truncated (a shame for anything having to do with BBC). And then one more for "what to do with a big black cockz", which may be incorrect on two different levels, but that's okay. I understand the question, and the answer is, obviously, FETISHIZE THE FUCK OUT OF IT.

With three hits for "how to throw cum in far distance", and one apiece for "spooge throwing" and "sex olympic moderation cumshot", I see my infographic from earlier this year, about how far can a male actually jizz, got some little bit of attention. Having had the privilege of measuring at the Montreal masturbate-a-thon power cum competition back in May, I can answer that one, too. For best distance in cum, either a) be a woman who can squirt hard or b) AIM UPWARD, DUH. Most of the guys that were going for distance at the Masturbate-a-thon apparently forgot that they were intending to try for distance and just squeezed the whole thing downward. In general, aim past or over your target, not at it.

"humiliation bra", a new-to-me search phrase, got one hit. Sounds uncomfortable, or at least embarrassing! I Googled it myself, just to see what they might have been going for, and yep, it's mostly sissy or slut humiliation erotica. Huh. Well, guys, when you're looking for a humiliation bra, it's important to know just what it is you want to be humiliated for. If you want to be humiliated for knowing what you're doing with female undergarments, get a very very small cup size—one that fits your man-boobs—and don't let the straps show too obviously. If you want to be humiliated for wearing a bra at all, get something with lace and make sure that the fabric of your shirt is quite thin.

Signs of progress, or, my bitchy domme grows up

naked ass

All right, put your hands down and start wanking. We only have two minutes, you know...

I didn't start out good at phone sex, you know. I started out with a mild case of the shakes after every call, and there was at least one hang-up there in the first month, and I'm pretty sure that if you talked with my friends from that time, they would tell you that at least once a week I would pop up in a chat box going I DON'T UNDERSTAND THESE FUCKING WANKERS.

I still get a little nervous before each new caller, but I have gotten better, which is never more obvious than when I do a caller from a long time ago, like I did today. He didn't remember me, but I remembered him. I have notes on the card, see, and they told me all the things that went wrong the first time around.

BITCHY DOMME, it says on the top. That's what he wanted me to be, or what the dispatcher interpreted from him and passed along to me. Then in the space for notes about him, it reads, BRATTY BOTTOM, WATCH TIME, SPIT/SPANK, NO ANAL. That last one is underlined. Oh, dear. I flip the card over. Yep. The last call was in January 2011; that's over two and a half years ago. Clearly our last conversations didn't go well enough for him to call back and request me, and that is backed up by the notes. "Bratty bottom", when used in a pay-for-sex environment, means that he asked for a bitch, but isn't putting up with any of it. "Watch time", well, look at those numbers: 12 minutes on a 10, 8.5 or 8 on all the 7s. Yeah, he likes to push the clock. And "no anal", that's pretty clear, especially when it's underlined like that: spank his ass as much as I can, but under no circumstances should I let those fingers slip through the crack.

I caught up with all of this in maybe five seconds of silence, but that was still long enough for the dispatcher to wonder what the fuck was going on: "Are you there?" Yep, yep, I said. I just haven't talked with him for a while. And then I waited for the call to go through, my mind spinning overtime, what to do, what to do. Now, I could have sat back and been more passive this time around. But I thought, no. We'll give this one more shot. If he wants a mean domme, I'm going to give it to him. Two and a half years ... that's a long time ago. I don't think I had mastered my meanness yet, and he probably picked up on that.

And the call  ... it went well, actually! I described myself, and let him tell me what he's done that he needs to be punished for. Jacking off in the neighbor's hot tub, huh? When I talked to him, I could hear right away what I meant by "bratty": he interrupted constantly, barely letting me finish a sentence. Hah. I'm the one who gets to cut you off, buddy!

So I did, and I let my impatience and disdain show through more than a bit, and gradually I could feel the call narrative settling firmly back into my grasp. By the end I had him bent over the patio table, one hand holding him down by his neck, and the other giving his ass cheeks a right going-over. I interrupted the spanking to say firmly, we have two minutes left, I need to let you know, and then I yanked him upright and marched him to the edge of the patio. You want to show off for the neighbors that bad? Well, show them. Jerk off right here. I don't care who is watching over the back fence. Do it, you dirty fucking perv, come for me. And he did, 20 seconds under time.

Afterward, I laughed and said, well, that is a good way to start the week! He laughed a little too and agreed, and then said, "What was your name again?" I told him, and he said, "Great, thank you. I'll talk to you again soon."

I don't believe him. But I'm still pleased. Look how far I've come in making strange men cum!

CALL OF THE DAY: variations on an unexpected theme

He is not so sentimental as to not use the phone service when I vanish for weeks on end, but he always finds me after I get back and begins requesting me again. I'm glad, because he is unfailingly polite and nice. His fantasies are also polite and nice, too, which is... well, nice.

For the longest time we did the sultry older woman thing, with wavy silver-grey hair and everything. He liked to press on me from behind, on a hot day, and smell and kiss the sweat from my neck. I would always be wearing something lightweight and summery, and at some point he would set me down gently on whatever sturdy piece of furniture was available in the scene we had painted, lift my skirt, eat me out until I came, and then enter me and thrust until he came.

All that in seven minutes, so there's never much room to improvise too freely, but he's so sweet and obviously enjoys the stories, so I just shrug my shoulders and spin out the sweet vanilla strands that seem to tug him the right way.

Lately, though, it feels like we're circling around the hot spot for him, and it's not as vanilla as I originally thought. For a couple of months before I left on tour, we played that he was a much younger man—like, a 14-years-old younger man—and I had to instruct him in all this. Huh.

And for the last few calls he has specifically asked for me to dominate him, and to "go ahead and be mean". Er. I can do this, don't get me wrong, but it's shifting up a few gears at once, if you know what I mean. While he's in me, he wants me to forbid him from coming, and if he does come, I need to tell him that his punishment is eating his own cum out of me afterward.

Yes. Not quite as simple as he used to be. Still nice, though. He still thanks me afterward. I asked him one time, after he came, if that is something that he would actually do, eating out the cream pie that he made. "Sure," he said. "I think you should be willing to try just about anything once."

See? Nice guy. I'm glad he's digging a little deeper.

ASK A PHONE WHORE: “Do you think phone sex is sex work?”

ASK A PHONE WHORE is a semi-regular feature, appearing whenever I get a good question. Anything you want to know about my phone work, ask away! Make sure to read through the archives here to see if I've already addressed your question in a previous post, or to see if I've written about something already and you have follow-up questions. I may set up a separate page here to solicit questions, or maybe just put a widget up, but for now I'll be running my mail bag over on Facebook.

Q: Do you consider your work in phone sex to be sex work?

This actually wasn't in my mailbag. It's just a question that's been asked of me before, and then variations of it got tossed around in the comments section of a post of mine that got picked up by Thought Catalog and then XOJane.

I know better. Never read the comments.

But I did, and there in the comments were people saying that phone sex wasn't really sex work, it's not the same at all as hand-jobs in an alley. In that same comment thread, someone else said that lumping escorting and stripping and porn and phone sex into the same category of work has never made sense to them.

If anyone reading this has had the same thought, let me explain how I make sense of that, with an analogy that I use a lot when talking about my phone sex work: restaurant work. Okay, stick with me.

Restaurant work covers lots of different kinds of work—everything from developing and testing a $140 plate of air-spun shrimp roe dip to discussing appetizers at a steak restaurant to handing a sack of cheeseburgers through the window of a drive through—and in fact, when talking about the specific pros and cons about a particular kind of restaurant work, you probably want to name that work: Waitress. Sous chef. Fry cook. Maitre d'. They are very, very different, involving different degrees of interaction with the customer. You have auxiliary positions supporting those interactions. But at the base, they are all involved with satisfying the customer's gastronomic appetite in some way.

Similarly, sex work is aimed at gratifying the consumer's sexual appetite, and sometimes catalyzing it in the first place. I do believe that all of those different jobs I list above—stripping and pro-domming and escorting and phone sexing—fall into the category of sex work. Even though they involve different levels and kinds of engagement with the client, they are directed at taking care of the consumer's sexual arousal. (Possibly there's orgasm in there, but not always, as in the case of pro-domination work and tease-and-denial scenarios. I also don't think strip clubs generally want guys to actually pull their dicks out and wank right there stage side. So, I'll just say sexual arousal.)

I'm not sure where in this taxonomy people like porn directors and erotica writers fit in; their work is clearly aimed at turning the customer on, but I haven't seen them traditionally clustered together under the umbrella term "sex work". I also am perennially bemused by the slightly blurry line between stripping and burlesque; I am sure some strippers are very artistic, and I know a number of burlesquers who work the crowd for tips. These are questions for other posts, and probably other blogs entirely. I can only talk authoritatively about phone sex, and only my experience of it, at that.

I have always said that phone sex is the safest form of direct sex work. It does not carry the same dangers as face-to-face escort work: I don't have to watch out for the cops, for example, or scope out emergency exits, or leave a call-back number with my check-in buddy. It is not as risky, from a public-recognition point of view, as acting in porn films or doing web-cam work. Phone sex allows me to work in comfort and safety and anonymity, if I choose, and I have never said otherwise.

And yet. Phone sex does carry stigma, in much of society, if I cop to doing it. It involves going into my clients' sexual imaginations, sometimes to places that most people would not want to go. When people do learn about the places that I go, I am regarded with suspicion or disapproval or anger: aren't I throwing fuel on these sickos' flames? And for those 7- or 10- or 20-minute calls, when I am focused on the functioning of strangers' dicks, dicks that I would not choose to talk about on my own time, and yet I am tuning in with every quivering ear hair to figure out how close they are to coming...

... Then sure, there may not be exchange of sweat or other bodily fluids involved, there's no danger, but there is still work. Sex work.

CALL OF THE DAY: Return to Duty

military domme

Obviously I'll have to get this altered after I get those 34LL implants...

Today was my first day back on the phones since July 25, an unprecedented seven-week gap in my availability. Someone had to be driving the welcome wagon—unless today turned out to be one of those fortunately rare no-call days, that would be a shitty way to return to work—but I was dreading that first call. Not dreading so much as fearing it. Like, what if I forgot how to do it? What if I get Extreme Top? What if I spent so much time in the show (34 shows in six weeks) that I got hooked on the four "calls" in the script and lost my improv skills that are so crucial to the actual work?

The first call came in at around 10:30am. Of course it wouldn't be an archetypal Return to Duty moment if something wasn't being interrupted: in this case, it was hot coffee, an oven-warm piece of quiche, and freshly cut fruit. My billet host and my Montréal lover were sitting around the table, and even though I had done the usual sign-in and got my index-card box ready and reminded them to be quiet if the phone rang, we all froze for a split second.

"Hi, this is Cameryn." As I said it, I felt the rhythm and tone settle into my vocal cords; okay, I remember this.

The owner normally works dispatch in the mornings, and today was no exception. She welcomed me back with more than usual warmth, and when I admitted to her that I was actually a little nervous, she laughed and said, "You've never said anything like that to me before! And don't worry, you won't forget." We chatted for a bit about the tour, but I finally said, oh god, please, who is the caller? She said his name, and I didn't even need the number, I had it memorized: Titty-Fuck Rosary. A request.

Now, he's not my absolute favorite caller—for reasons I talk about here—but he's certainly pleasant to work with. He's polite, he's specific about what his current hot buttons are, and if his calls don't tax my creativity in the slightest, he is often good for a repeat call. He sometimes doesn't judge his own turn-on level accurately, but he never blames me if he doesn't come during the first 20-minute session.

Today we went straight to the harder edge of his fantasies: I am a Third Reich dominatrix, with platinum blonde hair under the officer's hat and 34LL tits sporting swastika pasties. (I don't even know if letters have any meaning in bra sizes at that point, but whatever.) And he, being an N-word with a big N-word cock... well, obviously he must acknowledge my racial superiority, as embodied in my enormous Aryan titties that I am brutally fucking his huge black cock with. I will demonstrate his inferiority by making him spray all over my gigantic, creamy-white, Nazi tits.

If there's one reminder that I can always use, it's this: human sexuality, man. It is astonishing.

Why even other sex workers “don’t know any phone sex operators”

I am staying two nights in London, before I head up to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe to present 25 nights in a row of Phone Whore. A London stay could be expensive, but my UK tour sponsors, the Sex Worker Open University, found me a billet at a "working" apartment, a place that an escort is using during the day for appointments. This means that I have to spend large swathes of the day out in cafés looking for internet access, but I'd be doing that anyway, so...

This is one example of that rare species, Phonus Coitus Operativa...

This is one example of that rare species, Phonus Coitus Operativa...

So, I was chatting with my host last night about my performances and my decision to not go independent with phone sex because it would interfere with my writing and touring, and then she told me about her photography work and how she'd love to maybe photograph me sometime. One of her projects is portraits of other sex workers, and, she said, "I don't know any phone sex operators."

This is something I hear often from ... Muggles? squares? the mainstream?... let's just say non-sex workers. I didn't expect to hear it from a politically active, well-networked escort. But it makes sense. In fact, I started knowing this way back when I first started, that most phone-sex operators—that is to say, PSOs who only do phone work, and don't combine it with face-to-face work—aren't particularly visible in sex-work politics, or indeed anywhere.

We don't need to be. After all, phone sex is one of the most anonymous and safe forms of sex work. It is legal in most states and countries, and it's relatively easy to hide from people who aren't sharing a wall with your work space; let's call it "customer service" or "call center work". Safety, anonymity... if you've got something to lose, why risk it by going public?

I certainly struggled with this when I first started. I had serious roommate woes for the first six months after I started—the sex noise was a real problem for wooden floors with gaps between the planks—and when my case worker for food stamps pressed me for details about my new job, I blushed and had to whisper.

But when I started doing Phone Whore, that all went by the wayside. I had to talk about my work, often and openly, and in conjunction with my picture, too. So I did, I learned how. I dove into writings by other sex workers, online and in $pread magazine, observing how people talked about what they did. And then, bolstered by the support of my existing friend network, I went forth and made new friends, not hiding what I did that made it difficult for me to go out and visit people, that made it SO MUCH EASIER to come visit me. I'm a born activist, so speaking up in public—about my job, and about the fact that I do consider it sex work—became a lot more natural for me, the more I did it.

Now I have reached the point where I tell border agents. THIS IS NOT HARD FOR ME. They may look at me funny, and occasionally smirk, but again, phone sex is legal, so what do I have to lose? I've disclosed countless times crossing the US-Canadian border, in both directions, and now the UK boys got it, too, when I was detained at Heathrow for six hours yesterday. They basically got my pitch: I'm here to perform my solo show Phone Whore, which is based on my work as a phone sex operator. Yes, that's how I make my money in the States.

If people have never met a phone sex operator, it will not be my fault.


If you liked this post, be sure to browse around some more. I’ve been blogging about my work in phone sex for almost four years, since six months after I started in April 2009. And if you live in the UK, you’ll have a chance this year to hang out with me while I’m on call! Okay, not really, but that’s what my award-winning solo play Phone Whore feels like, and I’m bringing it to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival Aug. 1-25, and then to five other UK cities through mid-September. Follow those links to read all about the tour and my show, and if you do make it out, come up and say hi!

CALL OF THE DAY: wait, why are we talking about this?…

This is not in any way sexy...

This is not in any way sexy...

He is a recent acquisition, both in terms of the company (the caller ID numbers are assigned in chronological order, from their first call) and in terms of him finding me. I think the first time I talked with him was this past winter.

He is not an easy man to talk to about sex; he seems to be naturally reticent and the fantasies he has cause him a certain amount of anxiety and self-loathing, even when he's in the middle of them. But sometimes, like today, he gets on a kick of "normal conversation", and then he's positively loquacious. Today he ended up doing two 30-minute sessions, and of that time, nearly two-thirds of it was... not about coercing teary-eyed 12-year-olds.

We got off that track because the owner of the company has been actively telling any caller who has ever requested me in the past year that I'm taking six weeks off for vacation. Even though I told the owner three months ago that this was coming up, and reassured her that I have every intention of returning, she is very traumatized by the impending separation—apparently many of my regulars, even the ones who treat me well, treat her like shit and yell at her, that sort of thing—so she has been asking me to tell people, too. I think I've been very good in how I handle the discussion, reminding the callers that there are other good PSOs at the company that they could talk to while I'm gone, and not really going into too much detail when they ask me what I'm up to for six weeks. I mean, they don't actually want to know about the Edinburgh Fringe, or even about the idea of my having any other life outside of phone work. All that matters is that they're not going to have their favorite wank facilitator on call for six weeks.

SO. Most of my regulars don't really know or care. But this morning, maybe I was sleepy or something, my usual defenses were down, and I told this guy, when he was asking about my vacation, that it wasn't really a vacation, that I was going out to performance festivals. And he asked about that, and we got into Canada in general; I tried to turn focus around on him, then, and asked where he would go, if money and time off were no object, and he got OFF ON A TEAR about Fort Alamo in Texas, that's where he really wanted to go next. He really wanted to go there; he had all the history down pat. Whoa

Around then that 30-minute call ended, and he called me back for another one, and started off this one saying, "I hope you don't mind, but what is your background, you know, your college level?" Again, I normally deflect—oh, I have a bachelor's degree—but in a few cases I've expounded a bit, and again, today I was weak. I gave in to my ego. I told him, yeah, I've got an education. Bachelor's degree in a foreign language and not an easy one (Russian), master's degree in arts administration, a certificate in dance instruction, I'm a writer, along with everything else. He said, "You know, I was going to guess journalism. There's something about the way you talk that is really straightforward. I like it."

Within a few minutes after that, I decided enough was enough. He only had seven minutes left in this second call, so I asked him, hey, did you want to get dirty today, do you think? He asked me to describe myself unwillingly giving him a blowjob, and somewhere after my fourth bout of choking and gagging, he hung up without saying goodbye.

I'm not sure whether he enjoyed the rape fantasies or the "so-what-do-you-REALLY-do" conversation more. Doesn't matter on my end; I gave him a good time either way.


If you liked this post, be sure to browse around some more. I’ve been blogging about my work in phone sex for almost four years, since six months after I started in April 2009. And if you live in the UK, you’ll have a chance this year to hang out with me while I’m on call! Okay, not really, but that’s what my award-winning solo play Phone Whore feels like, and I’m bringing it to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival Aug. 1-25, and then to five other UK cities through mid-September. Follow those links to read all about the tour and my show, and if you do make it out, come up and say hi!

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