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Author: camerynmoore

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ASK A PHONE WHORE: “has your work changed your views on any kinks or sex acts?”

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. Has your job changed your views (either positively or negatively) on any sex acts (or kinks or fetishes) about which you had a preconceived view?

MOST. DEFINITELY.

When I started doing phone sex, I legit thought I could handle it all. I applied to a no-taboo company, and when the owner interviewed me and asked if I had any taboos, I remember saying, very confidently, that I could handle any kink, that I was very non-judgmental. Of course I was! I was kinky! I had friends who were kinky! I read Dan Savage on a regular basis!

But that was just me not thinking out far enough. That was me saying I was non-judgmental about all the kinks that I was non-judgmental about, because there were other things that I was plenty judgmental about: Age play. Submissive men. Guys who fetishized "she-males". Rape fantasies. Lots of stuff, mostly things that I had either never been around much, or what I had been exposed to personally (i.e. submissive men), it was in a very specific context (a meat-markety sex club) that pretty much made it impossible for me to experience that kink behavior in a neutral way (because as an unattached, apparently dominant woman, I was the screen on which HELLA fantasies were being projected). So, those things were uncomfortable and icky.

So I knew about these kinks, but I kind of blocked them out of my mind, because why would I want to think about something that was uncomfortable and icky for me? But of course professional phone sex is FULL of stuff that was uncomfortable and icky. So for each kink or fantasy or fetish, I just had to take a deep breath and pretend to deal with it for a while. I had to, no matter how squicked out I was. And after time, it got easier and I got less judge-y about these kinks just by virtue of exposure to them.

Out in my own life, and "independently", I found myself getting into age-play relationships or encounters, and occasional rape-y fantasies, and found those were a lot of fun. I put quotes around "independently" because I wasn't consciously making any connections between getting more comfortable in my phone work and being more open to these kinds of kinks and fantasies in my own life. But I'm sure that, in the background, my dirty little gutter mind was REALLY really busy connecting synapses and drawing parallels.

And now, four years later... I'm not going to claim that I want to do every fucking kink in the encyclopedia of kink, or that OH GOD EVERYTHING TURNS ME ON. But I will say... Yes, I will say it: not everything you can do involving your junk is cool, but anything involving your mind is fine by me. Phone sex helped me get to that place, for sure.

P.S. I don't have anything that I feel more negative about after doing phone sex. ... Nope. It's only getting better.

**********

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: teaching a new girl

Now, I don't want any of your backtalk. When I tell you to bend over, you bend over...

Now, I don't want any of your backtalk. When I tell you to bend over, you bend over...

He wants a mother-daughter team; obviously, with my voice, I'm the mother. I've done these calls a number of times, but this time there's a twist: the other PSO is brand-spankin'-cherry-poppin' new. This is her first live call.

I only have time to say, "Oh! Okay," when the dispatcher tells me this, and then the other girl is on the line and we get the details of the caller together: name, ID number, length of call (seven minutes), and the set-up. The other girl definitely has the barely-legal thing going on. She sounds nervous. Did I sound that way at the beginning? I must have, but with her high-pitched, slightly breathy voice, her nerves are much more audible.

That's fine; in this scene she's supposed to be inexperienced, waiting for guidance to satisfy the caller. And as the mother, and the dominant character in this scene, I can give overt instructions without breaking out of character. But as we launch into the call, and I describe myself and then introduce her, tell her to describe herself, I realize that this is going to take a fair bit of extra work.

For one, I don't think she's tracking the action, by which I mean keeping a visual picture in her head about what is supposed to be happening in this verbal porno we're starring in. She sounds legitimately startled when I suggest next moves—eating my pussy, spreading her own, on your knees, sweetheart, show the man what you've got down there—even though this is a fairly standard narrative progression, well-documented in porn and Penthouse letters. And I like to try to keep things together, from a kinesiology point of view. None of this bouncing back and forth between physically unconnected positions, unless the customer specifies. But still she is not keeping up with the flow.

After each directive, I wait for a second to see if she's comfortable enough to step in, to expand on the scene or add some elaboration in the form of sensory reporting ("oh, mom, that dildo is so thick!") or exclamations or at least some heavy breathing and moaning. But she doesn't. All she does is parrot back what I tell her to do ("reach back and pull open your ass cheeks, honey" "I'm pulling open my ass cheeks"), she says it in a checklist tone of voice, which is exactly as not hot as it sounds. I am not only carrying the narrative, but I am also supplying the sexy for this call. I have to fill in all the spaces that she, in her ... nervousness? panic?... cannot fill.

Whatever it is that we end up doing, it seems to be enough for the caller. He finishes early and hangs up without saying anything. I have his card and a history of his calls with me; I can see this is standard practice for him. But the new girl is confused. "What happened? Where did he go?" He's done, I say. That's what he does. Congratulations, I'll talk to you later. And then I hang up, too.

I won't talk to her later. I never talk with any of the PSOs at the company, except during the five seconds we have pre- and post-call with these two-girl deals. So I won't know what happens to her. I don't know what her trajectory with the company will be. If she stays, she'll get better. Maybe she'll be gone in a week. It's definitely a sink-or-swim training model, and there's not much room for newbie jitters. I remember this time. The first few weeks were utterly nerve-wracking. I hope she gets what she needs to make it work, or if phone sex is not for her, that she finds her path somewhere else quickly.

I hope my impatience didn't show through.

I hope I helped her somehow.

***************

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: humiliation is a dish best served hot

Better tighten your bra and start taking care of those balls, bitch...

Better tighten your bra and start taking care of those balls, bitch...

He started out being submissive to his tennis coach, an obviously alpha male who would order him to get into matching bra-and-panty sets for his twice-weekly lessons and apparently enjoyed watching him stumble around the tennis court in a pair of high-wedge espadrilles, followed by some cock worshipping and ball-licking in the changing room.

Since then, this caller's sissy-boy saga has gone on to include his wife, his stepdaughter, his golfing buddies, other middle-aged men taking tennis lessons, a would-have-been female fling in San Diego, the Middle Eastern convenience store owners down the street, and the tennis coach's Latino head gardener.

In addition to a standard cock-sucking framework, my sissy has a strong preference for humiliation. This is not an unusual fantasy combination, in my experience. What is unusual is how nuanced his hierarchy of privilege is, in terms of where the humiliation is coming from. I confess, I'm a little curious about how much of this is conscious in his non-sissy-boy life, but mostly when I talk to him, I am paying attention to where the humiliation dynamic is located in whatever interactions we are discussing.

Yesterday when we talked, it seemed like he was going somewhere entirely different in the fantasy. He was hanging around his house, fully sissified, when there was a knock on the door. A middle-aged white man in a suit was there, and handed him a note from the Latino head gardener. In the note, the gardener said that the man had paid him $200 so that he could be turned into a sissy-boy cocksucker. It was now my caller's turn to enforce the sissy dress code and humiliate and get his dick sucked.

Wow, that's a change, I said. How did that feel to be on the powerful side for once?

"Good. It felt good." But the tone of his voice told me that wasn't all. ...

Two hundred dollars, huh? Are you getting a cut of that?

"A little bit."

I mean, that's a lot of work, to turn someone as thoroughly as you were turned.

"I liked it, it felt..." but I interrupted.

You like being the Latino gardener's whore, you mean.

"Yes." This was very quiet.

Tell me again, in a complete sentence.

"I like being the Latino gardener's whore."

You'll do any fucking thing he tells you, won't you? I mean, you'd do it for free. But he's got you making money for him, selling your services. You're the Latino gardener's whore. SAY IT.

"I'm his whore."

Again.

"I'M HIS WHORE." And then he came.

See what I mean? I hate that all that stuff—sex work, a brown-skinned master, sissy play—carries the baggage that it does, but if the humiliation is the hot button, then I have to find the best way, in 10 minutes, to push it.

ASK A PHONE WHORE: how does your stage work affect your phone 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. Is there much/any bleedthrough that you notice between your performances on stage and your phone performances? Does your phone work change after a long stretch of stage shows?

Oh, that's right, not everyone says "suck my dick, you little worm" at work...

Oh, that's right, not everyone says "suck my dick, you little worm" at work...

My stage work and my phone work are intimately related, ever since I wrote Phone Whore. When I began writing it, I had only been doing phone sex, what, maybe three months? By throwing my resources and my energy after that play, I was betting that I would be able to perform whatever I wrote, and I was scared shitless, as much by the prospect of publicly "doing phone calls", in all of their foul glory, as by the task of memorizing 19 pages of material.

I still get calls like the ones I take in Phone Whore; in fact, the BBC Locker-Room Gang-bang guy is a pretty solid regular. When I get those calls in real life, I have a weird sense of inappropriately intense dejà vu: I have done those calls again and again and again, more than the cards in my real-world card box can account for. And I definitely have moments, when I'm talking with any one of my BBC guys, when I find myself using some phrase or image that is forever captured in the play I mean, why not? I spent a lot of time making that language really sing! It's good stuff! But I catch myself, take a deep breath, deliberately wrench myself off the Phone Whore track. I don't use a script in my calls, and I don't want to start, even accidentally.

When I go for a long time without performing Phone Whore, I forget how shocking the content can be to mainstream folks. I just go on for weeks or months at a time, talking to my wankers about this or that, and that becomes the conversational arena that I get used to operating in. Even though I still get together with friends and lovers, they are sufficiently pervy that I don't have to make much distinction between what is okay to say on the phone and what is okay to say to someone's face. Graphic is the new normal. Then, when I'm out there on stage, "doing those calls", I hear the shocked silence and the gasps and the squirming and I'm, like, oh, right. This isn't normal language.

Conversely, if I go for a long time without doing phone calls, I forget a little bit how to be authentically and immediately down in the gutter. Phone Whore is dirty, but it is scripted dirty; I know ahead of time where the call is going, even if my audience doesn't. On the phone line, I have NO FUCKING IDEA what is going to happen, even from minute to minute; getting back into the sheer unpredictability again, the utterly improv nature of phone sex, feels a little like the first day I did phone sex. I feel a little like a rookie all over again, except that feeling lasts for two seconds instead of six weeks.

Ideally I get to keep doing phone sex while I'm touring. Keeping close to my original source experience generally has a good effect on Phone Whore, and indeed, all of my shows. Doing phone sex keeps me on my toes, and reminds me, reminds my body, what it feels like to just listen. I'm not listening to a caller out there on stage, but I am listening to the audience, or at least, I should be.

CALL OF THE DAY: “I feel like I really know you”

"We've talked a lot," he says. "I feel like I really know you."

I murmur something sexy but noncommittal while I look idly at his card. First of all, there's just the one card. Considering his first call to me was nearly four years ago, that means that we actually haven't talked that much. My real regulars have three, four, five cards clipped together now. He's just got the one.

And his calling pattern doesn't suggest a whole lot of connection either: seven-minute calls every month or so, followed by a 14-month break, followed another string of sporadic calls, none of them requests until about a month and a half ago, when suddenly he's doing 15-, 20-, 30-minute calls every week to 10 days, and doubling up. Today we did three calls in a row, totaling 75 minutes.

I guess to him it feels like he really knows me. To me, it feels like maybe someone isn't getting proper attention in his love life. I DON'T MEAN the sex isn't working. By his accounts, the sex is stellar. It feels like the pillow talk is lacking, because that's what he's looking for with me. I don't even mean sexy pillow talk, I mean just... talk! He wants to talk so much, and hear me talk, that he keeps running out of time without getting to sex and then calling back for another session. And he's telling me a lot, more than is usual for a caller, even with the longer time blocks.

In the middle of all this reveal, I suddenly flash to scenes in every movie I've ever seen that has phone sex in it, where the caller and the PSO are suddenly making this "real connection", you know, each one of them is hanging out all awkwardly on their own bed, and the camera is flipping back and forth between the two of them just, you know, Being Real, and they're talking about non-sex things, like, arguing about some obscure movie director, and it's Real!

Oh, and it also happens to show that the PSO is a Real, Deeper Person, she's smart and all, too, so props to whoever came up with that fucking set-up, it kinda kills two birds with one stone, right there, in terms of plot development. Three birds with one stone, really, because this magic moment of Being Real is also when you know the relationship is going to somehow be consummated face to face... and I wonder if that's what this caller thinks is going on here. I wonder if he is thinking about, oh, you know, "free and easy" non-sexual conversation in a paid sexual encounter being evidence that it's a deeper connection, it must be, he's a Real, Deeper Person, too, he's obviously not shallow, because he's paying for all of this not-having-sex-just-talking, and that is clearly not the move of a man who is only obsessed with sex.

He mentions that he was a touring drummer for a long time; he does this fake name drop a few times, where he says he doesn't want to name-drop, but these musicians/producers/etc he was recently hanging out with and talking about life and music with, they're pretty well known (but he shouldn't say their names, but They're Famous!). Now he's a self-proclaimed aging hipster in SE Portland, with two walls full of vinyl records, one wall of literature and literary criticism, and a TV on which he is running a "cheesy" interracial (straight) gang bang porno (sound off). He feels a little guilty, he says, about spending a Monday night watching cheap porno and talking to a phone sex operator. I laugh and say, I don't know, that sounds like a great way to spend a Monday night. I tell him to keep wanking to the porno, but to stop calling himself any kind of hipster, that is not a label that one can apply to oneself. He has told me in the past a little about the music that he's doing now; in this particular phone call, he tells me about the copywriting executive he's currently fucking. We talk about Powell's Books. You'd be stunned how much I spend there, he says. No, I wouldn't, I say. I know how tempting the stores are.

I reveal to him little things, just to keep a ring of authenticity in my voice and because there is not room for an entirely new persona on the front of an index card. But I mix it up between true and false. I know about Powell's Books (true), or I mostly wear glasses (true), I have reddish-blonde hair (false), I wear cowboy boots (true), I was a semi-professional modern dancer (false, although I did dance) and now am a writer and perform other things (true). I try to give him enough to forestall any deeper questioning, offering only part of the truth.

Yes, and during the first two calls of the series, I was super careful to check in with him about the timing; I didn't want him to think that I was deliberately trying to distract him, string him along. I'm just following his lead, I assure him, and he says he knows it's true.

It is true, but in spite of the needed boost to my call volume today, I kinda wish he'd go ahead and just get off already. The pressure of "being real" is wearing on me a little.

ASK A PHONE WHORE: one stereotype about the job that is sometimes true

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.

When I describe my pajamas to callers who want to know what I'm wearing, this is the sort of thing I tell them. But you can't lounge properly in this shit. Jeezus.

When I describe my pajamas to callers who want to know what I'm wearing, this is the sort of thing I tell them. But you can't lounge properly in this shit. Jeezus.

Q. What's a stereotype about your job that's absolutely spot-on?

I don't know about other PSOs, but for me it's simple:

Pajamas. And lounging about on the bed.

Dress code was always one thing that drove me crazy when I had jobs outside the home. Whether it was the boxy oxford shirt and greasy black trousers of restaurant work or the bohemian business casual of jobs in a library or book publishing environment, I always resented the hell out of being forced to wear a particular outfit or outfits. It was never stuff I would have chosen for myself, and it always entailed an investment on my part that I couldn't really afford, even at the more steady wages of those jobs.

Now I get to choose exactly what I want to wear, all the time. When I'm out in the social sphere, or working a theatre festival, I can go ahead and wear short skirts and stockings with the garter straps hanging out, or short dresses and cowboy boots, or a fucking tutu, if I want. But at home it is almost always pajamas of some sort.

And not sexy pajamas, either. Please. The costume I wear for Phone Whore, the play—a tank top, the pants from a salwar kameez set, and a green satin men's pajama top as a robe—is almost exactly what I wore at home for the first year of work. When I started doing the show, I just sent that outfit into the costume bag and had to find a new work ensemble.

I miss that green satin robe.

During the summer I wear a tank top or a thin white nightie over pajama bottom, thin meaning "threadbare" and not "filmy". That reminds me, I need to buy another nightie. The one I have is worn down so much that it tore the last time I was lounging in my bed and got it caught in my elbow and tried to sit up. Whoops. In the cooler months, I wear the flannel pajama bottoms and the tank top and a zip-up hoodie. No bra, ever. In the play, I wear a bra under my tank top, mostly to pull my tits up and give me cleavage. But in real life, I let these titties swing free in the breeze.

And yeah, lounging. I definitely lounge while on call. I know other PSOs sit at their desks to "go to work"; I tried that for a little while, and it just, I don't know, contributed to some bad ergonomic habits on my part.

Lounging feels more comfortable: draped over the arms of an easy chair, on my back in my bed, stretched out on a couch. I find I feel sexier when I'm able to really relax into my space. Of course, lounging runs the risk of sending me right to sleep, if it's late and I'm already tired. But I'm willing to take that risk.

I mean, I'm not wearing pajamas in order to sit straight up.

QUANTIFYING PHONE SEX: the Orgasm Olympics

If they want me to cum nonstop, there is a better than random chance that they have never been within 20 feet of a real live vagina.

If they want me to cum nonstop, there is a better than random chance that they have never been within 20 feet of a real live clitoris.

Some of my callers say outright that they want to make me feel good, that they want to eat my pussy and make me really happy.

In this group of "service providers", though, there is a whole subset of callers who are not at all interested in any lyrical and/or graphic descriptions of my junk and what they can do with it, or what I can do with it. They are only interested in hearing me come. A lot. I mean, beyond what the female body can normally, in the course of sexual events, produce. Beyond even what porno suggests is desirable. I don't know these callers, anymore than I know any of the rest of them. But it is very easy for me to write them off as clueless, narcissistic twits.

Part of their fantasy, right, is that they are so good that I can't help coming, over and over and over, like, in fallopian-tube-knotting seizures of ecstasy. If my theory holds true about motivation for why many guys fantasize about the things that they do—because they don't have access to the activity or at least talking about that activity in their "real" lives—then these guys are clearly not getting enough positive reinforcement in their actual face-to-face fucking, and what might the reason for that be?

Based on what they're telling me, it's possibly because they don't know what the fuck they're doing.

Just a guess.

I try to be anatomically accurate with these guys, when I set up the scene, but if all they want me to do is come, I just don't get a chance. To all the women who are having sex with these guys, or will have sex with them in the future... I'm sorry. I try, but it's probably not enough.

ASK A PHONE WHORE: “do you ever get any ‘normal’ callers?”

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.

Vanilla is not a derogatory term, in my book. I mean, have you tasted good vanilla? It's DELICIOUS.

Vanilla is not a derogatory term, in my book. I mean, have you tasted good vanilla? It's DELICIOUS.

Q: Do you ever get any "normal" callers? Like, fairly vanilla? Or are they all kinkos?

First of all, I consider all of my callers "normal", in the sense that having fantasies is a normal part of human sexuality. I also have no idea how they present in real life, or whether they identify as kinky, but I assume that they've got a vanilla-looking life, unless they tell me otherwise. And of course, some fantasies that come through the pipeline are more unusual, statistically speaking, but I haven't yet gotten one that I'd never heard of.

What makes someone kinky depends a lot on environment and context. Maybe that's why I consider everyone normal; I get exposed to a lot of different minds, both in my phone work and out in my performing life and promoting my "kinky" shows. I might not want to do in real life what the caller wants to talk about, but it all seems pretty normal to me! For those people who dwell almost entirely in the construct of mainstream representations of sexuality, the bar for kinky is a lot lower. (In that place, wanting to be with a fat woman, for example, is a fetish, which is funny, because no one would call "height-weight proportionate" a fetish, even though for many people that is a very strong prerequisite for desire.)

So... the calls that I get are going to be more "kinky", on average, because most people are living in the mainstream and can get the more vanilla stuff dealt with there. People often come to phone sex because they have fantasies that aren't respected/represented/discussed elsewhere, either in society or in the individual caller's life. I also think my call content tends toward the "kinkier"--damn, I'm going to wear out the quotes key with this post--because I am one of the more mature PSOs at my company, and the guys who want older women as providers frequently choose us because they imagine that we are more experienced and therefore understanding.

The fantasies that are more "normal"? I don't know what exactly my correspondent means by that, but I'll take a leap and guess, oh, I don't know. Oral sex. Missionary style. Having the girl dress up in high heels and/or lingerie. Butt sex. Okay, scratch that last one. No, leave it in. (Isn't butt sex becoming more normal?) And high heels and lingerie? There's a fine line between "normal" and "kinky" in that particular area, but I digress...

I do get calls asking for straight-up blow jobs, or they want to eat me out. Or they just want to rim me, no fantasy narrative set-up required. These are all things that are widely done, not unusual, but for whatever reason the caller doesn't have access to in his "real life", at that moment. Maybe his wife feels shame around the smell/taste of her asshole and doesn't let him indulge nearly as much as he wants. Maybe his girlfriend normally gives him amazing head, but she's out of town on business and he really wants that blow-job experience. Maybe his lover is very conservative, and he wants to hear a woman get really filthy and crazy when she come, when he makes him come. Maybe he really is a very solitary man, hell, maybe he is that stereotypical shy, lonely, socially inept guy, but he wants a warm voice in his ear describing what an excited pussy will look and smell like from six inches away.

Are those the kinds of calls that you would describe as "more vanilla"? Then yes, I do get vanilla calls sometimes. I just had one this morning, a regular of mine who likes to eat me out and then make love to me. Our calls are so softcore that I get mental whiplash if they come too close to a "kinky" call, either before or after. I can hear it in his voice, that he prefers to call my tits "breasts". Yes, I would consider his calls vanilla.

Those are actually the calls that make me ... a little sad, sometimes. See, someone who wants to talk about nails being driven through tits understands that that is hard to come by in real life (though not impossible, thank you, German BDSM porno!). But someone who wants to be held and caressed and have sweet nothings murmured into their ear, that is not only physically and legally possible, but also ... well, look: gentle physical affection is out there. In my perfect world it should not be difficult to find. But for these guys it is. And that makes me sad.

QUANTIFYING PHONE SEX: anxiety as a by-product of age performance

The trough in the graph follows my age to the right, I imagine.

The trough in the graph follows my age to the right, I imagine.

Age is just one of the many mutable factors that goes into the caller's mental construct of who they are talking to. And for the most part, they just accept the age that they're given.

Within a certain range. I mean, I don't have a barely legal voice, but I can play one for maybe 10 seconds. I definitely can't do a child's voice for long at all, but if they want a little touch of pedo-verité, I can throw down for a quick "Daddy, please!" All the while, I'm desperate to get back to the security of my age-appropriate voice.

It's not just the pitch of my voice where I can go out of my comfort zone; sometimes it's as simple as wondering if my slang or colloquialisms or cultural references or, hell, what year I graduated from college, if all of that matches the timeline and purported age that I'm dishing out to the collar. I experience that uncertainty on both ends of this inverse bell curve. When would a 63-year-old woman have graduated college? Wait, she would never say "oh my god" in a less than serious way. Is "my goodness" a turn-off or turn-on for this particular caller? Would this woman even say "cock"?

CALL OF THE DAY: making a fantasy feel more real

I don't know why this guy keeps coming back to me, because I push back against his fantasy ALL THE TIME. Something about him just brings it out in me. I don't want to give it to him the way he wants it. He only gets part of it; fortunately, that seems to be enough.

"I'm not going to fuck my boyfriend in the kitchen in front of my husband! We don't have enough counter space in there, jeez!"

"I'm not going to fuck my boyfriend in the kitchen in front of my husband! We don't have enough counter space in there, jeez!"

We talk about his wife and his best friend, sometimes the neighbor boy down the street, none of whom may actually exist, but it certainly sounds like his wife and his best friend do, at least. He goes on about how well-hung his best friend is and how his wife seems to be putting out semi-conscious flirt signals all over the place, and asks me very leading questions about what I think about his wife's intentions, and what I do in my own (obviously cuckolding) relationship, and he is very very clear about what he wants to hear.

That's exactly the thing that makes me push back. Like, I get that customer is king, and no more so than in phone sex. But this guy is SO very micro-managing, and his questions are so ridiculously leading, that they get in the way of my creativity gears. This is the way a typical line of questioning might go:

"Do you kiss your boyfriend in front of your husband?"

Sometimes.

"Have you ever had him over when your husband is in the house?"

Yeah, a few times.

"When you come downstairs to make coffee in the morning, are your panties soaked with his cum?"

SCREEEEECH. I hope you can see why that throws me off. He dwells on the emotional and/or logistical details of a secondary relationship, and talks about how his friend is "more of a man" than he is. He might even ask what it feels like to fall in love with someone because of how good the sex is (translation: how big the guy's cock is). His part of the conversation loaded with sex, but there's still some delicate psychology that he's digging through. And then he just drops some soaking panties on the conversation. A wet blanket is a wet blanket, no matter how it got wet. I mean, can we keep the tone consistent here?

All writerly instincts aside, though, I think my resistance to the fantasy narrative that he keeps pushing—on me, on his wife—is what makes the fantasy more convincing, that is, the fantasy that I end up spinning for him. I'm not taking him word for word, I'm not reflecting his stuff right back, but mediating it through at least the semblance of some sort of semi-normal existence, like, no, I don't drop to my knees and start sucking him off in front of my husband; that tile floor in the kitchen is really hard on my knees!

It's that dash of mundane, the whiff of pedestrian truth. If I insist, every now and then, that "no, that's not the way it is", then he believes that I'm speaking from reality, otherwise, why would I speak with such authority?

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