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 have trouble getting into non-professional, personal-life sex acts, because you've drained that part of your brain from work?
There are definitely a few callers I don't feel that sexy after doing, that's for sure. That's less about how much is left in my Mental Gas Tank of Hot Verbiage and more about Ow, My Fucking Throat Fucking Hurts, Fuck that Guy and His Loud Fucking Rape Fantasies. Give me 15 minutes, a cup of hot tea, and some cuddling, and I am raring to go.
But you're not asking about physiological impairments, are you? You phrased it as a sort of brain drain, but I would like you to reconsider that metaphor, of sexual imagination as something that is a) finite, b) contained in one person's head, and c) non-renewable. I don't think it is.
My sexual encounters with others, whether in person or over the phone, are not generated in my head alone. Interpersonal stuff is key. If the other person brings some good stuff to the table, I get inspired to play. Even if my dirty-talk reservoir is running a little dry, someone else playing along juices me up like nothing else.
The corollary to this is that, if I'm playing with someone who doesn't talk a lot, I definitely feel the drain. In person, I end up getting a little bossy and telling them to talk to me, goddammit. On the phone, well, if I get one of the silent types—and I can tell early on—I know that I might get a little psychologically exhausted. But if I'm with someone who can give as well as take, that means I'm only doing part of the work, and that just isn't draining.
And remember, most of the stuff that I talk about with my callers is not anything that I want in my own bed, anyway. Not that it's gross, it's just not my thing. So even if the reservoir/drain metaphor worked, it would be more like ... well, you know those rows of Italian syrups that the posh cafés have lined up on their back wall? They go through a lot of black cherry and strawberry, so they have a bunch of that in the back, too. They're ready for the rush. Meanwhile, the watermelon and apricot and other awesome flavors are still mostly full, just waiting for someone to come along and order a nice cool tall one.
Substitute "black cock" for black cherry and "what Cameryn likes to do in bed" for watermelon and apricot, and that gives you a sense of what my erotic reservoir is like.