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Author: camerynmoore

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CALL OF THE DAY: blood and snuff and lines in the sand

Just a splash of red paint, and this doll would capture the feel of it...

Just a splash of red paint, and this doll would capture the feel of it...

I really don't have a problem with people eavesdropping on my calls, just like in Phone Whore, but when this caller comes on, I shoo people out of the room. No one expects baby rape and snuff fantasies coming through the phone sex lines, but they're out there. Rather, they're right here, in my ear and on my tongue, and I want to protect you, keep them far away from you, so yeah, get out of my room and go play with your smartphone in my kitchen.

He never requests me, at first. It seems as though he'll talk to whatever girl is available when he calls. If he likes your voice and attitude, though, he'll keep calling, in 10-minute increments, with the age of the baby getting lower with each call. When I find out that I'll be talking to this baby-fucker, I start the first iteration of the scene with "our daughter" (mine and the caller's) at a year old. That gives me lots of room for the downward slide. I have done eight or nine calls in a row with this guy, and got down to a two-day old infant.

Make no mistake: these are violent calls. They end in blood and crushing and rigor mortis. I am NOT a fan of the macabre, in any genre, but I think that I'm giving a pretty accurate portrayal of what might happen when a man rapes a baby. And these calls are as simple as they are violent: I learned to do them just by echoing and expanding on his statements, which he repeats and repeats, over and over... "no one's going to know", "G. loves his little daughter", "I don't give a shit." Over and over. I listen to myself talking to him, objectively assessing my output, and honestly, my tone of voice, the one he responds to best, makes the scene sound like a liturgy, or a meditation.

Even here, though, I find myself skirting around him and his fantasies. I'm not going to tell you the details; I don't want people knowing how bloody and dark I can go, how bloody and dark my callers can go.

I mention it in passing in Phone Whore, but I would never have chosen this fantasy to include in the Phone Whore call sequence, partly because it's really not common and partly because I know that this particular line in the sand is too far out for mainstream consumption. It just is, even though there are some people who seem to have no problems going to see incredibly violent and/or gory movies.

This guy is not my line in the sand, but he is my own personal litmus test, the one I use on myself. If I really believe that all fantasies are fine, that anything that happens in your own head is great, that applies to my baby-fuckers as well as the most straightforward ass-fucking performance I can portray. I believe this to be true. And even while I position him on the farthest outer edges of my phone sex universe, I know that someday I will talk with someone else who will push it out even farther. As Shakespeare said,

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

********

 

This is a phone sex romance

This is how we ended the call...

"Oh, my god, baby! Sorry, I couldn't help it! Shit, I couldn't hold it back anymore!"
- That's okay, papi, I say, if I had known that you liked the idea of me licking my own butt plug after it comes out, I would have held onto that a little longer.
"Yeah, that was super hot. ... So, I wanted to call you before I left. I'm heading out of the country for a few days, hopefully everything will be okay."
- Oh! Is it family problems?
military phone"No, I'm heading over to North Korea."
- What?
"Yeah, there's lots of crazy stuff happening there, it's a real hot spot, but maybe you don't read the news much..."
- No, no, I know what's going over there, I just... I don't think I knew that you're in the military. This isn't Vietnam 35 years ago, but I still get anxious about tense international politics.
"Yeah, that's why I'm so crazy." He changes the subject abruptly. "It's strange to find you on at night."
- Well, I have rehearsals sometimes, and... you know I travel a lot for performances.
"But I don't know specifically what you perform."
- I can't go into a lot of detail.
"Why not?"
- Because I can't make it easy for you to find me.
"I'm not one of those guys, I'm not a stalker!"
- You're in the military, you have ways. We both laugh, then he turns serious.
"No, I know I'm not going to find you. Why would I do that if you don't want me there? I love what we do together, but I'm not that guy. I know you don't want me."

I hesitate. I want to tell him before he goes, give him a belated birthday gift, but I'm not sure he'll believe me.

- Papi.
"Yes, baby."
- You know I talk with a lot of guys.
"Of course. You're really good!"
- Well, I just want to tell you that you're on my shortlist... He starts laughing. No, really, my shortlist of guys that I feel wistful about. There are only four of you, who I think... who I wish it would be possible. You're pretty amazing.
"So are you, sweetheart."
- I think this is as romantic as we get to be. He seriously busts out about that. Papi, will you... will you call me if you don't end up going to Korea? I'll want to know.
"Of course I will. I'll call you as soon as I can."
- Be careful over there.
"I will, baby."

This is how we began the call. ...

"Baby, we missed my birthday, and you need to make up for it. Tell me what you want to do."
- Papi, yo quiero tu palo duro, please, papi, please please!
"That's right. Get down there and show me how much you want it. Put it in your mouth.... there you go. Now I want you to hum 'Happy Birthday' with my dick in your mouth."

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QUANTIFYING PHONE SEX: the volume of a cumbucket

Q: How much cum will a cumbucket hold?

A: Depends how well you prep it.

One of the many things my Extreme Top likes to play with is modifying my physical body to degrade or humiliate me, and to get better sexual use out of me. So, for example, he will talk about fucking my pussy with a two-liter bottle until it’s gaping, and then having men come in me until my cunt is “an overflowing cumbucket.”

That got me thinking: how many loads of cum would actually have to be dumped in me to objectively qualify me as an overflowing cumbucket?

sod-soda_300This particular phone sex story problem is easy to solve. If he has fucked me to gaping with a two-liter bottle, then the space roughly defined by the walls of my (now battered) pussy is two liters, or 2000 milliliters. An average load of cum is between 1 and 5 milliliters; let’s drop down the middle of that and say 3ml. Divide the total volume by the volume of the load size, and you get 668. Assuming that my cumbucket stays at the same capacity over the course of the gang bang, and that no one is actually fucking it, but just jacking off into it, AND that all the participants get all their jizz into the target receptacle, I would need to catch 668 average loads in order to overflow.

This all raises interesting images in my mind, especially in relation to the next largest unit of cum ingestion and/or containment: the cum dumpster...

CALL OF THE DAY: phone sex verité

This guy is a classic phone bottom: micro-managing as hell. His checklist is long, but predictable, and he does take whatever nastiness I dish out, so he's not my worst bottom. I like him, even though there is a certain timbre in his voice that rubs me the wrong way, nasal and smarmy. Even when he says "yes, my Queen" (yeah, it's like that), it just sounds so completely inauthentic and not really part of who he is. More than almost any of my customers, he sounds like he has memorized a porn script, and a bad one at that. So more than occasionally I get the urge to pop his bubble. I remember one call when I actually gave in to that urge at THREE different points during his usual 15-minute call.

This is a metaphor for many phone fetishists, actually...

This is a metaphor for many phone fetishists, actually...

1) He says he's a toilet slut, and talks about me shitting in his mouth, talks about the sweet morsel from his Queen's ass. Few of these guys actually know what shit tastes like, and that day I was just in the mood to try and explain, like, you know that my shit isn't chocolate, right? It's actually bitter as all fuck.

2) I told him to keep his mouth closed when he chews, I am not interested in re-enacting Japanese scat porn. "Japanese what porn?" he asked.

Scat.

"What's that?"

Shit. It's porn involving shit.

"Huh."

Wait a minute ... where did you learn about shit-eating if you didn't get it from porn?

"You told me about it."

I would never initiate a scat discussion with a caller; they have to bring it up. So DON'T YOU FUCKING LIE TO ME, BITCH, you don't come up with your delightfully baroque descriptions of shit-eating, without at least reading about it somewhere.

3) When I'm fucking him—did I mention that I'm his "she-male" queen? yes, indeedy!—he tells me to "rape my ass." Even though I know that everything is fair game in fantasy, and I know some people have rape fantasies, I want clarity about my relationship in the scene. I'm not raping him, I'm just giving it to him rough because he wants it that way.

So I snapped at him, completely in character: BITCH, DON'T ACT LIKE YOU DON'T WANT THIS. IT'S NOT RAPE IF YOU'RE FUCKING ASKING FOR IT.

Sometimes I get the urge for phone sex verité. Better push that down and hide it somewhere.

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So you want to be a phone sex operator…

If you are reading this post, you either followed the fresh, hot link from my Facebook status update or you recently asked me for pointers on how to get started doing phone sex.

Pro tip: you do not want to get this comfortable during your calls, especially when you're tired.

Pro tip: you do not want to get this comfortable during your calls, especially when you're tired.

Now, perhaps you asked very nicely, asking a friend of a friend to properly introduce us in a formal Facebook message, which, thank you, that was super charming and no, I don't mind at all. But I can't answer everyone who inquires, so that's what this is for.

Or maybe you're already an acquaintance of mine and you've never really understood how doing phone sex worked, you didn't come to Phone Whore when it was in town, but you totally wanted to, and you just drop me a line on FB, how did I get started, and actually, that's an okay approach, too. But I still can't chat individually with everyone who asks that question, so that is, again, what this post is for.

Or maybe you didn't ask very nicely at all, maybe you have never even asked me, you just walked up to me after one of my sets at a comedy show, and you didn't do proper introductions because you and your friends were all properly three sheets to  the wind. With no one on hand to keep you from acts of drunken douchery, well, the outcome seems almost inevitable: "Oh my god, I loved your act! I could totally do phone sex, maybe I should do phone sex, I talk dirty to my boyfriend all the time!" But you weren't too drunk to ask for my card, and I guess you someone managed to hang onto it, because here you are.

Hi, to all of you. This will actually be pretty easy, because there are really only three things to remember if you want to get started doing phone sex:

1. Do your research. (I don't mean watch Girl 6.) Read the vast collection of information over on psosupport.com. Read this blog. If you had done your research, you would already know that...

2. Phone sex is not a get-rich-quick profession. You will not make lots of money overnight. You probably won't make any amount of money overnight. I had to be on call between 14 to 18 hours a day for about five months before I developed a modest array of regulars and started making enough to pay more than half of my bills. The people who do make lots of money at it are usually independents and they work HARD at it, 80 hours a week and more. If you are in an emergency cash-flow situation, this is not the work for you.

3. Just because you can talk dirty with your partner(s), doesn't mean that you will be able to talk dirty with a total stranger. You have no idea who they are, what their background is around any given issue, and they may ask you—nay, EXPECT YOU—to get excited around something that you find the grossest thing ever. And you will have to do it, or else find a very good explanation to give to your dispatcher about why you didn't.

Oh, here's a fourth thing to remember:

4. However you approach your potential informant, DON'T INSULT THEM BY SAYING "I COULD TOTALLY DO THAT." There are lots of reasons why you probably can't. It is a tough profession. It actually takes SKILL. And verbal acuity. And empathy. And open-mindedness, in the spur of the moment, that you can't really fake. Attrition is high in the first three months, because people totally thought they could do it, and totally couldn't.

I hope this helps. Good luck!

CALL OF THE DAY: the Titty-Fuck Rosary

It's been about three months, but I finally heard from Titty-Fuck Rosary again. He has occasional long gaps in his call patterns with me, and I don't know whether it's because I sometimes have gaps in my availability, or because he goes on a bit of a bender and then gets the credit card bill and has to retrench a little. I think both are probably true.

I do know that he asks for me first, and then if I'm not around he will try other girls out. I know this because he gets a little irritated if he's trying to reach me and I'm not on at all for long stretches of time. I remember one conversation, when it was for sure an issue of me being away for performance-related reasons. "Where have you been?!" he practically shouted. "I spent $200 on phone sex with these weak-ass bitches who make me run over time, they don't know how to get me off." He conveniently forgets that he regularly runs over time with me and has to re-up for another call; in fact, that happened during that particular call, 20 minutes and then another 20.

I can only assume that he likes my voice, because in terms of content, a mynah bird could do his call. He was the first caller I had where I actually got bored. It was repetitive to the point of tears. I don't think I'd be interested in 20 minutes of titty-fucking IN REAL LIFE; to have to describe it for 20 minutes is just mind-numbing (thank God there's always a bit of blow-job before and during).

It's not just the titty-fucking that's repetitive. He wants to hear all about the skin color, a litany of titty-fucking that involves his big black cock buried in my enormous white tits. Those are exactly the phrases he wants: "big black cock" and "enormous white tits". I mean, I can use synonyms for "big" and "enormous", and I can substitute "shaft" or "stick" or "rod" for "cock" occasionally, and he likes to hear my bra size (42JJ) and textures ("luscious" or "velvety skin"). Lately he's been mentioning how "trashy" I look, with all thick black eyeliner and lip liner that's obviously darker than my lips (the lip liner doesn't get smudged, apparently, no matter how much I'm slurping on his cock). But mostly it's for my sake that I change it up. He is fine with just... Big Black Cock and Enormous White Tits. All. Fucking. Day. Or at least for 20 minutes.

The thing that renders Titty-Fuck Rosary particularly charged is that we are talking about his Big Black Cock; usually it's white guys who go for this phraseology. In our first call he told me that he was a lighter-skinned African-American, and that he wants me to talk about his cock being dark, dark, dark.

This makes me sad. It suggests to me, in a very specific, personal context, that the myth/stereotypes about black men and their sexual prowess are being internalized, by at least one black guy. His own light-skinned dick is not dark enough for this fantasy. I don't know if it's big enough, but it's not dark enough.

QUANTIFYING PHONE SEX: an anal infographic

I occasionally draw up graphs and charts and illustrations about my experiences doing phone sex. Something like Indexed, only much cruder, both conceptually and artistically. I had one flowchart already, "All Roads Lead to Ass", from almost two years ago; I picked up the thread a couple of months ago because I've been invited to present at Nerd Nite Austin, an event where apparently Powerpoint is king. At first, I was all, wait, there aren't really any visuals in phone sex, that's one of the selling points. Nothing about phone sex goes that easily into a slide presentation.

Then I thought, hey, there are things going on that have defied my understanding for as long as I've been doing this job; maybe if I picked out a couple of strong or distinct connections, it might make more sense. At the very least it would give my readers a different sight line into my work.

So, here's my most recent one. I'll be pulling the previous ones off of FB from time to time, just to get them over here. Enjoy!

(Oh, and if you are good at laying out this sort of thing, please drop me a line!)

large intestine

 

CALL OF THE DAY: dressing up for dinner

Go get your ass cleaned out, honey, I'll pull the quiche out of the oven and be there in a minute!

Go get your ass cleaned out, honey, I'll pull the quiche out of the oven and be there in a minute!

He's in his mid-60s, an "old hippie", he calls himself, complete with the flowing silver mane that reaches the middle of his back, unless he's done it up in a tidy chignon to go with his outfit. He cross-dresses, in real life, I think, because his taste in combining colors and styles is exactly what I think an older man who got used to his wife picking out his dress-up clothes would have.

I haven't talked to him in a while; it was just a few calls that I did with him a couple of years ago, over the span of a couple of months. But I remember him very clearly, which tells you what a distinct impression he left on me. From what I can piece together, his wife was the one who suggested that he start dressing up after he brought her back some particular fancy and complicated piece of lingerie. "If I have to wear this shit," she said, "it's only fair that you do, too." He agreed, put it on, and found that he enjoyed the feeling of satin and ribbons and lace so much that they just kept on going in the same style. Apparently she even suggested pegging—decades before that term was invented—using the same rationale: what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. So bend over, baby: if you want my ass, I'm going to get yours first.

I really enjoyed talking to him, he was so chill and matter-of-fact about this robust fancy-pants gender-switching life that he and his wife shared, way back in the '70s. Post-Stonewall, yes, but well before the Internet and fetlife and widespread for-pay phone sex and the Internet and GLBT center support groups and THE INTERNET made things a little easier to find your fellow pervs. It was just him and his wife. They lived in upstate New York, far away from the big city. They didn't have any kink community. They created their whole sexy life from scratch. She passed away more than 10 years ago, and I don't think he's added any more pieces to his wardrobe. I don't think he would want to. Not without her.

And now he's retired and on a budget, and anyway, I think the sensation is more important to him than the fashion, so when he told me about his pink stilettos and pantyhose and burgundy floor-length dress (one day's outfit, as an example), I was not going to lodge any fashion criticisms. She had chosen the dress for him; he reminisced about the time they went shopping together for it, and he sneaked into the fitting room to try it on.

He told me, half-jokingly, that he was going for the 1970s housewife experience; while we were talking about my rimming his ass and him coming all over my tits and licking it up, he had a roast beef and a baked potato cooking in the oven, "with a bit of sour cream and green onion."

Starting with a salad and ending with some coffee and brandy, right?

I could almost hear his pleased smile through the phone.

"Exactly."

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CALL OF THE DAY: surfer dude meets lesbian porn

I also imagine that he already has the hair for the role...

I like to imagine that he already has the hair for the role...

I think he sounds like a surfer dude, a stereotypical SoCal stoner. He definitely calls when he's high sometimes, and when he talks about what he's been up to over the summer, it usually involves following some jam band around on tour. I should learn not to assume a damn thing about anybody, but sometimes the contrast between how they "present" and what they WANT is just so fuckin' delightful!

Surfer Dude likes to role play as a woman, see. It's not forced feminization or sissification or any of that; he straight-up drops into a woman's body and jumps my ass. No "I'm a terrible man with a tiny penis, so I must be a woman" set-up here, he's not humiliated in the slightest. He's a hot fuckin' lesbian femme bitch and so am I—both of us with long hair and long fingernails and high heels—why would he be humiliated by this state of affairs?

One of his favorite roleplays is that he is my personal assistant "Wendy" and I'm, well, me, and she is supposed to be doing stuff for me at my house, but I come home from the gym in my sweaty, skimpy gym clothes and find her naked on the couch (why do I imagine a leather couch here?) jacking off to something from my porn stash. And then of course I have to reprimand Wendy and fuck her into submission, using those time-honored tools of frottage and strap-on sex and hot lesbian making out. (For that I just make a "puppet mouth" with my thumb and index finger and make out with that; I think it sounds more authentic. Maybe he doesn't care about authentic. I do.)

Surfer Dude is definitely a regular, and a fun one at that. He is super up and chill at the same time, and ends every call saying very complimentary things, which I don't understand, because I find it hard to believe that he is even hearing one-tenth of what I am saying. He gets so wound up during the call that he frequently wrests "control" of the scene away from me in the middle, and he talks over me. This means I have to talk louder and faster to get him to hear anything, and then he talks louder and faster, until by the end of it we are both kind of shrieking "bitch" and "fuck me" at each other and moaning in this sweaty girl-on-girl frenzy, which culminates in his REALLY high-pitched ejaculatory moan.

Whatever works, dude.

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WANNA SEE A MOVIE ABOUT PHONE SEX THAT'S SMART AND MAKES SENSE? I KNOW I DO. So much so that I'm going to make it happen. Donate TODAY to support the production of Phone Whore on film! All the details here:

Culture wars and phone whores: For A Good Time, Call…

When you're getting ready to write a book, the writer's guides always say to do your research: dig around to see what else has been written in your area so you can compare and contrast existing works with the awesome thing that you are creating.

It is rarely this fun. Or well-groomed.

It is rarely this fun. Or well-groomed.

Ever since I started thinking about creating a film adaptation of Phone Whore, I knew I would have to do the same thing, that is, get out there and see what existing movie depictions of phone sex are like. After all, I thought, people are going to draw those comparisons anyway—"Oh, have you seen Spike Lee's movie? Is it like that?"—so I might as well know what they're referring to.

Now that I know what they're referring to, I... I just... oh man, this subject matter is still WIDE OPEN, is what I'm saying, because what's out there doesn't even come close to touching it.

I'm going to start with For A Good Time Call..., and we'll see if I get my rant out all the way. Because there were things, my friends, things in For A Good Time Call... that make me sit up and say NO FUCKING WAY. There may not be enough space on the Internet to contain my blow-back in one post. If that is the case, Girl 6 and Valentine's Day will have to wait for another post or two before they land under the hot light of my BURNING INDIGNATION. (Other recommendations for depictions of phone sex in movies? Leave 'em in the comments!)

Where do I begin? How about ALL OF THE FUCKING FACTUAL INACCURACIES?

  • When the uptight roommate starts giving advice to the girl who is already doing phone sex (in addition to three other jobs), she starts by recommending that she go independent. That is a valid career decision to be made here, yes. But you don't go independent by USING PAYPAL. Paypal will boot your ass off of their platform permanently for handling adult content.
  • The PSO roomie gets all excited and says she can tell her repeat callers the new number. BZZZT. Ethically wrong, very wrong. Believe me, I understand the urge. After almost four years with my company, I've got a bunch of regulars who I LIKE. But if/when I leave, I understand that those guys are lost to me. I suppose you could try poaching customers, but good luck. If her company is like mine, the dispatchers listen in from time to time, and even if they didn't, one of the regulars would let it spill to the company. She would be bound to get caught within a couple of days.
  • The first night that the uptight roommate steps off her admin/dispatch duties and starts working the actual lines, her roommate congratulates her for making $800 her first night. ... I haven't laughed that hard during a movie in a long time.

SERIOUSLY. I scanned the cast/crew list over on IMDb, hoping to be able to figure out who might have been a script consultant, just so I could email them and yell at them. Who are you talking to, that you think a start-up phone sex company works this way?

There are those who might say, have said, that accuracy isn't that important. This isn't a documentary, it's a rom-com bromance where girls are the bros. Especially in a field that the general public hardly knows anything about the subject matter, who cares? It's just an escapist little piece of fluff. But you know what? Anytime a piece of pop culture is defended as escapist, I automatically have to wonder two things: what are people escaping from and what are they escaping to?

What are people's sex lives like that they need to create fantasy worlds in which women can play with vibrators and share sex talk and talk dirty to men and bond with each other? GUESS WHAT THAT IS ALREADY POSSIBLE, I DID SOME OF THAT TWO DAYS AGO IT WAS GREAT. But it wasn't while I was getting paid to do phone sex.

I'm not going to get into the other tired tropes and stereotypes about phone sex and/or sexually empowered women that were trotted out in For a Good Time Call... I mean, suddenly the uptight girl starts wearing leopard print around the house? Or the slutty roommate making personal arrangements to meet one of her callers in person? Or, uh... Oh, right. ACTIVELY COOKING WHILE TAKING A CALL? I can tell you from personal experience that neither the stir-fry nor the phone sex are going to turn out that well, if you're not focusing solely on either one. The same can be said for jacking off to a business call. I tried that once, and NEVER AGAIN.

I'm not sure why there is so little room for diverse and honest depictions of sex work in movies and TV. Either it's something tragic to be rescued from, or it's romanticized like a motherfucker (the Pretty Woman thing all over again), down to the leopard print and the dancing on the bed and the pink fucking phones. It's like an endless slutty, slutty slumber party, and lord, some days I wish that was the way it was, but it AIN'T.

I don't get it. I need to think about it some more. This is just a start. Because yeah, my first market research in the field of phone sex in film yielded some pretty depressing results.

Or positive ones, if we look at how much room there is for more authentic, more REAL representation.

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WANNA SEE A MOVIE ABOUT PHONE SEX THAT'S SMART AND MAKES SENSE? I KNOW I DO. So much so that I'm going to make it happen. Donate TODAY to support the production of Phone Whore on film! All the details here:

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