Author: camerynmoore

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Exploring the Big Black Cock

I encountered my first BBC--that's Big Black Cock--about two days into service as a phone whore.

Not that I had never slept with African-American men before (or women, for that matter). As a free-wheeling, sexually voracious woman, in a large-ish metropolis on the West Coast and with access to craigslist, it was statistically impossible for my pool of play partners to NOT include people of color.

But the BBC is different from just any old cock that happens to be attached to a black man. It's different.

By definition, it's Big. Not just bigger than average, but BIG. Double digits always, and really, you probably need both hands to maneuver it around and into your mouth, although why you'd want to do that when you are clearly running the risk of cracking your jaw, I don't know.

Also by definition, it is Black, shining out like an inverse beacon against the (invariably) white or pale pink skin of whoever is getting fucked with it, whether it's the hot cuckoldress wife or the cock-hungry caller himself. In the universe of the BBC, the relative skin colors of the fucker and fuckee are as dramatic as a United Colors of Benetton ad.

When I took that first BBC call, and then my second a few hours later, and then the third that night... I had to wonder about the appeal. Separate from the whole issue of homoerotic impulses, why Black? I mean, I get Big. But what was in the pigmentation of this mythical male that made his body in general, and his cock in particular, so unbearably, unbelievably attractive to my BBC callers?

I'm going to start by saying in some ways it doesn't matter. If there's one thing that I'm solid on in this business, it's that you can't argue away desire or fetish or lust. It may not make any sense to me at all, but if it makes you hard and/or wet, well, it is what it is and I will take you there and through it and out the other side panting.

But in other ways, it does matter. Because I think, given what I know about race in the US and our supposedly post-Obama-as-president society, a lot of people probably aren't, you know, playing fair. Like, it's okay to worship the BBC in your fantasy, but in real life maybe you lock your doors driving through "urban" neighborhoods. Or maybe you want that delicious, velvety dark rod so bad you'd make a third hole just for it, but you'd be nervous about your neighbors seeing the owner of that BBC standing on your doorstep.

Karma and ethics and race and psychological dissonance, okay, I get it. Not hot. Rest assured, BBC-lovers of the world, I'm not going to take away your cocoa-colored, rock-hard, jizz-blowing binkie. I'm definitely not going to stop taking those calls (I'd be losing at least 40 percent of my call volume if I did, seriously!) But in my BBC series, starting next week, I'm gonna encourage you to think about your kink. Just a little.

Fantasies don't exist on an island, sprung from nothing. They come from somewhere. And in some cases, like this one, I really want to know where.

Catching up with Cameryn (good luck!)

Sorry for the light posting this last week or two. I was prepping for my Whore-a-thon fundraiser last Wednesday--we raised over $400, thanks to some dedicated listeners and my pledgemaster's commitment to the cause, as witnessed by his promise to remove items of clothing for pledges received. Now that's what I call incentivizing! We have pulled in $1760 in grants, donations, sponsorships, and pledges, which is more than a third of the way there to our $5000 goal by October 15. The campaign continues, so please make your donation today!

I spent the rest of the week calling around various sex and fetish-related internet stores to see about business sponsorships for the 2010 Phone Whore Tour. And let me tell you, that's a lot of calling! I knew the internet was for porn, but holy spank store, Batman, my spreadsheet is filling up fast. (Hey, my fellow PSOs! I have a special sponsorship deal for you, if you want to get in on some Phone Whore action. Drop me a line and let's talk.)

OH! In addition to being a cheap fundraiser option, the Whore-a-thon was meant to launch my eponymous radio show in prime fashion, and it did. I'll be starting up the regular run of Cameryn Moore Phone Whore this coming Wednesday, September 16, with the live show at 4:30 pm EST and a repeat of the show running at 11:30 pm EST. My special guest from the Whore-a-thon, Scarlet, will be co-hosting the first regular show with me this week, and we're excitedly planning a future in guest appearances and audio collaborations. Call-in is available for the live show only, but you'll be able to chat with me, Scarlet, and other friends during both runs. Get details at my BlogTalkRadio page!

Do not worry, friends and fans. I will be back in blog-tastic order this coming week, when I stumble around for meaning at the intersection of race, desire, and fear... in short (or long, ba-dump-bump), the issue of the Big Black Cock.


Title: Whore-a-thon!
Location: Everywhere
Link out: Click here
Description: On Wednesday, September 9, Cameryn will be hosting Whore-a-thon, a live, three-hour online radio show and phone bank to raise a good chunk of the $3,800 she needs to enter Phone Whore into the Canadian Fringe Festival circuit. Lots of Q&A with Cameryn and other pros, dial-in contests, and true tales from \"the lines\" will keep you fixed to the computer and laughing your ass off! Whether you pledge now or on the evening of September 9th, join us in supporting Phone Whore and turning up the volume on a little-known corner of the sex-work industry.
Start Time: 07:00
Date: 2009-09-09
End Time: 10:00

Dial XXX for Pleasure

Title: Dial XXX for Pleasure
Location: Good Vibrations, 308A Harvard St. (rear), Brookline
Link out: Click here
Description: (Education can be fun!)

Hot and steamy phone sex can be a great addition to any relationship- it’s not just for long-distance lovers! If you’ve ever wanted to add a little spice to your sweetie’s workday or have some fun with someone across town or across country, Cameryn Moore will give you some tips. She’ll use her experience as a phone sex operator, playwright and performance artist to give you the info on setting the scene, staying in character, finding your voice, using creative descriptions and sound effects, and getting feedback without breaking the mood. When you use your words, the only limits are your desires and your imagination.
Cost: $20 if pre-registered, $25 for drop-ins (preregister via the link!)
Start Time: 20:00
Date: 2009-11-17
End Time: 22:00

The More You Know!: Cuckolds and Cream Pie

Today I write of another kink that I knew very little about before joining the lines. It's these guys who fantasize about their wives or girlfriends getting boffed by other, better-hung fellows (or in the case of one of my regulars, a buffed-out dyke with a supersize strap-on).

I'm not going to deal with the 101 of cuckolding, because Dan Savage covers it nicely here and wikipedia goes into great detail also. For myself, after extensive reading of overwrought cuck fic and a couple of afternoons laughing at the bad acting at those interracial hot-wife sites (no links to that, that's what google is for), this is where I'm at:


I'm just not much closer to emotionally comprehending the turn-on. Sure, I had my theories, but the chart is starting to sprawl as my cuck-callers keep adding phrases and scenes and images to the mess: imagining your conservative wife letting loose with some horse-dicked stranger, in a way that she doesn't with you. Smelling that distinct lust-must smell in the conjugal bed. Her getting knocked up and not by you. Being the clean-up boy as your reward (oh, homosex overtones, I never get enough of you). Watching her exit the restaurant with her boyfriend on the eve of your anniversary dinner, leaving you with the tab, defizzed champagne, and a melting tiramisu. A call I took last week made me cry, when one cuckold fantasizer asked me, "what will it feel like when my wife falls in love?"

This stuff is CHARGED. Last night I took a call where the hardest spot of resistance for the caller was when I told him, the husband, that he needed to open the door for my lover and welcome him into the house. He resisted, he was shocked and appalled, but he didn't hang up, which is why I spent some time needling him about it. "Don't you love me? Don't you want to see me happy?" I asked, throwing an extra pout into my voice. "I can't do it," he kept saying. "It's so humiliating."

We ended up arguing for nearly 10 minutes, because here we were, 60 minutes into the call, and we had already imagined him taking the guest bedroom, right next to the master bedroom and hearing me get my brains fucked out. So what was it about opening the door and offering a drink to my lover that was so much harder? "He's been in our bed before, you know." "I know. But I can't just welcome him in like that." In the end, we negotiated--a cream pie in exchange for opening the door and being respectful--but over my head the lightbulb didn't just go on; there were 200 of them flashing all around. Jeezus christ, I thought, all that psychological symbolism is right on. It's like a porno and horror film all mixed together.

Whatever you do, cuckold, (don't) open that door. After that, it's all over but dessert.

Dialing for Dollars and Pimping for My Play

Just got word over the weekend that the Phone Whore 2010 tour received its first grant, a $500 seed grant from the New England Leather Alliance. Holy spit-shined boots, Batman, we’re getting legit!

This also means that Phone Whore (”a one-act play with frequent interruptions”) only has $4000 to go to cover entry fees for eight Fringe Festivals in the Canadian Fringe Circuit lottery, and believe me, people, I will be pimping for dollars on a regular basis. I’m even hosting a three-hour online radio event on September 9, with some friends and fans running a PBS-style phone bank in the next room.

In the meantime, if you feel the urge to donate now, go to my donate page and do it. And here’s the wonderful new fine print for my fiscal sponsor. Thank you, NELA and ISWFACE!

The Phone Whore 2010 tour, produced by Little Black Book Productions and co-presented by NELA, is a fiscally sponsored project of ISWFACE, a 501(c)(3) non-profit, tax-exempt organization. Contributions in support of Litttle Black Book Productions’ work are greatly appreciated and may be made to ISWFACE, earmarked for “ISWFACE artist approved project named LBB Productions”. All contributions are fully deductible to the extent allowed by law.


“But Cameryn, why don’t you just sell those audio stories you keep going on about, and fund the project that way? This makes you sound like a charity.”

First of all, Phone Whore—the play—is a charity. That is, it’s a fiscally sponsored project of a 501(c)(3) organization. One of the perks of operating as a non-profit is getting to be even more shameless about asking for money.

Second, I just moved here to camerynmoore.com (still putting paint on the window trim, kinda thing), and here I have an actual for-profit storefront for my audio raunch. Sex does sell, obviously, and it’s going to be paying my rent, people.

But art (even with sex in it) needs extra support. The Phone Whore 2010 tour is a separate endeavor, and it’s art, and it needs your help to launch. And that’s what this donation drive is about.

Nature or Nurture? or, how to raise a phone whore

One thing about training for phone sex work is that mostly, it doesn't exist. They toss some supposed transcripts of calls at us, maybe a few lists of synonyms for "vagina" and "penis", and throw us in. My current company let me listen to three or four phone calls before I started, and I could ask questions of the operator after. At the time I thought that was ... insufficient, but after hanging out on a PSO forum and reading about the experiences of other PSOs, I realized my good fortune.

A couple of different schools of thought emerged in this thread about training. One was that just about anybody could learn to be a decent PSO, if they had proper training. The other camp basically believe in survival of the fittest; throw your candidates into the deep end of this really scary, dank pond, they say, and see who resurfaces.

It sounds harsh, but I'm starting to appreciate the sink-or-swim approach. I mean, look at the skill set needed for PSO work: outgoing, talkative, mentally flexible, sexually open, unflappable. It's not even a skill set, is it? It's a personality profile, emerging from life experience in a way that is difficult to trace and impossible to replicate. Like morel mushrooms or edible acorns, they show up where they show up. You can't grow them, you just appreciate them when you find them.

So actually, I don't know how to raise a PSO. (That's just as well; I don't think there's a lot of call for that parenting manual.) But the folks who would try to train people for the lines, their "training packets" are not helpful, either.... "Be yourself." "Follow their lead." "Keep 'em talking." How? HOW?? If the rough-and-tumble, give-and-take of conversation with strangers doesn't come naturally to you already, it sure as shit isn't going to suddenly happen when you're talking about shoving a dirty dildo into someone's mouth.

The truth is, every decent-to-good PSO needs those traits, but we all get there in different ways. Me? I got my go-get-'em chops and assertive voice from being raised in a big family, doing activism, living through a sequence of unlikely personal choices that blew the doors off my sexuality. Someone else might come to it after a lonely childhood, two marriages, and four years of telesales. There's no pattern to it, no sequence of learnings that can be recorded and slipped into a training module.

So we stumble into the deep end, all of us newbies, and some of us, somehow, get our heads above water and breathe. It's a messy way to recruit, but it might be the only way.

The More You Know!: Tickling

I’m not ever going to go into details of a virtual blow job on this blog. It’s been done elsewhere, and if you really want it from me, I’ve got a workshop about phone sex coming up at the Boston-area Good Vibrations in November. (Edit: also, describing a blow job while I’m supposedly doing it gives me a little brain cramp every time. My mouth is supposed to be full, you dumb fuck! I can’t tell you how much I want it! Just listen to me slurp! I’m not a fan, for reasons of logic.)

Here I’d rather spend time on stuff that gets less play in the perversity petting zoo, stuff that maybe sends even me for a loop. This week in The More You Know!, Cameryn gets her first two tickling calls!

Right. I can sense your furrowed brow right through the screen: How the fuck do you indulge a tickling fetish over the phone? The answer, it turns out, is easy: lots of laughing.

Last week’s call at least touched on territory that was familiar to me. The caller wanted to be humiliated, and tickling was part of that process. He retold at length the “pre-teen as unwilling male stripper at a party full of MILFs” subplot from American Pie 3 (which I may have to see now, oh god), and then told me to step into those MILF high heels and tell me what I’d do to him as poor little Scooter. Goochie goochie goo! Oooh, look how red his face is getting! I was tickling him and embarrassing him and laughing at him for an hour and 20 minutes, people.

This week’s tickle call was flipped: I was supposed to be the tickl-ee (?!). The caller told me that I was a scientist who had developed a new sex machine that ran on laughter, and he was my assistant. I asked him to strap me into the machine and tickle me, and not to let me out until the experiment was completed. “In the name of science,” I intoned. He riposted with “I’m going to start licking your armpits.”


Now, in real life, I am ticklish. In the right mood, I will start snickering and twitching away from an evil grin and some wiggling fingers two feet away. But that wasn’t this. Truth is, I’ve been bottling up my laughter for months about some of the ridiculous scenarios on the lines, and this lucky tickling bastard got all of it.



I needed that.

The Phone Whore's Alphabet: A is for Activist

I'm a relative n00b in the sex work world. I mean, yes, obviously, I feel comfortable doing the work, and I've found some good community support in online PSO forums, but I'm still learning about the sex workers movement and my role in it.

Going through this process is... odd. In other communities I'm occasionally seen as, if not a leader, at least someone who's in a visible/influential/pioneering position. With sex work, no one is expecting me to have an opinion and/or ideas for action about this work and issues affecting it. I'm kinda relieved.

Relieved, and a little restless. That's who I am. I'm sitting here thinking, huh, what should I do next? How else can I better get to know the other artists in my community? What should I know about other genres of sex work? How, on my limited income, can I support organizations that are making important programming and activism occur?

Call me a type-A personality; that's A for activist. (Also artist. And articulate. And anally fixated. But that's a different blog, sorry 😉 Anyway, as soon as "sex worker" became a part of my identity--that is, about four weeks after I got my first caller off--I went there: "what should I do now?"

I don't have an answer to that question immediately. It's gotta simmer for a little while yet. In the meantime, I'm working on my play, Phone Whore (more on that next week), which will certainly constitute visibility work in the world of theater. And I'm trying to broaden my blog reading outside my usual size-acceptance fields. Found Audacia Ray's blog recently, with this post that spoke strongly to my activist self.

Audacia's definitely getting on my forthcoming blog roll, along with other sex worker sites that, in my opinion, further the cause and/or give good read. Got suggestions for other sites to check out in the areas of sex work and sex education? Give them a shout-out here!

Big Cock Candy Mountain

In my non-sex-work performing life, I have frequently appropriated and rewritten Broadway show tunes and other well-known lyrics for satirical purposes. It's an odd way to relax, but I'm good at it and, well, there you go. So after a recent call--a particularly rapid and exhausting review of Physically Impossible Sex Acts, Parts 2, 5, and 7 (in 15 minutes)--I was not surprised to have the following emerge:

(sung to the tune of Big Rock Candy Mountains, which you can hear versions of all over, in O Brother, Where Art Thou, and also in kids' radio programming sometimes)

Big Cock Candy Mountains

In the Big Cock Candy Mountains there's a land that's fair and bright
Where the girls all shave their bushes and you eat out every night
Where the glory holes are open and the sun shines every day
On the birds and the bees and the testicle trees
Where the urine streams, where the dildo reams
In the Big Cock Candy Mountains

In the Big Cock Candy Mountains all the cocks are hard all day
And the dogs are always willing and the boys all like to play
And every drawer is brimming with piles of lingerie.
Oh, I'm bound to come, gonna get me some
where the beds will shake and vibrators hum
In the Big Cock Candy Mountains

In the Big Cock Candy Mountains you never change the sheets
And the little streams of pussy juice leave white spots on the seats.
The choirboys go commando and the priests don't seem to mind.
There's a lake of poo and other goo
If you step in that, I'll lick your shoe
In the Big Cock Candy Mountains

In the Big Cock Candy Mountains the floors are always clean
So if that horny mood should hit, you can drop and start your scene
The men are long and tall here, ev'ry girl a sex machine
I'm a-gonna to stay where you fuck all day
Where the cream and honey just flow that way
In the Big Cock Candy Mountains

(tip of the battered hat to Harry McClintock)

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