I did this once before and it amused me to no end. Now that I’m trying to get back on the blog-horse, after 6 months on the road (more about that in subsequent posts), I thought I’d try it again as a nice re-entry point.

Wordpress, you see, can tell you the terms that people use when they stumble across your blog.  And I gotta say, although I can’t figure how to use this for marketing purposes, it cracks my shit up. Let’s take a look at the breakdown for the last 7 days, shall we?

38 variations on Cameryn Moore, Phone Whore. After doing 73 shows in 18 cities, with posters all over the fucking place, I should hope the name is sticking in people’s heads at least a little bit.

10 cuckolds. These are some of my more involved specialty calls, so of course I’ve written about these. Excellent search combos include “what it’s like to be a cuckold” (well, embarrassing, right?), “sissy cuck toilet slave at a party” (you know what they say about parties: clean up as you go along!), and my personal favorite of this crop, “swingers Jamal cuckold” (there’s a story right there, in three words).

8 searches for “toilet slave”, including the obvious variant “shit pig”. If I were really into scat as part of my sexual identity, I think I’d probably go with shit pig, rather than toilet slave. It feels so much more empowering, you know?

7 for “office fuck”. Are they looking for tips for making that happen?

And the rest are one-hit wonders like “free streaming mature perversities”, “cream pie housewife”, and “selebratie tits”. That last one I don’t know if they meant “celebrity tits” or “celebrate tits”. Either way, baby, I got ‘em and I DO.

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Starting this week, I’ll be digging back through 6 months of my show Phone Whore and bringing out the highlights reel. I mean, for those of you who follow me on facebook, you know a lot of it, but it’s different when you’re not limited to 420 characters. And stay tuned for exciting news about my radio show and more public appearances, and PLANS FOR NEXT YEAR’S TOUR. Yep. I’ll be doing it again, and maybe this time you can catch me!

See, I’ve been going along on the phones for the past nine months, getting men off, and that steady stream of audio cock hypnotized me into thinking that I was only working that side of my resume, you know, the straight side. I’m a girl, they’re all boys, and that means straight. Truth be told, I was okay with that, because frankly, I felt like perhaps I was a little weak in that area and, as a PSO trying to be the best I can be, I could use some real practical experience in the verbalization of cock.

But when I began excavating my history and experiences, and sifting through even my current work for queer-relevant fragments that I could bring to the stage–so that I could even semi-legitimately make this stand-up set queer–I found instead big chunks of queer GOLD.

Let’s set aside the fact that, as someone who lived a dick-free existence from 1989 to 2001, I know more about eating pussy than most straight guys, and certainly most of the guys who call in wanting to talk about eating pussy, or about me eating pussy. It’s a relief to sit down to a bout of rug-munching, frankly: it’s an easy sound effect, much easier on my throat than pretending to choke on a monster cock. And when I get a chance to gently guide my caller on the finer points of eating pussy, I definitely feel that I am putting some positive points in the paying-it-forward column of sex education.

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, a good chunk of the stuff that I narrate is male-on-male action. The infamous BBC constitutes a high percentage of that work, obviously, but dick-focused action–what I would call gay, in the context of paid phone sex–includes many other categories of calls: she-males on top, camping with the boy scout troop, cuckold action (especially any scene that involves the cuckold being the fluffer and/or cleanup boy). The fact that I’m a woman narrating these scenes doesn’t matter; what is being expressed, what is being fantasized, is homoerotic as hell.

And then there’s the gender-queer component. My sissy girls and panty boys remind me that there is a significant minority of dudes out there who might be feeling a little chafed by gender norms and expectations, and/or curious about at least some aspects of life and lust on the other side of the gender fence. For these callers, I get to be the voice of acceptance and surprise packages and cocksucker-red lipstick and color-coordinated satin lingerie. I love taking those calls; I mean, who doesn’t want to wear silky panties under your business suit? Briefs versus boxers is a false dichotomy! One’s choices in undergarments exist on a beautiful rainbow spectrum!

But conversation about the intersection of phone sex and queerness isn’t complete unless we include the underbelly, too. For most of my “queer” calls, I’m the voice of shame and degradation, at least occasionally. I end up making liberal use of epithets that I have spent most of my queer life avoiding: cocksucker, faggot, pansy. Most of my “queer” callers are wallowing in the dirtiness and taboo of their fantasies; if I don’t make them feel at least a little like shit for wanting it, I’m not doing my job.

Believe me, the dissonance between actually being queer and “doing” queer on the phones can be teeth-grinding. If nothing else, doing phone-queer all the time makes the REAL stuff look and feel that much better. I feel like I’m a waitress in a pie restaurant, talking to customers who have only eaten sugar-free, store-bought pie all their life. That’s what’s been marketed to them, and that’s what they want, and I have to go along with it, yum yum yum. But I know what a real, sticky-sweet, bourbon-laced, pecan pie tastes like, and gosh, I wish they did, too.

(the numbers after indicate how many times those search terms were searched)

cuckold 12

naked comedy showcase 4

toilet slave blog 3

diydomme blog 2

my toilet slave 2

blog toilet slave 2

toilet play sex 2

toilet slave 2

“naked comedy showcase” 2

toilet pig phone sex 2

how to become a toilet slave 2

submissive toilet slave 2

pay slave mistress or domina or dominatr 2

mean cuckoldress audio 1

phonsex milfs into tickling 1

cuckolding cleanup creampie 1

toilet play phone sex 1

phone sex operator intros 1

“shit pig” degradation 1

“force feeding” toilet mistress 1

filthy slut degrading audio downloads 1

big cock 1

“dom couple” toilet slave” 1

phone sex script intros 1

mommyfuckers.com 1

toilet slave magazines 1

information on toilet slaves 1

he’s my toilet slave 1

toilet slave feeding 1

only horny ass worship show. blogroll 1

cream pie cuckold 1

adult toilet play 1

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A few things come clear for me after reading this list…

- Lot of people looking for cuckolding resources. Hey, guys! Rather than look online for cuckold phone sex and wife-swap communities, it might be easier and cheaper to just sexually neglect your wife and take her to a swingers club! Oh, wait, fantasy… that’s right, this is fantasy… right?

- I have to start up a subsidiary audio erotica company called Mean Cuckoldress Audio (”unapologetically not yours”).

- How about that whole toilet thing, huh? I think I … uh… excuse me, I need to go take a leak.

A caller asked me for help with his Christmas shopping.

It was B., of course, who recently gave me my first encounter with tease and denial. He calls me every week or so,  spinning out a labyrinthine tale of cuckoldry that any soap opera writer would give their studio parking spot to dream up. Because why? It would keep them in business for decades. I’m hoping to still be hearing about this when B.’s as-yet-unborn kids who clearly aren’t his are scouting out colleges and hitting him up for outrageous allowances.

In this week’s episode, B. called and said, straight out the gate, “I need your help.” (Duh duh duhhhh!) For a split second I thought, oh god, it all turned out to be real and his wife Deanne is asking for separation and he needs a sofa to crash on while she and her dominant bull lover Jamal work out living arrangements. Nothing so simple. B. said Deanne had just texted him at work, telling him to get presents for Jamal and Joellen, her lesbian lover. Which raises that perennial holiday question:

What do you get for the guy who already has everything, including an irresistible BBC and your wife?

I’ll be honest, the part of my head that goes “real or ridiculous?” whirred for a couple of frantic seconds. But then my PSO-mind clicked back on, and I sat back and started pulling out from B. what he knew about the recipients of his flamboyantly humble cuckold gifts. Of course, what he “knows” is all sexual–he doesn’t know Joellen’s favorite color, but he knows her bra size and how many strap-ons she keeps in her travel suitcase. And Jamal, what does he like? “Beer and your wife,” I answered my own question while thinking out loud.

In the end, we decided that he should get Joellen a nice, domme-ish black leather halter top (in my mind, she’s a slightly femme dyke-on-bike). And Jamal is going to be given a his-and-hers set of subtle, chain-mail collars, for him to make B. and Deanne wear at his pleasure . I figured Jamal would appreciate the symbolism behind it; I mean, B. sure did.

For that added weight of verisimilitude, I gave B. some sites to look at for submissive-type jewelry, and told him sternly that if he wanted the collars to get there in time he would have to have them overnighted (extra expense and therefore humiliation!). As a finishing touch, I instructed him to take his wedding band and his wife’s as well (she hasn’t been wearing it for months), and bring them along with the collars to a jeweler, and have their wedding bands attached to the collars as the connecting loop for the leashes.

I was kinda proud of that last bit.

It was the same guy,  B., one of my regular cuckolds who, over the past 5 months, has spun a regular soap opera of a tale around his hot wife and her lesbian lover, who basically humiliated him and fucked his wife silly and then 6 weeks ago handed her over to, wait for it… Jamal. (Oh, my dear, delicious BBC, you are never far away, are you?)

The first time B called yesterday, he was filling me in on his wife’s absence for the weekend, and also told me about the panties that he had purchased under my directive, a pair of satin, powder-blue French-cut bikinis that he had bought in a three-pack. He was wearing them under his trousers, at work (he’s a financial advisor), and had locked the door and told his secretary to hold all calls.

I could have gotten him to come. Easy. I know my way around his buttons. Just calling him a good girl makes him hyperventilate for a few seconds. But on a whim, I told him to get down in a really humiliating pose, pull his tackle out and let it dangle, and then wiggle his ass around slowly while I told him to think about me watching him. Then I told him to stand up, pull his trousers back up, tuck his shirt in properly, and think about that moment on the floor for the rest of the day.

He called me back in the evening, upon which I accused him of trying to get me to let him come. He denied it passionately, and said he just wanted to let me know that he noticed, when he got home, that his hot wife had not taken her birth control pills with her on the weekend with her black lover. (Duh duh DUHHHHH.) He also said that he had gotten a call from her, and that they were going to be coming over in 15 minutes.

What did I do? I told him to put on the thigh-high stockings that he had purchased, also at my command, and wear those under his at-home pants. And then make sure that there was plenty of beer chilling in the fridge, because he’s a good girl and I expect him to give good service. I told him to make sure and add this second call to the journal that I’m making him keep of when he gets an erection. And then I said good night.

I don’t know why I did it that way. It just seemed like the right approach for him. And afterward I had to smile. Easiest money I ever made NOT getting a guy off. I wonder how long I–and he–can keep it up?

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:

WTF.

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.