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Archive for Phone Whore

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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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:

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:

CALL OF THE DAY: so soft, it’s hard!

I've never understood the visual metaphor of "curtains blowing in the breeze". Could just as easily be "mac n cheese burning in the oven".

I've never understood the visual metaphor of "curtains blowing in the breeze". Could just as easily be "mac n cheese burning in the oven".

He likes to call early and talk about kissing me awake in bed. His favorite outfit for me is my birthday suit and some bed sheets, and the other day he actually used the word "loins". He's nice, he's gentle, and if we're going to be completely honest, he is one of my most challenging regulars. Oh my god, this guy is So Soft-Core.

In movie and TV depictions, paid phone sex is almost always rough, nasty, and/or kinky, or some combination thereof. Even in my own practice, it is easy for me to get stuck in the "assertive/aggressive domme" groove, simply because that is mostly what I am called on to do. Layered on top of that is my own preference for fast-talking filth. So, when Soft-Core calls, I have to take a few deep breaths and make a conscious effort to slow... it... down. Our conversations are slow-paced, soft, gentle, full of "mmmmm" and "yesssss". I'm glad for all those breathy, throw-away responses; they give me time to figure out what I need to say next.

Because he's SUBTLE. He likes the adjectives. I mean, all my calls have adjectives, but the domme ones tend to rely more on verbs, the doing, the DOING HARD, the fucking and changing positions and "what are you going to do for me next, bitch?" When you're in the middle of a gang-bang, there's not much time for anything but verbs. Choke. Thrust. Fill. Pound. Gush. Yeah, lots of verbs.

Soft-Core, he enjoys the sensing more, taste and smell and languorous touch. Which makes sense. My domme calls tend to be shorter, meaning "get to the fucking point, lady." Soft-core, he goes longer; today's 20-minute call—he called right when I started writing this post!—is a typical length. So he has time to savor the experience in exquisite, minutely described detail.

Exquisite detail, not graphic. Not for him the sweat and stink. He doesn't want legs spread wide enough to hurt. No ass-licking, no cream pies, no choking on cock. He wants to feel the energy lines of my waking-up self twist and twine around him, against him in my half-asleep arousal. He wants to hear about each of the seven different paths that my fingertips could follow from his scalp to his hardness (yes, I think he likes that word more than "cock").

If he has one fetish, it's physical perfection. Everything is "perfect": my pussy, the head of his cock, the fit as he slides in me (always missionary style, followed by titty-fucking my perfect breasts). I think part of it is that he's overusing "perfect" the way many people overuse the word "epic", to mean awesome or amazing. I like to make that translation in my head, when he and I talk. "You are perfect," he breathes.

I laugh silently and think, yes, I am pretty amazing.

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HE'S A CANDIDATE FOR A BONUS CALL IN PHONE WHORE (THE MOVIE). Donate TODAY to support the production of Phone Whore on film! All the details here:

CALL OF THE DAY: setting some pussy parameters

Do I have to stand up to be your bitch? Because I don't think that's a good idea right now...

Do I have to stand up to be your bitch? Because I don't think that's a good idea right now...

I've talked about him before; he loves him some BigBlackCock (TM) (aka BBC), and actually inspired the locker-room gang bang in my play Phone Whore. Sometimes he calls me from home, where we are able to browse the same Xhamster videos together (where the fuck did they get the name Xhamster from, anyway?!). His favorites list is chock-full of interracial gang-bangs, obviously, things where the girl is really getting reamed, because eventually we're going to pull him into that centerpiece position, and he likes it rough.

Lately he's mostly been calling me from his truck. It's his company's truck, he says, and no, I have NO IDEA what that means, what line of work he's in that they have company trucks, or whether he is doing what he actually says and taking his tissues with him when he leaves the truck. His calls are brief—usually only seven minutes, every now and then 10—but we have nonetheless managed to develop an understanding, he and I, about exactly what he likes. We also are able to be with each other outside the call as well, in a non-awkward way.

This kind of phone relationship is as rare as it is wonderful. For me that outside interaction is way more interesting and indicative than the content of the fantasy, for telling me about the caller as a person. The guys who hang up without saying good-bye, well... I am obviously not a person to them. They don't owe me anything, any more than you owe your vibrator anything. When I first started taking calls, I resented that attitude a lot; now I just shrug.  But the ones who do have the time and inclination to say goodbye, or "have a great weekend", well, that makes the world a better place for everybody, I think. And if we are able to banter a bit, if we can joke and be a little affectionate or charming with each other, that's brilliant. I especially love those occasions when my callers let the real world intersect with their fantasy world, and we can laugh about it.

For example, today this caller said he was literally drooling, thinking about getting some BBC in his mouth. I told him to get a dildo and get to work on it; I wanted to hear him use a little finesse at first and then I wanted to hear him choke on it. Done and done, very well done, in fact. Then I got to the bit where he's working on six or seven BBCs at once and one of them is going to slide in behind him, and I asked him, "your pussy is twitching right now, isn't it, so fuckin' greedy?"

And he totally switched gears, from panting and breathless horny-bitch cocksucker begging on his knees to slightly embarrassed dude on the couch. "Well, you know, normally I'd totally do that, but today everything's coming out and nothing's going in."

And I laughed and he did too, and I said, "Well, it's important to be aware of physical limitations. That one in particular is a good thing to notice when it comes to getting your FUCKING PUSSY STUFFED." And we got back into it and finished him off.

That is some good customer/client relations right there.

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I CALL HIM "LOCKER-ROOM GANGBANG". He'll be in the movie, too! At least his fantasy will be. Donate TODAY to support the production of Phone Whore (the movie). All the details here:

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