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Archive for Phone Whore

CALL OF THE DAY: Rollercoaster Man is back at the bottom again

The lows make his highs seem even higher.

The lows make his highs seem even higher.

I gave him his nickname only recently: "Rollercoaster Man", so called because his moods can switch from call to call, and because I am trying to expunge ableist language from my vocabulary and "bipolar" is one of the terms. I also don't like to engage in armchair diagnosis online. Armchair speculation? Sure. Diagnosis is best left to the doctors. In Rollercoaster Man's case, he might actually have earned the clinical definition, because he has told me about seeing doctors and spending time in a psychiatric ward. He therefore has a profound distrust of anyone in the "helping professions," and sometimes is so pathetically grateful for our sessions that I think he has maybe not talked to a non-interventionist professional in years.

But his moods shift, like the transmission in a car driven by a bad driver, from 1st to fifth, and back down to first. Or, to get back to the metaphor in his name, he is up and down so dramatically between calls that it can be breathtaking. When he's up, he's talking so excitedly that I barely need to participate in the call at all. If I try to say something or answer him, he just mows over me anyway. When he's up, I just have to keep up, and wonder when the switch will flip. Will it be the next call, or a month from now?

The switch flipped sometime before yesterday's session, this is all I know. A week or two ago he was soaring and rattling on about movies and politics, all of the non-sex-related topics that he loves to pass through while he spends an hour or two or three with me, 30 minutes at a time. Yesterday, he was back to his laconic low, with vast silences echoing in my ear whenever I stopped talking and waited for his response, several seconds of hesitation following even my direct questions. It is fucking EXHAUSTING to do phone sex with this guy when he's like this.

- Is that what you want to hear about, how that girl would be crying underneath you?

"Yes."

- What does she look like?

- Jimmy? (Not his real name)

"Yes."

- Can you tell me what the girl looks like?

"I just want to talk about that scene."

- What do you want to say about it?

- JIMMY.

And so on. Yesterday, I gently snapped and said, Look, it's difficult for me to talk with you when you aren't actually talking with me. Sometimes I need feedback, to know whether you like something, or to know if I'm going down the right path, and when I don't hear you answer me in a timely fashion, I think that you've hung up, and that is not a great way for me to work. He apologized, and I went on: today, I'm just going to tell you a story and not keep checking in with you. I've been talking with you long enough, I think I know what you like. I'm not going to ask you any questions, but it's on you to speak up when you're done.

He agreed, and I felt like a weirdo, just  spinning out this motel-room rape scenario, and then he interrupted me at 30 minutes, when he had purchased an hour-long package, and said, "Okay, that's enough. Do I get to hang on to the rest of that time?" I want to tell him, yes, don't worry about it, I'll tell them that you went short, that once again you could not handle the very thing that you want. But Rollercoaster Man can't seem to help it.

<sigh> Yes, Jimmy. I'll tell them.

********

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CALL OF THE DAY: cuckolds and cooking tips

No jokes about limp noodles, please.

No jokes about limp noodles, please.

This caller of mine is moderately infamous by now, simply because his call from six winters ago is the one I dredge up whenever someone asks me, "What's the weirdest call you've ever done?" They're expecting some freaky-deaky hentai fetish extravaganza, and I give them a lecture about how "weird" is totally a judgmental word. Then I lay this guy's call on them, a call that came in a week before Christmas, in which all he wanted to do was fret about what gifts to give his wife, and her lesbian ex-lover Joellen, and the big black dude named Jamal whom Joellen had passed his wife off to when Joellen had gotten her fill. According to my records, we spend four 15-minute conversations hashing this all out.

The guy is a master of the oddly specific, is my point.

We did a lot of those kinds of sessions during my first couple of years, when he would call up for 15 minutes, and then we wouldn't get to an orgasm yet, and I would ask him if he wanted to come, and he would say, "that's up to you, mistress." He was going to have to report the calls and any orgasms to his wife, he said, and I assumed the more he spent on the calls without coming, the more derision his wife would heap on him. But I figured derision was part of what he was after, and even if there was no cuckolding-yet-submissive wife, he was still getting some humiliation from being so supposedly dominated over the phone that he would keep spending money, so I would take him up on it, testing to see how many more calls I could get out of him that day.

Most times I chickened out at around four calls, letting him come at the end of that one while I spun him out a story about how he would have to clean out his wife's pussy after she got home from Jamal's. (Jamal. Really. Oddly specific, yet totally predictable.) There may have been a few times where I tried for a fifth, but he either got interrupted—uh oh, the wife's home!—or just had reached the limit of his budget for the day.

Since then, our calls have been much less frequent. He's one of the customers who would have been solidly "mine" had my schedule been more consistent. Touring does a number on my availability: dropping from 16 hours a day on call, seven days a week, to five hours or fewer, six days a week, means my net has bigger holes in it, and many of those I previously caught have slipped right through. I checked this guy's card before writing this and the pattern is obvious: all banging up until my first summer on tour, and then once or twice a year since.

I think he remembers me? I sure as fuck remember him. His voice is very mild and unassuming, and the players in his cuckold soap opera remain the same (though Joellen has drifted away, it's all about Jamal now, and his increasing dominance over the caller's wife).

And as always, his attention to detail is a bit staggering. In the call I took with him last week, he was talking about the dinner that he had made recently for his wife and Jamal. (Domestic servitude seems to be part of the humiliation package for him, although he does say that he is a good cook with a moderate amount of pride.) He made Jamal's favorite dish, chicken alfredo, with salad and a good wine and everything, but then … Jamal just didn't show up when he said he would.

"He was three hours late," said my caller. "The alfredo sauce had to be reheated."

That's no good for alfredo sauce, I said.

"No, but I knew a couple of tricks to fix it."

Oddly specific, right?

*****

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