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Archive for Phone Whore

CALL OF THE DAY: the unexpected, escalating pig

Pigs actually roll around in mud, not shit, and it's just to stay cool. I think I might be maligning pigs too much...

Pigs actually roll around in mud, not shit, and it's just to stay cool. I think I might be maligning pigs too much...

If there's one weakness in the way my company keeps records—there may be more than one, but let's start with this—it's that we have no good way of sharing records, between operators. In the perfect utopian vision of this company, the one that the owner encourages, this is fine. It means that we keep good notes for our own regulars, we know exactly how to take care of them, we are able to track any shifts in their fantasy trajectory, or indeed sudden wrenches onto different tracks entirely.

Except that approach doesn't account for fickleness and forgetfulness, and operator absences, and some guys always wanting fresh meat and calling so many times that they really don't remember which girls they've talked to before, anyway. This inevitably leads to getting calls like today's, where I have a card for this guy and the last time we talked was a year and a half ago. What's on the card is exactly this:

hairy, BBW, redhead

rimming
pig

But it's been a year and a half, so I write it down when the dispatcher says, "He wants a she-male. I didn't say you were one, but that's what he wants." Uh-huh. I am not surprised when she adds, "And you've never talked to him before." Of course not. When what the dispatcher says a caller wants is totally unconnected from what I already have written down on his card, I might as well have never talked to him before, but it's good to have the warning. This is a cold call; I have a few possible parameters, but I actually have no idea about what is going to come out of his mouth.

A few fact-finding gambits—are you watching any porn right now? any toys that I need to know about?—yield the info that yes, he's got a vibrator with anal beads, which I think makes it one of those scorpion-shaped prostate stimulators, and he is watching some girl-on-girl "she-male" action. Good lord, do I hate that term. She-male. I hardly use it; I prefer to just step up and start talking about my dick. I bet you'd like if you were in that room with me and one of my girlfriends, I'd make you tongue-bathe me from the tip of my 8-inch dick to my asshole. Oh, and don't be afraid to dig in deep, I took a shower today, it's clean.

Dammit. That was a mistake. The card says "pig"; that usually means shit, and the messier the better. But I never know whether that involves eating it. The caller quickly corrects me: "Oh, that's too bad, that you cleaned out."

Ah! A chance to regroup! Well, if you're really going to miss it, we'll just wait until I need to take a dump, and you can be my human toilet paper.

That lands well, so I push further. And you know what? If I'm going to be fucking your ass, it doesn't matter about mine. When I pull my dick out of that little boy pussy, it's probably going to be dirty.

"Oh, yeah?"

Really dirty. I growl it out to hide the fact that at this point, I am casting around in my mind to figure out just what visuals to lay down that will make this pig happy. Uh, how about this... When my girlfriend gets her dick inside you too, both of us at once, we are literally going to fuck the shit out of you, all over the fucking sheets. And we don't want the hotel staff to deal with that, now, do we? You're going to get your face down in there and snarf it all up, you shit-eating little bitch. If you do it well, I'll drag you off into the bathroom for a piss shower. But remember, any trail you leave on the carpet, you're gonna clean up.

And then he comes.

<click>

I catch my breath, and a few seconds later my lover dances into the bedroom wearing his bathrobe and singing one of his little songs about how amazing I am. Living with a phone sex operator is not nearly as sexy as you might imagine. You get to hear me tip-toeing around someone else's shitty little fantasy.

This is the way with all of these cold calls: I've got to tip-toe, or I'll step in it.

**********

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CALL OF THE DAY: when a call goes bad

I hate myself for wanting this, and I hate you for giving it to me.

I hate myself for wanting this, and I hate you for giving it to me.

It started out a normal, nothing-special, 10-minute call. He wanted an older girl with big tits. That would be me. I found his card, and scanned it quickly. Only two calls on it, back in December, 7-minute jobs, and again, nothing out of the ordinary, "BJ and titty-fuck". Yes. Why else does a caller ask for big tits? Either they want a motherly type who's not going to flip out about their cock-sucking propensities, or they want to use those tits in the most appropriate fashion.

I described myself to him, the usual way: taller, with big tits, long legs, and short, wavy, dark-blonde hair. He asked about my boyfriend; I said I have a few.

"How big is your boyfriend?"

Oh, maybe 7, 7 and a half inches. Not a elephant cock, but a little bigger than average. What have you got?

"I'm big, 9 inches."

Wow, so that is an elephant cock! I said. That would look really nice between these tits. Some guys just get swallowed up by them, but nine inches would fit perfectly. He laughed, but it wasn't the laugh of someone enjoying himself, and I felt myself shifting inside. What is going on here?

"You get a lot of guys in there?"

What, in my tits? A fair number. The guys I attract do like them. One of my boyfriends definitely likes to titty-fuck them.

This was by way of introducing what I thought would be his preferred approach. So I started giving him a blow job, but then he said he wanted to fuck my ass. Excellent, I said, 9 inches would go great in my ass.

He started laughing again, meanly, and I said, what? He said, "you should be an actress," and kept laughing.

What?

"You should be an actress."

Well…

"There you are talking about getting your ass fucked, you got me believing it."

Um. That is what you called for, isn't it?

"Oh, yes, I just believe in calling a spade a spade."

And I got you stroking your dick, didn't I?

"Yes," and more laughter. "I'm just a moron for doing that, aren't I?"

What? No! I don't think you're a moron.

"You just got a whole bunch of morons wanting to get in your ass." I tried to say that I don't think any of my clients are morons, but he wasn't listening. He was just laughing.

I don't think you've come yet, have you? He said no.

I said, We only have a couple minutes left, I have to let you know. We had exactly one minute and 40 seconds left, but you never get that precise with a caller you don't know really really well, well enough to know that they know that you are watching the clock.

"Oh, great, and now I've got a time limit." He laughed some more.

You sound annoyed or frustrated.

"I'm not annoyed. I'm just laughing at the situation." More laughter. It was a really evil, nasty laugh, and it was really grating on my nerves. "Where are you from? Houston? New Orleans?"

I don't know why he said those cities, I don't have any kind of accent. Oh, I'm not really from anywhere, I actually travel around. I wish I could tell lies more convincingly; "traveling around" does sound weird, but it's true. I'm really not from anywhere.

"What do you do when you're 'traveling around', go to all the titty bars?"

I took a deep breath and could almost taste the fumes of scorn emanating from the phone. No, I said, I don't go to all the titty bars. He laughs again. I can't remember what I said next, but somewhere in the middle of it I realized that I'm not hearing him any more. He hung up.

I should have called back to tell my dispatcher that the caller wasn't happy with the call; I think in my confusion and anger I just forgot, but she called a couple of minutes later. "He called and said he didn't like the call." I know, I said. He went nine and a half minutes to figure it out, too. "What happened?" When she asked that, my irritation went even higher. I don't know! I was doing a normal call, I was giving him all the attention I normally give a call. Suddenly he started getting angry and I don't know why! "Okay, well, next time call me right away, okay?"

Next time. She knows damn well this hardly ever happens to me. I can count on one hand the number of times that someone has had a bad call with me over the past six years. I'm not saying that I haven't had horrible calls, like Extreme Top on his bad days or some other ones that I've complained about here, but those are only horrible to me. The guys in those calls were doing fine.

This guy… he seemed annoyed that I was doing my work well. He seemed weirded out that I would be talking joyfully about butt sex. He didn't seem to believe me about the size of my tits—which I say are 42DDD when ACTUALLY I'm a 48DDD—but he's the one who threw down that he's 6'3" and has a 9" dick. Like I'm supposed to believe that! But I didn't start laughing at him. I went along with it, because it's phone sex and that's what you do.

This guy seemed almost resentful that he was paying money for someone to be interested in what he wanted to do, and he took his resentment out on me by giving really back-handed compliments about my performance quality. That is entitlement and whorephobia right there.

I reminded myself that it's all about him and his self-loathing, not me. But ow, damn. Respect your sex worker, you fuck.

*******

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