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Archive for Phone Whore

Silent Fucking Night

Silent Fucking Night

[caption id="attachment_1942" align="alignleft" width="300"] If only I could feel as glamorous about this as Sophia looks...[/caption] No calls December 24 and 25, just one call today so far… Oh, t...Read More »

CALL OF THE DAY: same old cards, same old WTF

Oh, yeah, and remember that time we coerced my underaged brother into fucking you? That was fan-TASTIC.

Oh, yeah, and remember that time we coerced my underaged brother into fucking you? That was fan-TASTIC.

"Seven minutes," said the dispatcher. "He wanted my nastiest girl. He'll tell you what he wants."

I stare at the card during the few seconds while she's connecting us. According to the front of this card, I'm 47 years old. Callers often draw the connection between nasty and older. I guess we're assumed to have seen it all by the time we're over that metaphorical hill? Two more words: "mommyfucker, beastie". Well, well. That tells me it's not going to be particularly vanilla, but not really much else. Flipping the card over, I see that I've only ever done two calls with this guy, the second of which was October 30, 2009. For that one, he lasted two minutes of a 7-minute call.

Goddamn these old cards. They are inadequate, and it's entirely my fault. I should have written down something about why the call ran short: did he come, did he say thank you, or did he just hang up? I have come to want to know about things like this. It makes me feel less like an object when the person just hangs up, makes me worry less about the quality of my service, if I know ahead of time that that's his M.O.

I hardly wrote anything on some of these cards back in the beginning, I don't know why. I don't know if I was thinking this far ahead, even. Maybe I thought I wouldn't be doing the phone work for more than a year or two, or maybe I was imagining that all of these callers would become regulars and I wouldn't need to write anything down because I'd be talking to each and every one of them, every other day. I'd make myself completely irresistible, I'd remember everything, and I'd be making so much money, HA HA HA. The short notes aren't that much of a bother, because when these callers pop up again, after three or four or five years, things almost inevitably will have changed.

This guy, he doesn't want to hear anything about me this time around. I give people that option at the beginning of the short calls: do they want to hear a little about me, or do they have something specific in mind that they wanted to talk about? Because if they have something specific, I'd rather spend time getting into it than talking about irrelevancies like my tits and my hair color.

He has something specific in mind. He is looking at pictures, he says, pictures of his now-ex wife having sex with his then 16-year-old brother. Huh, I said, unsure from his tone what my reaction is supposed to be, how did that come about?

"It was my idea," he says.

For his 16th birthday or something?

"Exactly. And she was up for it. He was mostly surprised at first…"

I bet.

"… but he got into it."

I BET. And, uh, how were you feeling about it?

"It was fucking hot."

Have you three ever done it again?

"No, we got divorced a couple of years ago and she moved in with him."

Huh.

I still don't know what my reaction is supposed to be, but then I notice I can't hear him breathing or talking anymore. Call over before I can even ask if he's touching himself or not. Dammit.

The Anatomy of an Easy Call

The Anatomy of an Easy Call

[caption id="attachment_1918" align="alignleft" width="300"] I would be yelling at you now, even if they weren't paying me...[/caption] The people who are around me most, my lovers and close friend...Read More »

Racial justice, fantasies, and the BBC

Click on the cover above to find out more about this amazing book. Chapter 5 is particularly relevant to any discussion of the BBC.

Click on the cover above to find out more about this amazing book. Chapter 5 is particularly relevant to any discussion of the BBC.

[Hi! At least a few of you probably got here by googling something along the lines of "big black cock phone sex". I can check the stats in a few days, but I don't need to, because I've written about Big Black Cock before, and I have a tag for it, so I know people follow that particular path occasionally to get here. If you're new here, you should know that this is a behind-the-scenes-type blog, not a drumming-up-business blog, so many of the posts here are not sexy. This particular post? Definitely not sexy.

This post is fucking angry.

ANGRY, segueing to DIDACTIC, and maybe a little SNARKY in parts. Here goes:]

Hello, Big Black Cock-seekers. For years I have been uncomfortable with doing your calls. (See this column I wrote, very early on in my phone-sex career.) The reasons why I continue to take your calls are mostly economic; I would be putting myself even further into marginal income territory if I tried to find a phone sex job where I did not have to talk about BBC. But I have to be honest with you right now: in light of all the recent cases of cops killing black people, killings that are tapping into fierce and necessary public rage, I am kinda burning out on your racist bullshit.

I am tired of your seemingly effortless use of the N-word; you don't even hesitate, it just spews from your lips. (How much practice have you had saying it?) I am tired of talking about all of those enormous black dicks that you want to taste. (They don't taste like chocolate, dude. They just taste like dick.) I am particularly tired of hearing you talk about your Hot Wife getting with all of that Big Black Cock, simply as a narrative gimmick for you to eventually get "forced" into getting with that BBC. (You can't even fucking own your own racial fetishes, you have to project them on your supposed wife.)

I am not policing your fantasies. I don't want to police anything, ever. I don't know for sure that you have racist thoughts (other than your fantasies). But it's, shall we say, statistically likely, and I would bet the income from all the BBC calls that I do, that at least 90% of you (and that's probably generous) haven't spent any time at all thinking about where your fantasies come from. I bet you haven't spent much time thinking about racial injustice. I bet the images of the protests on TV scare the living fuck out of you on some basic level, in part because even while you watch the news and shake your head and talk with your wife or girlfriend about it, inside there's a little (or big) part of your soul that is squirming because you just used the fucking N-word in our last call and you think about sucking BBC a fair bit, and you do not know what to do with that, so you just sit there and sweat a little during the awkward pauses. You are a coward and at some level you KNOW your fantasy is some fetishizing shit like WHOA, you just don't know what to do with it. Hell, you may not even know the words for it. But you know it's problematic in some way.

Now. I know, poor reader who came here looking for Big Black Cock, that you didn't create that internal dynamic, where you can't seem to control the erotic seething mess that lurks about in your mind and in your private-setting web browser, that throbbing aching image of someone else's Big Black Cock and your poor defenseless little Tiny White Asshole. You inherited that from centuries of racism—particularly in the US, but elsewhere too—in which black people, especially black men, needed to be policed and controlled and punished. Having set the wheels of oppression in motion with slavery, white men practically had to paint black men as these mindless, slavering sex animals whose virility could not be contained. Once the slave owners started spreading that around, well, their white women and daughters got all curious! And then the strictures on black male sexuality had to be even more rigorously enforced, and on and on and fucking on in this vicious bloody spiral.

Yes, this is grossly simplified. It is also gross, and you inherited it. We all inherited racism when we were born in this country. We're swimming in it. People on the receiving end of it are drowning in it. It's not surprising that it sometimes soaks through the highly permeable membrane of our sexual psyches and leaves its mark.

Still with me? Great. Once you know that bit, then it's time to do the right thing and THINK about it. I'm not saying you have to drop your fantasies. I'm just saying the same thing I say about any kink or fetish or preference: when what turns us on "happens to" line up with problematic things out in the real world, when our desires mesh really well with a fetishizing stereotype or an abusive dynamic that thrives, we owe it to ourselves and to society to really look at that. We need to examine our prejudices, think about what's getting us off and why, and be aware of how we may or may not be projecting these prejudices back out into the real world.

I also think that some kind of balancing needs to happen. I am not particularly woo-woo, but this feels like a good thing to do for the universe. If you've got the money—which, if you're a consumer of phone-sex services, YOU DO AND DON'T FUCKIN' LIE—consider sending some respectable amount to the NAACP or a local group dedicated to fighting racial injustice. If you don't have the money—which, as a phone sex operator, I don't and that's the truth—then talk about these issues, at least, keep them out in the open. Hatred and fear grow best in hiding, especially when you've got the erotic shame layered on top. It merges unspoken into the rest of the fetid stream of race relations in the US today, and it strengthens these tangled dangerous roots.

What? Oh, yes, I feel like I have to do some balancing, too. I'm not trying to paint myself as above it all. I grew up in the US. And as someone who does BBC calls, and apparently rather well, I benefit in a strangely direct way from the existence of racism. This line of work, though… if I said I would not do BBC calls, I would lose about 30 percent of my call volume. I am in this bind until I leave this field. So I write these things, and I talk about these things, and if I don't reach my own callers, hopefully I will reach someone else's.

Hello, Big Black Cock-seekers. This wasn't what you wanted, but it's probably what you need.

 

 

CALL OF THE DAY: “You’re the Ann Landers of phone sex!”

(shit, I dropped my loofah) Sorry, sweetie, can you repeat that?

(shit, I dropped my loofah) Sorry, sweetie, can you repeat that?

I took a call from my chubby chaser yesterday. He came after 15 minutes, we said Happy Thanksgiving to each other, la la laa, okay, on to the next one. I was a little surprised, after that next one, when the dispatcher called back and gave me the chubby chaser again. Ten minutes. Didn't I just do him? "Yep, he wants another ten."

O-kay?

I get him on the phone, and I remember how weird it is, when I get an unexpected and immediate repeat. It doesn't happen often—guys just need time to reload, right?—but when it does, it's weird. It's like, hi, we don't need to go through all the pleasantries again, because we just did that 30 minutes ago, but we still need to be pleasant, so what's up? With this guy, I opt for the casual business-like check-in approach:

Didn't expect to hear from you again so soon, sweetie! Was there something else you wanted to talk with me about?

"Yeah, so I thought I had asked you about this before, but would you ever be interested in doing a call with my girlfriend on the phone with me? I'd pay extra."

[bracing myself] Is that about to happen now?

"No, no, I just wanted to ask about it ahead of time."

Oh! Uh… I don't remember if you asked. I'd be into it, but only [and here's where I got really stern] if she actually wanted it. I've done a couple of calls with guys who were obviously pressuring their wife or girlfriend into it, and I just ended up feeling really sleazy and that's…

"Of course, no, absolutely! I totally know what you're talking about! No, I'd only bring her on the phone if she was really down."

Bearing in mind that this is the fellow who told me two weeks ago that he would rather be on the phone with me and our fantasies than with his girlfriend, I am skeptical. But I keep my questions and comments gentle, and some sort of story emerges, a story that has nothing to do with what I imagined about them. She is on heavy anti-depressants, which tend to kill the libido. They haven't had sex in 8 months. He loves her, but he has needs, too.

Is she going to therapy? I ask.

"Yes, and she's supposed to be seeing a doctor next week about the meds," he said. "She's gonna tell him about the side effects."

Good. And, you know, about bringing her on call… has she ever expressed interest in other women?

"Yes! She's been with a few women before, a long time ago. And back before she went on the medications, and we were talking about our fantasies, she said that she'd do it again. And I told her about you, too!"

I close my eyes and sigh inaudibly. There are very few guys I can imagine pulling that conversation off with aplomb, and this caller, in all of his puppy-dog excitability, is not one of them. What did she say?

"Oh, she said you sounded nice! But that was a while ago."

Right, I said. So why don't you wait and see what the doctors can help her with, give her time to pull out of it and stabilize. And then, once you guys are having some kind of regular sex life again, maybe try another conversation about fantasies, and if she says she'd be down, you can call and we can all three just talk for a bit, no pressure for sex, just talk. All the threesomes that I've ever been in have involved a LOT of talking beforehand.

"Of course, that's a good idea. We should take it slow."

Yes. Because the one thing I don't want is for you to try to use ME as a way to fix something about your relationship. That's not going to work. You and she need to get together and sort your shit out, and then you can bring me in when you're ready to take it to the next level.

"Right, right, absolutely!"

I look at the clock; he's still got over two minutes. It feels like we've been talking about this for a lot longer! So, uh, did you want to come again on this call, or just talk?

"No, just talk. You're amazing," he said. "You're like the Ann Landers of phone sex!"

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