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The More You Know!: Tickling

I’m not ever going to go into details of a virtual blow job on this blog. It’s been done elsewhere, and if you really want it from me, I’ve got a workshop about phone sex coming up at the Boston-area Good Vibrations in November. (Edit: also, describing a blow job while I’m supposedly doing it gives me a little brain cramp every time. My mouth is supposed to be full, you dumb fuck! I can’t tell you how much I want it! Just listen to me slurp! I’m not a fan, for reasons of logic.)

Here I’d rather spend time on stuff that gets less play in the perversity petting zoo, stuff that maybe sends even me for a loop. This week in The More You Know!, Cameryn gets her first two tickling calls!

Right. I can sense your furrowed brow right through the screen: How the fuck do you indulge a tickling fetish over the phone? The answer, it turns out, is easy: lots of laughing.

Last week’s call at least touched on territory that was familiar to me. The caller wanted to be humiliated, and tickling was part of that process. He retold at length the “pre-teen as unwilling male stripper at a party full of MILFs” subplot from American Pie 3 (which I may have to see now, oh god), and then told me to step into those MILF high heels and tell me what I’d do to him as poor little Scooter. Goochie goochie goo! Oooh, look how red his face is getting! I was tickling him and embarrassing him and laughing at him for an hour and 20 minutes, people.

This week’s tickle call was flipped: I was supposed to be the tickl-ee (?!). The caller told me that I was a scientist who had developed a new sex machine that ran on laughter, and he was my assistant. I asked him to strap me into the machine and tickle me, and not to let me out until the experiment was completed. “In the name of science,” I intoned. He riposted with “I’m going to start licking your armpits.”

BWAH-HAH-HAH-HAH-HAH-NO-NO-NO-NO-PLEASE-NO-HEE-HEE-HEE-OH-GOD!

Now, in real life, I am ticklish. In the right mood, I will start snickering and twitching away from an evil grin and some wiggling fingers two feet away. But that wasn’t this. Truth is, I’ve been bottling up my laughter for months about some of the ridiculous scenarios on the lines, and this lucky tickling bastard got all of it.

HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE OW OW STOP HEE HEE HEE.

Whew.

I needed that.

I'm laughing with you, not at you

I've got the ongoing and slowly growing list of pet peeves. But I also want to hit the flip side, with ...

Things I didn't think I'd like about doing phone sex

  • post-coital laughing. On the good calls, after I hear them finish and they're winding down, I always feel like laughing. It's something like joy that I can't hold in. I make some crack about doing a Jackson Pollock number on the wall (if they're that educated), or about both of us having to sleep in the wet spot. But that's just a cover for the fact that I want to giggle at how much fun it's possible to have doing this.

The corollary is...

  • making callers laugh. When I started, I was warned that I shouldn't crack jokes. Unless it's a Tiny Penis/Humiliation call, in which case the more and nastier jokes I make the better. But by nature I am a jokester, a performer: I crave response. So I poke and tease and make smart-ass remarks. Making them laugh out loud is almost as good as hearing them shout themselves hoarse when they come.
  • not having to dress up to go to work. To any phone-sex johns who may have stumbled across this blog, please accept my apologies for bursting your bubble, but seriously, pajama city.

I know you're there, I can hear you breathing

There is a lot more silence in my work than I would have thought, had I been thinking at all about phone sex before I started doing it. And there are enough different kinds of silence that I would be fully justified in developing separate words for each...

  • That silence between calls when I don't have any of my other work to do, so I'm waiting for the ring and it's not there. It's echoingly empty, slightly resentful, a vacuum that goes on for-fucking-EVER.
  • The silence you get on the street at 2:30 in the morning, when that other silence gets too much and I need to relieve the pressure on my ears. Outside, the silence is calm and dark and velvety, and I relax into it.
  • The slightly staticky silence after the dispatcher calls me and I'm waiting for the caller's phone to ring. That's a busy silence, where I'm taking the two sentences the dispatcher gave me about what the guy likes and brewing up ways to get there. (Because no matter how many times I take a fart call, I just CAN'T figure out how to be smooth about it.)

Anyway, the silence that I've been thinking about most these days is more transient than these, harder to pin down because it blows by in my calls and I don't even realize it's there until afterwards, when I replay the conversations in my head and occasionally wonder, "How did I know to go there when the guy hardly talked at all?" It's those sporadic silences, blinking open and closed like eddies in a rushing river of narrative, that I am learning to love.

There is where I catch my breath, and rather than immediately plunging back into the story, I sit still, even for a fraction of a second, and wait. And listen. I am silent, and the caller thinks he is being silent, too. But I can hear the creak of a chair, the slight whispering squelch of a well-lotioned hand, an involuntary intake of breath. Sometimes I even imagine that I can hear his brain humming along at high speed, like the subliminal whirr of a roomful of very expensive computers.

The quiet is not just for me. It is the space I make for my caller to sigh, or moan, or say yes, or add three more teenage girls into the scene, each with slightly different nipple sizes. Lacking visual cues, I need verbal ones, and there must be space for the caller to give them. I used to talk over my callers a lot, when I first started. I'm slowly learning to find the natural rhythm of the action, and when each phrase within our call comes to its natural conclusion, I pause. I wait. I am silent.

And then, because I only have 15 minutes, or 10, or 7, I take a deep breath and dive back in.

(I just realized that silent and listen are anagrams. That is exactly perfect.)

Unexpected Peeves

I will deal with unexpected pervs in a later post, probably many later posts. This particular topic deserves the creation of a special tag, like, "I'm wearing my cranky pants. What are you wearing?" Without further ado, I present the beginnings of my list...

Things I Didn't Think Would Irritate Me About Doing Phone Sex

(a list in progress)

  • Having to pretend to give a blow-job in the middle of washing dishes. Sucking two fingers is the best sound effect for that, and I never have time to rinse my hands thoroughly before picking up the phone.
  • Cold toast, cold dinner... whatever food I may be heating up, there is a chance that I will be interrupted within the first two bites to get a call. Thank god for 30-minute call blocks, but sometimes I want to eat my pork chop while it's still warm.
  • My ass falling asleep. Yeah, baby, in our shared world, I may be sprawled in my velvet easy chair or swinging from a fucking chandelier, but in my embodied world, I am sitting at my desk in a freecycled chair, which means it's lopsided, slightly too low, and inadequately cushioned.
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