CALL OF THE DAY: the working-class butt slut
He’s not a regular, more of a potential regular. We’ve talked twice in the past six weeks, and I think he digs my style enough that he could start requesting me. I hope he does, because he’s a fun one, entering into both the conversation and our scene with irresistible gusto. And his voice is so distinctive that I don’t even need to look at his card to remember his thing: he likes his fucking ass pegged. Fucking hard. He likes to be a fucking slut for me, just spread his fucking legs and take a big fucking strap-on.
Those are his words, not mine.
He has a total working-class New York accent, see, plus he says “fucking” literally every other word. This is a refreshing change for me. Most of the guys who call up wanting me to fuck them, they go the sissy-boy and/or submissive route, and they change personalities mid-stream. I can hear it in their voices when they go into their sub headspace.
This guy, though. He’s not a sub. He’s not even a bossy bottom. I don’t think he even knows those words. He just wants to get fucked, and he’ll tell me how to do it. He stays brash and trashy and he doesn’t miss a fucking beat. He’ll spend the first five minutes of his call talking about union politics where he works, the fucking scheduling and the fucking shop steward and the decent fucking overtime. He’s been working at that warehouse for close to 20 years, he’s got some seniority there, I guess, so he makes, he says, “good fucking money”, and he also received a settlement last year for a workplace injury, which means he need to be careful during our calls not to “throw my fucking hip out again”. He lets me know the money things matter-of-factly, in the context of explaining how he can spend money on phone sex. And then we spend the rest of the time talking about what dirty fucking sluts we both are.
It’s nice to know that I can still get calls like his, calls that surprise the fuck out of me, for whatever reason. I actually enjoy that experience. It points out where I’m still drawing lines in my own head, and right there, during the call, I get to feel them erased.
It gives me more fucking room, in my sexual imagination, you know? And that’s a fucking sweet deal.
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