Five seconds of forever
They say one of the best ways to build rapport when talking with someone is to match their speaking patterns, and then move it in the mood you want it to go. In phone sex, I have certainly found that to be true. Hell, I’ve found it to be essential. That’s why I listen so fucking closely as soon as they pick up the phone, and I try not to space out on calls. Because I’m listening for speaking patterns. I’m listening for mood.
Do they sound rough or genteel? Nervous or calm and ready for me? Bored or already half-way there? I can hear all that in the first few seconds, and adjust quickly. If they sound rough, I am not going to pull out the long words, and I will start dropping the F-bombs earlier than usual. If they’re nervous, I pull back, keep it a little delicate, not talk too quickly; if they’re obviously young as well, I might bring out a “honey” or a “sweetie” to see how they respond. If they’re bored, I do NOT match that, I tease them about it and instantly switch gears up to lively/funny. But I’m still starting with what I hear from them, and respond to that.
And if they don’t talk at all, then… well.
That is a different thing.
I had a non-talker last week, three half-hour sessions in one night, and then a requested half-hour call the following night. He wasn’t completely silent, but he only answered my questions with long pauses, followed by a “yes” or “no”. So I slowed down. Way. Down. And found myself, accidentally, wandering into therapist territory.
The fantasy that emerged was one of the more “taboo” ones, nothing I hadn’t heard before, not one of the most graphic or violent ones that I’ve heard, not by a long shot, but still something that most people would hesitate to share even with a loved one or anyone but a very understanding and kink-positive therapist. He clearly felt bad about it, and didn’t really want to talk about it. For a total of two hours he didn’t want to talk about it.
So I went slow. I made neutral listening noises, asked questions, and waited, sometimes five seconds or more, for the answers. (Don’t think that’s a long pause in a sexual conversation? You try counting it out: one-one-thousand-two-one-thousand-three... yeah. THAT’S A LONG PAUSE.) He didn’t want to go any faster. We hardly got to any graphic details at all. He didn’t come at the end of any of the calls. Occasionally I spoke in a meta way about the fantasy—I spoke about what’s in the head, about real world—waiting, hesitating, to see if that’s what he wanted to do. Sometimes it was, sometimes it wasn’t. It felt as if he was standing on a strung-tight rope, and I didn’t know whether he wanted me to join him up there or wait on the ground with the safety net.
Towards the end of the last call, I got uneasy. He talked a little more, and sounded despairing. His line of work is a rough one, his mother died recently, and he said, “I probably won’t be talking to you again,” not in a keeping-track-of-unnecessary-expenditures way. And all I could say was, well, you know where to find me if you want to talk some more.
YEAH, SOMETIMES PHONE SEX GETS SERIOUS. And sometimes it’s silly, just like face-to-face sex. Check out my other posts, and then show some love by contributing to get me and my solo play Phone Whore to the 2013 Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Read all about it and DONATE at the Indiegogo page HERE.