CALL OF THE DAY: “Who’s a bad man? You are!”
“He likes to talk about young girls, and he wants you to tell him that he’s a bad man.”
That’s all the dispatcher gave me. The first part I understand; I get pedo calls all the time. The second part I… I’ve never had a caller specifically have it, in his notes, that he wants to be told that he’s a bad man. Sissy faggot, yes. Panty sniffer, yes. Bad man, no. That’s simultaneously a very vague insult and a very specific target.
When we get on the phone, I start with the standard option: would you like to hear a little about me or tell me about yourself? He goes straight for the good stuff: He’s got a girl there in front of him, and she’s pretty out of it.
Oh, right, that’s my cue!
I start to put on a concerned tone, shading to outraged, asking the questions that he obviously wants me to ask—what do you mean she’s out of it? What did you do to her? How old is she? She’s WHAT?—since he is not volunteering the information on his own. When I find out she’s 11, I find myself in a strange place. How many different synonyms can I get for “bad man” that aren’t complimentary in my head? “Sick fuck”, “dirty perv”, “twisted bastard”… these are practically terms of endearment amongst some of my friends.
To get in the right head space, I have to get into the minds of the people who think what I do in phone sex is appalling and wrong. I have to pretend, for the duration of this call, that I do NOT in fact understand the difference between fantasy and real life, that I honestly think he is doing terrible things to a real 11-year-old. It is really hard for me to reach back to that state of naivete, and everything I say sounds … weird and unconvincing.
Finally, at about five minutes in, he says, “What could you do about it ?”
Shit, that’s another cue, and I don’t understand what it means. I could… take her place?
“You could, but what else?”
I could … push you out of the way?
“What if you called someone?”
Oh! … I mean, YES I COULD REPORT YOU TO THE AUTHORITIES, bad man that you are, and they would kick the door in and drag you outside with your dick hanging out, and everyone in the neighborhood will know!
That’s the sort of thing that I tell him, over the next two minutes: what a bad man he is, and I am totally calling the cops right now, and oh my god, they are going to kick his door in and find him right there, with his dick firmly planted in some pre-teen pussy, no mercy, you are going to get busted for sure, I am going to call the cops right now, and dude, you are totally going to get what’s coming to you. It still feels really fake, but now I have the authorities on my side!
I guess it’s an acceptable fakery, though; like, he buys it. After he comes, he says to me, “I just want to make sure that you understand that this isn’t real. I just need to hear that stuff to get off.”
(A-DOY.) Oh, I know. This is the sort of thing that phone sex was built for!
“No, no, no, I understand. It’s just… if someone were to hear this without knowing the truth, they might actually call the police.”
No, baby, don’t worry. I get it. I’m just acting shocked and offended.
That, my friends, was a weird line to dance along.
If you liked this post, be sure to browse around some more. I’ve been blogging about my work in phone sex for almost four years, since six months after I started in April 2009. And if you live in the UK, you’ll have a chance this year to hang out with me while I’m on call! Okay, not really, but that’s what my award-winning solo play Phone Whore feels like, and I’m bringing it to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival Aug. 1-25, and then to five other UK cities through mid-September. Follow those links to read all about the tour and my show, and if you do make it out, come up and say hi!