CALL OF THE DAY: being a good phone mommy


Lace ’em up for mommy…

I normally hate having to pry a scene out of a caller; it is such an unnecessary burden, especially when they have specific but changeable fantasies (see also Extreme Top). Fantasies are supposed to unfold magically, so questions and other verbal stabs in the dark, they just underscore the unalterable fact that I am not psychic. Unless you’re shaking a gift-wrapped box from a lover, I don’t think that making guesses is a particularly efficient way to, you know, move the sexy along.

Sometimes, though, the questioning actually works to my advantage. Like with this guy. He continues to be so quiet that he almost feels catatonic through the phone line. I can almost imagine him sitting on the edge of the bed cuddling his binkie so it covers his face. Because he is so childlike, the questions are easy. No open-ended questions for him. I need to offer him simple choices, appropriate for a three-year-old, that he can answer in a couple of words, choices like:

Do you want to go shopping this afternoon or stay in and watch TV?

He wants to go to the store, so I tell him maybe JC Penny’s, and I’ll let him push the cart.

“I want to watch you dress, Mommy,” he says in one of his rare complete sentences, so I sit him on the edge of the bed, and tell him what I’m putting on, one piece of clothing at a time: panties, bra, jeans, a warm and fuzzy purple sweater…

Should I wear my white sneakers?

“Yes,” he says with barely contained excitement. “I like your sneakers.” I know you do, sweetie! You helped pick them out last summer, remember? They’re very comfortable. They’re my favorite shoes. I coach him into tying them, and then we go to the mall.

You like walking with Mommy, don’t you?

“Yes,” he says, very satisfied. I tell him I have to buy a couple of shirts and maybe a skirt and some new socks. When we get to the store, I show him a few tops.

Do you like the yellow one or the red one, with the buttons down the front?

He likes the red one, so I take that and the denim skirt and we go to the fitting rooms, where I tell him to wait for me outside. “Mommy, I want to go in, too.” Okay, you just have a seat there on the little bench. When I take off my clothes to try things on, he abruptly interrupts: “Bend over.”

Oh, goody! Time for something that I rarely get to enjoy with anyone else: I get to reprimand him. I mean, I punish my bossy bottom cocksucker sluts all the time, but they like it, because I’m punishing them with more cock and maybe the tip of my stiletto heel digging into their ball sac. With this little boy, correction is not part of his turn-on. But it IS part of good parenting, so I do it. Honey, if you want me to do something, you have to ask me nicely. Please ask again. “Mommy, will you bend over please?”

Of course, sweetheart. Should I leave my white sneakers on?

“Yes, please.”


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