Do clients ever leave the nest?
I’ve been back on call for a few days now, and am relieved that regular clients are finding me again quickly. Not all of them, I mean, I’m sure I lost more than a few to the immediate pressures of needing to wring one out. But there are a gratifying number of callers who either remember the date that I said I was coming back and are asking for me specifically, or who finally, FINALLY, hear my name in the line-up again and jump on me, metaphorically.
One of them is my surfer dude. I got him my second day back for a call that was five minutes longer than his usual. Good thing he got that extra time, because he was full of excitement about his summer happenings—”I went to seven shows in 29 days, man! It was amazing!”—and more importantly, his new girlfriend, who he met at one of the jam-band shows he loves so much. She’s AWESOME, she’s smart, she’s so frickin’ hot, “and she loves Phish too!” In short, this new girlfriend is everything good for Surfer Dude… except she doesn’t know about Wendy, the hot-lesbian-bitch alter ego that he puts on to role-play with me once or twice a month.
“l still want to do Wendy every now and then,” said Surfer Dude, “but I’m probably going to be calling you less.” I make the supportive, believing noises, and say the congratulatory things that he clearly wants to hear, but in my head I’m going, “Fuckin’ TELL HER ABOUT WENDY!” Just TELL her. Suck it up and talk about role-play, and what has she done, and what have you done, and what could you do together? She’s a free-wheeling, jam-band-following type. I DON’T THINK SHE’S GOING TO FREAK OUT.
I would be happy if Surfer Dude stopped calling because he had found someone in real life who he loved and was able to play hot girl-on-girl talk fantasies with. I would be thrilled. I would be happy if some of my cocksuckers were actually out there sucking actual cock in a safe, sane, and consensual way. I would love to hear that any of my panty boys had gotten up the nerve to ask the women in their life to come shopping with them at Victoria’s Secret. I wish there were a way for me to know if these steps forward happened. Seriously. I would love for my work to be obsolete for that reason.
Because while some of the stuff that comes up on my phone line is not possible, for legal, ethical, or laws-of-gravity reasons, a lot of the things we talk about are totally possible, and I just… GRRRGH…. i just want to reach through the phone and shake them and say, “Go on! Be brave! Say what you want. I do it, even though it freaks me out sometimes. You can do it too. You could have so much fun! It’s worth it!” But my callers aren’t paying me to be a life coach. They are paying me to help get their jizz out, in the easiest way possible, in a way that doesn’t involve hard conversations or potential plate-throwing or furtive checking of underwear drawers to make sure that nothing’s missing.
That means that Surfer Dude’s girlfriend will remain blissfully oblivious to one little corner of her boyfriend’s libido, and… well, I can yell in my head as much as I want, but that is just not my problem.