Notes for a new lover
I guess it could be a little weird to hear about this stuff I do on the phones all day. It’s not something you thought you’d ever think about, right, being in a relationship with a phone sex operator? Nobody knows who the phone sex operators are, so you don’t really know what kind of person they might be (turns out, any kind), and so you don’t know whether you could ever fall in love with one (you could, well done!), because you don’t have any mental image of them, not an accurate one, anyway, so even though you don’t have a particular “type”, phone sex operator just never really entered the non-existent picture. There’s been no actuality to hang anything on.
And then, well, we met. And you know what happened with that. I’m still reeling, you know. I love that you totally knew what I did, the phone sex and the theatre, when we met. I’ve been public about my work for a long time; it’s important. I was so glad when you came to see Phone Whore. That’s a really important show for me, and you had so many questions, about everything! I loved it. I want you to ask those questions; keep asking them, I know you’re not through! I want people to understand what I do and why, especially anyone who is going to play with my gushy bits at any point. I don’t know why, that’s just essential, that they get me before they get me.
As far as the sex work I do, and my attitudes toward it? Phone Whore holds most of the keys, but not all of them, no. So when I referenced a call on Facebook recently, about Extreme Top threatening to take a hammer to my face, you weren’t ready for that. It hurts me to read that, you said, to imagine that happening to you.
I know, love, I know.
Your concern speaks to the nature of our power dynamic, you get a little protective, don’t you? You don’t want anyone hurting your little girl. I know. (You understand that the game you and I play would be super freaky to some people, right?) I take your concern as a sign that you care, and also that you have a vivid imagination and it picks up on what would be a very disturbing scene for most people, and really just runs with it.
Funny thing is, that scene in particular, that thing with the hammer, it was a mild one, in terms of the way I wrote it up for FB consumption. I had to tone it down quite a bit. A few other lovers who have shared living space with me for a time, they’ve overheard much worse. You try sitting in the kitchen and concentrating on a chess game while I take eight calls in a row from the same snuff guy. Yes, there are much more extreme calls that I do. You haven’t had domestic time with me yet, so you wouldn’t know.
You also wouldn’t know that afterward… I’m fine. I really am fine. The parts that I get most stressed about doing, with phone sex, are the physical parts, where I get a headache because my voice has to be pitched too high for too long, or my throat starts to really get sore because the Tickler wants me to laugh for a half-hour straight. I get stressed out because I really really can’t be late for this meeting, but my dispatcher coerced me into taking one more call, just one more, and now I’m totally going to be late, goddammit. I get upset when I really really want to be spending time with my lover(s)—by “spending time,” I mean someone is ears- or balls-deep in my pussy—and the calls keep coming in.
These are the things that stress me out. They’re REALLY frustrating, right? Even though you and I are far apart right now, and we aren’t doing a lot of phone calling or Skyping yet, you’ve already gotten a taste of the interruption thing, haven’t you, when I suddenly go quiet in the FB chat box, and then type “10 min call”. It sucks, right? And it’s even worse for me, those interruptions, so pretending to be afraid of this dumb-ass phone daddy hitting me in the face with a hammer? That’s easy.
You don’t like to hear about violence like that, especially happening to someone you know and love. Yes. Understandably. But I told you already, and I hope you understand, I mean really, that this is NOT happening to someone you know, it is not happening to me. It is happening to a fictional character. There is no wear and tear on my psyche, if I am fully present in the belief that the client and I are just playing around in a dirty little sandbox, and we are going to pack it back in when he’s done. I have learned not to internalize this shit. Please trust me that I can do that.
So I don’t need your sympathy and aftercare for that. Trust me that I can tell you what I do actually need from you, that I can articulate what I want, things like a glass of water if I’ve really been screaming hard. Or five minutes alone time, just to catch my breath and come down from the scene. If I was cooking dinner when I went into that long call, I need that dinner cooked and plated up and two settings at the table when I come out of the call. Either that or some Chinese food delivered, because you didn’t know how to finish what I was cooking, but you knew I’d be hungry when I came out.
Cuddles, real or virtual, are always good, but not for the reasons you might think. I don’t need to be soothed about the hammer, or about the dead babies or any of the stuff that upsets you. I need to be reminded—immediately, physically—that my desires are important, too, even though they are often interrupted and put on hold for my clients.
You and I are important.
So remind me. Say it in my ear, running your hand down my side. Say it to the web cam, keeping eye contact there.
Babygirl, you are amazing. What do you want?