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Meta moments with callers: tricky and occasionally terrifying

I was talking with Bilingual Papi yesterday after he came, which was nice, because he sometimes pushes the time limit and I rarely get as much time with his post-come chat as I like. With some customers, I am happy or relieved when they hang up without any further talk, but with others, I honestly like chatting, if we’ve left some time. Bilingual Papi is in the latter group.

So I was telling him that I wished I could do better Spanish for him. He said, “No, sweetheart, you are doing great. I have no complaints about any of it.” And I said, no no, I’d really like to get more, like maybe you have a few phrases right now, you could tell me and I could write them down? “Write them down?” he asked, and I closed my eyes. Whoops.

That right there was a meta moment, when the curtain parted between the illusion and the pulleys, when the client and I, for whatever reason, are speaking and acting as ourselves, mostly, and not in the scene. I say mostly, because one can never go meta entirely (I save that for this blog). But these meta moments can be a little scary.

Sometimes it’s deliberate, when I feel that I can let the defenses down for a moment and, for example, tell them what I’m doing when I’m suddenly not available for four months during the summer. I don’t tell them everything, like what I’m performing or where exactly I’m going to be, but a little something. I feel a little more like a human then. Like, I’m still a Hot Wife, but I’m a Hot Wife with Back Story.

Sometimes “deliberate” doesn’t specifically mean that the meta moment is about me, just that we are looking at the situation itself, from outside the situation, like I did with a regular today. He really, really digs stories about how I molest younger boys—ages 8 to 15 seems to be his preferred range—and yet he starts out every call asking if I did anything good this weekend. If he had his way about it, I would be molesting little boys every Friday and Saturday night, twice a day on Sundays!

Today I finally snapped and said, look, mostly in my life I date men in a wide age range. I can tell you what happened this weekend, but it was with two guys close to my own age. He said, “Okay, that’s okay. I’d like to hear it.” So I made some shit up about a threesome—a slight adjustment of the reality meter—and he still managed to come.  In this case, we just took a few seconds to talk around/about the absolutely true fact that what he likes to hear from me is not something I do. It’s similar to the couple of guys who always call early, and when they ask me what I’m wearing, I say, I’m actually not wearing anything, but what would you like me to wear?

And then there are other meta moments, non-deliberate ones. Those are the scary ones, when I realize that my reality, my full reality, lies just below the surface of my consciousness and I have to be really fucking careful, not to let that through. The one time, early on in my work, where I identified myself to the caller by my legal first name. The time when I was deep in an intense run of Phone Whore and identified myself to him as Larissa, the PSO name I use in that script. The times where I’ve maybe been too specific about how long it’s been since they called me.

And yesterday, with Bilingual Papi. I had made a tactical mistake, letting him know that I write down the dirty Spanish vocabulary that he gives me, in Spanish, A LANGUAGE THAT I DO NOT SPEAK, I MIGHT ADD. Of course I have to write shit down! But I didn’t have to tell him. I had poked a hole in the illusion that I can remember everything about him, that he is so fucking special that I don’t need to take notes, that he really is my ass-fucking king, and I don’t need any coaching to remember anything about him. Maybe he won’t think about that too much, I crossed my fingers and held my breath.

He passed over it. “You don’t need to write them down! Anyway, I can’t think of any right now,” he continued. “You made me come so hard, you messed with my head. I’ll give you some next time.”

It wasn’t a meta moment for him. Just for me.