CALL OF THE DAY: same old cards, same old WTF

Oh, yeah, and remember that time we coerced my underaged brother into fucking you? That was fan-TASTIC.

Oh, yeah, and remember that time we coerced my underaged brother into fucking you? That was fan-TASTIC.

“Seven minutes,” said the dispatcher. “He wanted my nastiest girl. He’ll tell you what he wants.”

I stare at the card during the few seconds while she’s connecting us. According to the front of this card, I’m 47 years old. Callers often draw the connection between nasty and older. I guess we’re assumed to have seen it all by the time we’re over that metaphorical hill? Two more words: “mommyfucker, beastie”. Well, well. That tells me it’s not going to be particularly vanilla, but not really much else. Flipping the card over, I see that I’ve only ever done two calls with this guy, the second of which was October 30, 2009. For that one, he lasted two minutes of a 7-minute call.

Goddamn these old cards. They are inadequate, and it’s entirely my fault. I should have written down something about why the call ran short: did he come, did he say thank you, or did he just hang up? I have come to want to know about things like this. It makes me feel less like an object when the person just hangs up, makes me worry less about the quality of my service, if I know ahead of time that that’s his M.O.

I hardly wrote anything on some of these cards back in the beginning, I don’t know why. I don’t know if I was thinking this far ahead, even. Maybe I thought I wouldn’t be doing the phone work for more than a year or two, or maybe I was imagining that all of these callers would become regulars and I wouldn’t need to write anything down because I’d be talking to each and every one of them, every other day. I’d make myself completely irresistible, I’d remember everything, and I’d be making so much money, HA HA HA. The short notes aren’t that much of a bother, because when these callers pop up again, after three or four or five years, things almost inevitably will have changed.

This guy, he doesn’t want to hear anything about me this time around. I give people that option at the beginning of the short calls: do they want to hear a little about me, or do they have something specific in mind that they wanted to talk about? Because if they have something specific, I’d rather spend time getting into it than talking about irrelevancies like my tits and my hair color.

He has something specific in mind. He is looking at pictures, he says, pictures of his now-ex wife having sex with his then 16-year-old brother. Huh, I said, unsure from his tone what my reaction is supposed to be, how did that come about?

“It was my idea,” he says.

For his 16th birthday or something?

“Exactly. And she was up for it. He was mostly surprised at first…”

I bet.

“… but he got into it.”

I BET. And, uh, how were you feeling about it?

“It was fucking hot.”

Have you three ever done it again?

“No, we got divorced a couple of years ago and she moved in with him.”


I still don’t know what my reaction is supposed to be, but then I notice I can’t hear him breathing or talking anymore. Call over before I can even ask if he’s touching himself or not. Dammit.

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