CALL OF THE DAY: too many thanks for the wanks

I’ve said before that good phone-sex clients, in my book, say “thank you” at the end of their calls. Bad clients hang up like I’m an automated phone system; good clients say “thank you” or some other kind of acknowledgment that a) I am human and b) I just gave them something that they needed.

Now I feel I have to clarify. A good phone-sex client says “thank you” briefly and then moves on.

Unlike the Gusher.

Now, I know this word is most commonly used as a nickname for women who squirt a lot, but if you were to hear the Gusher for even at few seconds, you’d understand both the moniker and my motivation for giving it to him. He only gets seven minutes, and usually only uses 5 or 6 of them, but nonetheless the Gusher can spend up to 20 percent of his time on the phone with me, THANKING me for what I just said.

Because I want clients who thank me, this was at first a great boost for me when I talked with him. After a while, though, the Gusher’s closing approach has started getting under my skin.

I just don’t understand his excitement, quite. It feels disproportionate. I mean yes, hooray for getting off, but his fantasies aren’t that extreme, not to me and not even statistically. Probably they feel pretty extreme to him, especially if they’re some of those deep, dark, sexual secrets that many people don’t even tell their partners, apparently.

I can tell that the Gusher feels a little weird and/or bad about having these fantasies; his voice trembles quite a lot the further we get into it, and that’s only partly related to his age. Yes, he’s definitely an older gentleman, possibly from the Midwest, with a formal style of speaking and some pretty Victorian notions of corporal punishment.

After nearly seven years of talking with him, I have a pretty good idea of his spectrum that he’s going to be choosing from when I ask him something like, so what’s tickling your fancy today? I really do know his hot buttons; hell, at this point I can touch-type on that control board in his mind. To him, of course, it’ll feel magical, because I can drop us into it vividly and right away, but that is merely a function of familiarity, and also the fact that he has told me this stuff, in various forms, all the time.

That doesn’t really matter, though, the actual facts about how I got all of that information about his fantasies. The only thing that matters to him is that maybe this is the only place where he gets to wallow in it. These few minutes every other week is all the time he has to ask for the lacy panties, to beg to see my tits. In light of that, yes, thanks are in order.

But the effusiveness … it’s a little off. The strength of his gratitude tells me how much he needs it. His fervor leaves me feeling uneasy and sad, because he is clearly not getting this kind of psychic release out in his own world. I don’t know what his circumstances are, and I never will, but it’s not just a wank when his thanks are that fucking thankful.


Become a patron of mine on Patreon, and let’s see how oppressively grateful I can become! Go on, do it. FOR SCIENCE.

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