A Skank by any other name.

The website that I talk dirty for has put me in charge of 3 profiles.

Customers for the site look through a bevy of profiles and select a lady fair that they would like to talk to, and call her up. What they may not realize is that girls are in charge of multiple profiles, so, there is always the chance that the saucy Asian woman they talked to last Friday is also voiced by the same woman pretending to be the chubby white  brunette girl they are talking to today.

The profiles don't have real names, they have slut titles like "Candy Lipz" and "Your Princess". It's up to me to name them, and I named all of them "Denise."

When I was coming up with a name , I thought initially about calling myself "Daisy" after Daisy Buchanan, the unobtainable dream girl from "The Great Gatsby. I was trying to be clever or some such nonsense.

Anyways, when I thought of whores, I kept seeing Denise Richards in my mind. I dunno why. I'm not saying she's a whore. In fact, I admit that I've had a really baffling, longstanding crush on Denise Richards. And, you gotta feel for Charlie Sheen's baby mama, working so hard as she does in all her B-movies, strapped to a notorious Hollywood nutcase for the rest of her days. I suppose this is my homage to her.

Plus, there is a very dirty song by Eminem called "Drips" that references a very dirty girl named "Denise from the cleaners" , so, Denise just felt right.

I make up backstories for Denise, depending on who I talk to. But she's always from Montreal, she's always in her twenties, a student, and she's always a total whore.

That's usually what callers want, a total nympho. She's a slave to the shaft, a courtesan to the cock. She rides dick into the sunset , while gobbling the knobs of strange men. The stranger the better.

I regale my callers with tales of advanced debauchery that I stitch together from porn I've seen, stories I've heard, some stories I've lived, and others strictly invented.

They like Denise the nympho to be fucked up, but not damaged,  and totally insatiable. Using photos of other women, my brain and my voice, I enact a sort of phone sex version of Cyrano de Bergerac.

Blowbangs, gangbangs, bukkake, oh, my. But because this is all in fantasy land, there are no diseases, or pregnancies, or feelings hurt.

Sometimes Denise is married, but she resents her husband. He doesn't fuck her, so she cheats on him constantly.

The pics of the women are not professional. A good number are selfies. I often wonder where these pics came from, if they were just floating around the internet, the refugees of a hacked account, or if they were the results of an amateur dirty shoot facilitated by Craigslist. If they are, than I can guarantee that whatever fee the model got in no way matches the amount of money other people have ended up gleaning from the photos.

There is no nudity in the publicly displayed images. I have a cache of more explicit photos that I can sell to clients at a fee I choose.

The prettiest profile gets the most calls. The rougher looking one, who clearly has fake boobs, "Candy Lipz" , gets the dirtiest calls. The short, flat chested, bleached blonde with dark roots who is the skaniest looking one of the lot gets one of two kinds of calls: 1) guys want her to beat them up , or 2) guys want to beat HER up, or otherwise degrade her.


Candy Lipz has some videos to sell. One is her in a wooded area, being filmed by a shaky camera , with tons of wind noises as the only soundtrack. The sky is grey in the video, and she wears only boots, underwear and a coat. It's pretty creepy, to be honest. The camera follows her down a trail to a secluded spot under a tree where she takes off her bra and masturbates for a while. She's prettier on camera, and she performs well, but, it's clear it is a performance.

There is also a video of her sitting in a kitchen topless sucking on an unpeeled banana. There are pictures of her dressed sexy in some little kids room. I wonder if the kid is hers or the camera guys. I wonder which is more disturbing.

My favourite video is the one titled "exercise", which features her stretching and doing jumping jacks and pushups in the middle of the woods. In that one, the cameraman talks to her, but the sound is all fucked up, so, it sounds like she it taking orders from a horny alien drill sergeant. It doesn't help that she actually seems weirded out in that one.

I often think about what it would be like to meet these women. I wonder what their reaction would be to how their image is being used. I wonder if they would be horrified, or surprised, or just wouldn't care. I wonder when these pictures were taken, and what they were thinking when the photos were being taken. I wonder if the camera guy who took them scared them at all. I wonder if they took the selfies for a lover they no longer have.

Maybe they regret getting nude and masturbating on camera. Maybe they don't. Maybe they love sex. Maybe they are moms who hope their kids never find out. Maybe they've forgotten the whole thing. Maybe they think it is funny. Maybe they've shaved their heads and joined a cult. Maybe they regret nothing. Maybe they're happy.

Sometimes callers call me thinking I'm the girl who used to run the profile. They find out that taht girl is gone now, and I've taken over, and sometimes they get upset.

"Where did she go? " they ask.

I dunno what to tell these guys. I mean, shit, it's a fucking ruse, dude. Santa isn't real, and wrestling is fake too. Sorry 'bout that.

And so it begins...

I found the notebook I use to record all the calls I receive as a phone sex operator in the garbage.

Well, to be more accurate, I found it in a cardboard box by the street corner , with a bunch of shitty novels. Whenever some leaves a box of books they don't want on the street, I always have to rummage through it like a bag lady. Books do that to me, books are my crack.

Anyways, while I didn't find any new and exciting reads, I did find a brand new notebook, to log all the phone sex johns I get. It's a Cirque de Soleil notebook, with a quote on the front that proclaims , "Everything is Possible."

The first caller I get is a guy from Brooklyn named Joe. He sounds like a character out of a Martin Scorsese more from the 70's or 80's. He calls under my listings in "Women home alone" and "Anal", so, I have a pretty good idea of what's coming.

Joe is an ass man. He's always loved "the ass" he tells me, but, recently, he's taken his obsession to a whole new level. He's been fucking this new "broad" and she can't seem to get enough anal action, and it's made his appetite for the act grow.

Discussing anal is always kinda tricky on the phone sex line. The company I currently work for doesn't allow for any talk of shit, or "scat", which I must say, I am eternally grateful for.

l don't know how to make shitting sexy. I just don't. It's completely beyond my capabilities as a woman, a sex worker, and as a human being. You could throw glitter on a turd, wrap a feather boa around it, and it would just be a turd with a boa on. How can I work with that? Why would I want to?

I know scat is a "thing" for some people, but, all I know about the subculture is that some eat the shit, some don't. If you eat it, you have to blink to signal you are full. That might be an urban myth.

That's all I know, other than that scat lovers must get sick a lot. But, to be fair, that is just conjecture on my part.

Anyways, back to Joe: he inevitably ends up using words like "poohole" and saying he just loves to "clean a girl right out".

The rest of the conversation involved some skilled maneuvering on my part, where I had to struggle to keep Joe on the line, so I could get his money, and possibly acquire a new customer, yet keep him from venturing too far into the brown side.

I was successful. He's the sort of guy who yells so loud when he cums that I have to hold the phone away from my ear. He yells like someone just stamped on his bare foot with a steel toed boot.

After wards, Joe asked me where I lived. Montreal, I lied. He asked me why I don't have a French accent. I tell him because I'm not French Canadian. The rest of the conversation was spent on my enlightening Joe about the Quebec Separatist movement, the 90's Referendum, and the Parti Quebecois.

Another caller on my first day was a guy named Patrick, who claimed to be 6'5. He told me a story about how one night his wife and him went out and invited their Uber driver to come up to their hotel room with them.

The driver went for it, and Patrick and his wife took turns blowing the driver together, which is something they like to indulge in. A sort of couples hobby. A cock built for two.

Patrick said that he jerks off over phone sex lines now because his wife is currently pregnant and doesn't want to have sex.

That's why I'm here, Patrick...that's why I'm here.