Norman Bates' Mom Is Ghetto Fabulous aka Rhymes with "Trigger", Warning.

"I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine."

-Song of Solomon, 2:16. 

Okay, so, I realize that this is kinda a weird place to make this announcement, but, I’m just so fucking excited, I can’t hold it in: I’m Engaged!

Yes, yes, it is true…I am betrothed. It’s come as a big surprise after a whirlwind romance that began…on the phone sex line! I never could have imagined this to be. 

I’m getting ahead of myself here. Let me start, at the beginning, where most things begin.

One day, not too long ago, I opened up my PSO console, and saw a most unusual message had been sent to me….

But, before I get into that, allow me to digress. It has come to my attention that it is fashionable for people now to be extremely sensitive (anyone offended by that statement needs to know that irony never goes out of style). We must all now watch ourselves, lest we “trigger” people, context be damned. I’m not entirely sure what happens when people are triggered….someone told me that they explode into feathers. This is truly awful, and , I in no means want to cause anyone to get so worked up that they explode into feathers. Who would clean that up? Who are the good people who clean up people feathers? Their jobs sound terrible. I bet they aren’t unionized. Typical. 

The following contains the repeated usage of a very bad word. No, it’s not “cunt”, or even “faggot”. It’s the worstest word that ever there was.  I didn’t start the fire, it was always burning. I’m just relating my experience.  I just work here. So, if you feel as though your human seams are beginning to split, and that you may in fact be about to explode into feathers, for fucks sakes, turn away.

 Here is what the message said:

Subject: You’re my wife, and I can tell you anything, right?

look I know you're my wife but... I have to tell you something. There's a huge breasted nigger bimbo living inside me! When she comes out my body transforms and she takes over completely. The black lesbian bimbo's name is Maserati...I noticed that she usually comes out when I'm forced to listen to or talk about big boobs. You might have seen the huge bras and bikinis in my closet..... I don't know what to do. I attached a pic of her she saved on my computer...

your husband
gabe 

 So…obviously, he wanted to do a role play.

My response:

Hi Gabe,

I’m glad you came to me with this. I did in fact see the huge bras and bikinis that were in your closet. I was afraid to confront you about it, because I was afraid you were cheating on me.

But this is much worse.

I really think you need to call me, Gabe, so we can talk about this. I want to help you through all of this. I’m not going to let this Maserati ruin our marriage. Be strong Gabe, I know we can face this together.

Your Loving wife, Shawnee

I gave my “Girlvert” character the name Shawnee, in tribute to actress Shawnee Smith, who I have a crush on. 

Later that night, I got a call…

“Hello,” I said.

“Hi Shawnee. It’s Gabe.”

“Oh, Gabe, I’m so glad you called me. I’ve been so worried about you.”

“I’m worried too. Are…are you mad at me?”

“No! No, of course not. I’m just concerned. Why don’t you tell me when this all started?”

“I don’t really know. I mean, when she comes into my body, I just totally black out. I lose hours at a time. I wake up and I don’t know what I have done, and what happened…”

I can’t fully illustrate how seriously we were both taking this role play. If you had overheard us, and didn’t know what the context was, you’d have thought we were really a couple going through some heavy shit. There was so much gravitas, it was so somber. I did my imaginary marriage proud.

“I think,” I said, “I really need to talk to this Maserati character. I think it’s the only way.”

“I’m scared, Shawnee…I’m scared of what will happen to me” he replied.

“Don’t be. I’m here, I’m strong, I need to confront this bimbo head on. I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“Well…okay….you, you need to talk about big tits. That’s what makes her come out.”

“Oh…okay, sure. Um. Yeah. Okay. Um….well, you know that woman I work with, Debbie? Well, she just has these giant tits, and the other day, she came into the office with this white top on and no bra. She’s gotta be a DDD. She was just…flopping all over the place. I mean, they were moving around like a pack of puppies in a sack….her tits were just falling out…I mean, those dogs were just running all over the yard…I’m talking titty central….”

As I said all this, Gabe was making these moaning noises on the other end of the phone. Not moans of the sexy jerk off variety, more like moans of a man distressed, of a man fighting his inner demons…and losing. 

And then he spoke.

“Hi, is this Gabe’s wife, Shawnee?”

The voice he used sounded eerily like Norman Bates mother. If Norman Bates mother's favourite movie was "Friday", and she regularly impersonated the characters in it. 

“Is this Maserati?” I asked.

“It certainly is” she purred.

“What do you want, Maserati? Why are you doing this to Gabe? You’re ruining his life!”

“No way, sugah. I want you, I want us to be together, I want us to run away together and get married, and leave Gabe behind…”

And, on and on the saga went. By the end, I had been lured by Maserati’s siren call. She had asked me to marry her. I accepted. 

“I’m gonna be your wifey for lifey, Maserati!” I crowed.

“You sure is, Shawnee! Imma take you out to all the barbecues and show off ma white bitch.”

“I love being your white bitch, Maserati.”

And so forth.

So, that’s how I got engaged. Sure, it’s to a fake black woman living inside of my imaginary husband, but a proposal is a proposal. 

A very short while after this phone call, I received another message from Gabe. It went like this:

This is Maserati. I’m inside YOUR head now. It’s time I took over that white body and turned it into MY nigger body. When Gabe calls and says the word “BRA” that will be the trigger and you won’t be able to help yourself. You’ll scream “I want to be a fat breasted nigger bimbo!” and the transformation will begin. Is that understood? 

Gabe called me that night, and….the transformation happened. I became Maserati. I’d like to think my blaccent was better than Gabe’s, thank you very much. 

I’ve had some experience with a blaccent before, shamefully. The previous phone sex service I worked for required me to be a black woman. I spoke in my normal voice until I was told, by black callers, mind you that I sounded “too smart”. So, I acquired a blaccent. No, I’m not proud. 

What did it feel like to be possessed by a bossy, large breasted black woman, you may wonder? I felt awesomely empowered, like I could punch down skyscrapers. I felt how Oprah must feel all the time, and, I now get why she thinks she’s Jesus.

This is, hands down, one of the absolute most bizarre interactions I have ever had as a phone sex operator. As a human, really. I have so many questions for this guy. I can never ask them  though, because, we only communicate through role play. I don’t get to grill him on why he likes this, or what it does for him. He writes me 5 star reviews, singing my praises, saying I’m the only person he’s called who has actually gone along with his fantasy. 

While I’m good with all this craziness, I’m always uncomfortable with the dreaded “n” word. I’m fucking white, okay? I know I’m not allowed to say it, not ever. Even when I’m alone, singing along with Wu Tang, I feel dodgy when the word comes up. It’s a Pavlovian response. I get white person guilt cringe when I hear it. I’m so white that I asked my boss if using the word was even allowed.

You learn a lot as a sex worker, and one of the things I have learned doing this job is that polite society and political correctness don’t exist behind closed doors. There are closed doors all over the world, hiding all the nastiness we dare not speak of. People don’t just take off their clothes when they fuck, they also take off the masks that hide their real desires. You’ve never really seen anyone until you’ve seen their fuck face, with its teeth bared and its eyes dark with lust. 

Gabe is not the only caller who likes to use the word “nigger”. Far from it. Another truth I have gleaned from my time here as a phone sex operator is that big black cock is the key that unlocks many a white mans heart. 

If I had a dollar for every time a white guy called me and told me he wanted to get pummelled by black dick….I’d have enough money to buy something fairly expensive. 

They pretty much all like to use the “n” word. But then again, so do the black guys who call me. “You wanna suck this nigger cock, white girl?” they ask.

The etymology of the word itself is so innocuous-dervived from the Spanish “negro” and also Latin “niger”, which simply mean “black”, its hideous and violent history have infused it with such intense power that it truly is the Incredible Hulk of bad words. Everything else is smashed by the potency of it. Even the colloquial variation “nigga” doesn’t diminish its caustic nature. It’s a word that lacerates even the most passive of bystanders. 

It’s the power we have given it that makes it so attractive to some. Its ugliness is Medusa like for some people-they simply can’t resist staring it straight in the face. When a guy is alone, his hard cock in his hand, getting high off the dopamine his own body is surging through his bloodstream, all bets are off, and he’s as bad as he wants to be. 

And then there is Shawn….

Shawn is one of my semi regulars. He is a black guy, in his forties, who used to work on Wall Street. Now he lives in Los Angeles where he continues to work, successfully, in finance. 

He’s a smart guy, very nice, and great to have conversations with. He is married to a black woman. Once a week, a younger black man comes to their house and fucks her senseless while Shawn watches.

Shawn tells me his cock is small. His cock is about 6 inches, which is not small, according to me, and Masters and Johnson. 

He tells me for a black man he is considered small. This man who comes to his house has a cock akin to a third leg. 

When Shawn starts jerking off, his voice completely changes. He drops the bass on his voice and takes on an affect that I can only describe as “street thug”. The “mothafuckas” and “ain’t shit”s start flowing freely. He sounds like a totally different person. He wants me, when he’s like this, to verbally degrade him. He seldom uses the n word, but he likes to talk about how inadequate his dick size is for a black man. There are plenty of black women working for the service I’m on, but he selected me, a white woman, to do this to him. He brings up my race too….it’s part of the deal.

Then he gets off, the spell is broken, and he goes back to his normal voice.

It dawned on me one day that most of my callers come from the U.S. This might not seem like a particularly startling revelation, but it made me put all this  n word usage into a different context. 

I’m Canadian. While we share a lot of similarities with the U.S, mainly because we are both multicultural, first world nations sharing a border in North America, we have a vast amount not in common. Our approach to firearms, for example. And also, our approach to race.

I’d never be so naive as to say that racism doesn’t exist in Canada. Sure it does. But, it’s fair to say that the U.S, at this particular moment, is experiencing an extremely volatile time when it comes to race. Tensions and emotions are super high. I can’t say for certain, but, maybe using the n word right now has even more meaning for some people. It’s even more dangerous because literal lives are being lost because of peoples prejudices. Maybe, even though it is bad and impolite in the extreme, it still feels good, in that illicit way, to “go there”, to push that button so clearly marked “don’t touch.” Maybe it's a way, like jerking off, to release some sort of tension and frustration at the atmosphere people find themselves in. 

Maybe we don’t really shut out the world when we close the bedroom door. Maybe some parts of the outside seep through. Maybe they stick to us, and we drag it in, unknowingly. Maybe sex is a way, at least for some people, to work shit out. I can’t really say what that shit might be, it’s so different for everyone. 

People often like to keep politics separate from sex, but, sometimes, like forbidden lovers, they collide and get tangled up in each other, despite their best efforts to stay apart. 

"They say we N -- I - Double G -- E -- R 
We - are - much more,
Still we choose to ignore,
The obvious.
Man this history don't acknowledge us,
We were scholars long before colleges.
They say we N -- I - Double G -- E -- R 
We - are - much more,
But still we choose to ignore,
The obvious.
We are the slave and the master,
What you looking for?
You the question and the answer."


-Nas "N.I.G.G.E.R: The Slave and the Master"

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