I, Love Doll

“I’m sorry. Can you just repeat what you just said. You want to do what with me?”

“Cuddle.”

Excuse me while I die inside.  

Do you want to slam me in the asshole until my rectum becomes a screaming cave filled with a hidden lake of your jizz? Done.

Would you like to throat pound me until I puke on your balls? I’m there yesterday, baby (and all last week).

Basically, when it comes to phone sex with me, I am a collection of holes and fantasies strung together with connective tissue and money. Aside from the taboos of the company, I am game, set, match, most of the time. 

Cuddling, however, is probably my biggest pet peeve when it comes to phone sexing. Fairly close second is kissing. I can handle kissing for a short while, especially if I just get all porno about it, jamming my tongue down someones throat and all that beastliness. But if it’s too intimate, I get uncomfortable. One time a guy asked me to make kissing noises into the phone, and I actually gagged. 

So the cuddle requester was a man named Mike. He was shy, polite, nice to talk to. He was from Saudi Arabia, and was living in Washington, where he was studying business. He didn’t have an especial passion for business, he just didn’t want to live in Saudi Arabia, and he was smart enough to do well in school.  He wanted freedom, and America seemed like the place to obtain that.  

The first time we called, we talked for quite a while about all sorts of things. The profile he called was Asian. I am not actually Asian. But for a certain amount of cash, I am a bleached blonde half Cambodian named Denise.  I picked Cambodian as her nationality because I’m fascinated by the country and its history, and the anonymous woman whose image I claim as my own resembled Khmer women. Even I fetishize that which I sell as a fetish object. 

The topic of race came up, with Mike being from a foreign country and all. We talked about not being white and how weird white people were. It was one of the oddest conversations I’ve ever had, and the weirdest part of it was that I actually felt like I was helping alleviate some of Mike’s obvious loneliness by “relating” to him as a non white person. It was a comforting lie, like a freshly starched pillow I placed under his head to help him sleep better. 

He told me he hadn’t really experienced overt racism since he came to America. Some uneasiness and ignorance due to him being foreign, especially considering that he was Middle Eastern. But, he was happy in America, he wanted to stay. 

When we finally got down to the physical stuff, he wanted to spoon and cuddle and hold my hand and all that shit. 

“ I’m holding you from behind, and I’m kissing your neck, and your ear, and I;m running my hands through your hair…do you like that?”

“Uh huh.”

“So now I’m holding your hand, and I’m feeling your pulse in your wrist. Do you like that?”

“Um. Yeah.”

“ Now I’m touching your back, and working my fingers into your back muscles, massaging you, do you like that?”

“Yeah.”

“ I’m slowly working my way up your back, to your mid back, higher, to your shoulders, to your neck…do you like that?”

“Assume I like everything unless I say otherwise”

“Okay. My hair smells like mint. Do you like that?

And on and on it went…for hours. I’m not exaggerating. It was agonizing and annoying. We did get down to penetration eventually. It was all slow sensual shit, very one speed fucking. Barely fucking…it was making love, which I hated. 

Mike became a sort of girlfriend experience guy for a little while. He would call often, and tell me he had been thinking about me all day and that he missed me. 

I asked him one day if he dated, if he had any prospects. He told me no, that he was a virgin. 

I’ll be honest, his confession did not surprise me. But I wasn’t gonna embarrass him and be an asshole about it, so, I just gave a nonchalant “oh, really?” response to to his admission. 

“Have you ever…met a virgin before?”

I refrained from saying “yeah, I know some children” and instead said:

“Yes. In fact, I used to be one myself. For 16 years.”

“Do you think it’s weird that I’m a virgin…considering I’m 23?”

“No. You walk amongst us, I’m aware of that fact. You know, most people lie about how much sex they are getting, or if they are getting any at all. The ones that brag the most usually are doing it to mask the Sahara desert like conditions of their sex life.”

It’s tough for Mike especially because he just came from a country and culture where people are encouraged to be sexually chaste. Now he lives in a world where twearking sells baby food (it doesn’t, but, why not?) 

A former client who lived all throughout the Middle East used to tell me all about the underground BSDM and sexual culture that existed there, but, it wasn’t a place that many people could or would gain access to, especially if you were shy, like Mike. 

I asked Mike how far he had gone, sexually speaking. He hadn’t gone anywhere. There was a girl he went to school with who he liked and befriended. He had been hoping that they would hook up at some point, but, whenever they had gotten alone, he had been staunchly friend zoned. 

“Have you ever thought about hiring an escort?”, I asked. 

“Yeah…I have. What do you think about men who do that?”

“Well, considering what I do to make money, I can’t really judge. Not that I would anyways. I say go for it, but, I’d advise you to be safe. Go to an agency, pick a hot girl you really like. Don’t pick someone up off the street. A good agency will make sure that the girl isn’t diseased. Use a condom, regardless. Not the drug store ones either, those ones tend to be too thick. Go to a sex shop and get something safe but ultra thin. Ask the people who work there what ones are best. Tell the escort you are a virgin. They’ll love you. You won’t be weird and demanding, they’ll take care of you.”

“What about…what about pocket…pocket…”

“Pocket pussies?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I don’t have a dick, but, I feel if I did, I would own a few of them. The problem with some of them is that you cum inside them and them have to clean your own cum out afterwards, which is not ideal. But, I’m certain you can find masturbatory aids at a sex store or online that don’t humiliate you afterwards. You ever been to a sex shop?”

“Not really.”

“Go! You must. Don’t be shy. The people who work there are paid to help you. You’re helping them!”

“What about a…a doll?”

“I have a caller, King of The Dipshits, who had a blow up doll, and he loved her. He really did. Her name was Alexa, and he had to patch her up a lot with duct tape, the brute. He was sad when she died. I’m guessing you’d probably want a Real Doll, one of the custom high end ones”

“Yes. I’ve looked at them online. “

“The only downside is that they are really expensive. But, you can get cheaper models, they just aren’t as custom, so you can’t add tons of extra features, but, it’s a Real Doll, they all look good, so, who cares? Some things are worth the money. You know what though? If you want to buy a cheaper one that isn’t a Real Doll, I say go for it, just to give it a try. If it doesn’t work out, you just jerked off with a sex toy that you don’t care for, no harm, no foul. Just get some good lube, water based or silicone, oil based isn’t good for you.” 

“The only issue I have is that sometimes my family comes to visit me, and I wouldn’t know where to put it.”

“That…could be very difficult. You need a place you can hide her, that’s for sure. Could you shove it into the closet?”

“Maybe..”

“Or, keep the crate that she comes in, and put her in the crate in a storage locker when your family comes. Do you have a car?”

“Yeah.”

“Transport her in that."

Okay, so, having a sex doll is weird. Making sweet love to something that doesn’t have a pulse is strange. That’s not how biology works, buddy. But, if there is one thing I know to be absolutely true, it is that all humans are weird. And, humans are lonely. Humans want to fuck. Humans want companionship. Humans want to feel intimacy. Sometimes the lack of that makes them even weirder. Sometimes they do weird things to alleviate the loneliness

Mike comes from a culture where his virginity is acceptable…even preferred. In North America, virginity is shameful. 

Sex can be great. It can be explosive and intense and life altering. However, what few people will admit to is that is can also be dull, humiliating, alienating, and unsatisfying. It can expose your weaknesses, and make you feel inferior. Just because you are having it, it doesn’t mean it is a good thing. Sometimes, not having it at all can be a better option. 

Vanity Fair magazine wrote a profile on the company that makes Real Dolls and its founder.  Of the Real Doll customers, they wrote,

 “ Some are grieving over the loss of a spouse and can’t fathom dating. Others are perhaps disabled, disfigured, or so terrified of women that they can’t even look at them. But they all like the idea of having a human-ish presence around rather than watching them on a screen, drawing their sorrows, and withering away completely alone.

But not all customers are painfully shy sad sacks. There is no “type” who buys the company’s dolls and other silicone products. They include futurists, art collectors, truck drivers, scientists. housewives, couples seeking to enhance their sex lives, lawyers, surgeons, a nursing association, a dental school, men with prostate cancer who can’t get an erection but miss cuddling, burn victims, and wounded vets."

I can’t help but be reminded of one of my all time favourite books, “The Velveteen Rabbit”. It tells the story of the titular rabbit who yearns to be real. He is loved by a boy, who takes the rabbit everywhere. Over time, the rabbit becomes shabby and threadbare. The boy comes down with scarlet fever and is sent away. Everything in his nursery is ordered to be burned, including the rabbit. 

As the rabbit awaits the blaze, he becomes overcome with loneliness. Memories flash through his mind of his beautiful life with the boy. He cries a real tear. As it falls to the ground, it blooms into a flower with a fairy inside. The fairy kisses him. She tells him that the love the boy had for him made him real, and now, he would be real to everyone. He is transformed into a real rabbit. 

 Love is the thing that makes us real. The love we give and receive completes our life and makes us whole. It can come from all sorts of places, even a love doll. It is a lonely world, and love makes the arduousness of this life’s journey worth it. It doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as you have it. 

“Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.'

'Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit.

'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.'

'Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?'

'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.”
― Margery Williams Bianco, The Velveteen Rabbit

Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/LeaLawrynowicz

Jimmy Went To 'Nam

“The dead know only one thing…that it is better to be alive”

-Full Metal Jacket

“War is hell, but that's not the half of it, because war is also mystery and terror and adventure and courage and discovery and holiness and pity and despair and longing and love. War is nasty; war is fun. War is thrilling; war is drudgery. War makes you a man; war makes you dead.” 
―The Things They Carried, Tim O'Brien

This happened a while ago. And I’ll never forget it.

It was a few years ago now…maybe 3 or 4. I was working for a dispatch phone sex service located in New Jersey. This meant that a secretary would call me at my home in Toronto, and tell me what the caller wanted ahead of time. I had 6 characters (college age white girl, black girl, Asian girl, transsexual, MILF, dominatrix) they assigned me when I got hired to pick from. I’d pick the character, and the secretary, after processing the clients credit card information, would patch me through. All the secretaries had accents and sounded like Janine from “Ghostbusters”, like they were shouting through their noses from across a football field. 

One fateful day, I got a call, as one does while working a phone sex line. I was living in a shitty, dirty, room in a run down party house with a bunch of people who hated me. I was a hard core agoraphobic and my cat was my best friend. I had become a phone sex worker after being inspired by watching Spike Lee’s “Girl 6”. 

The dispatcher told me that the caller wanted me to be a young buxom blonde who was sexy and bubbly and talkative and fun loving. I thought that the caller wanted a vapid party girl, some hair flipping, giggly airhead. 

I was, like I so often am, terribly wrong. The callers name was Jimmy. He was maybe in his late 50’s or early 60’s, and he didn’t want a giggly airhead.

Jimmy had served 4 tours of duty in the Vietnam War. That comes to roughly 4 and a half years of time in combat. 

I’m from Canada, so, until Jimmy, I had only ever met a Vietnam vet once, in Detroit. He was a homeless man with a dope vintage coat that I had the exact replica of at home (take that, style). 

The Vietnam War is a faraway thing for me, it’s a time and place that is totally constructed from movies of varying quality, CCR and Time photojournalism. 

Jimmy had been drafted. He grew up on a farm, and had the extreme misfortune of being young, male, and able bodied at a time when the country he was born in was willing to throw him to the dense jungles and the merciless Viet Cong.

No one, especially in hindsight could have blamed these men for draft dodging, but, I was assured by Jimmy that this wasn’t an option. The shame of fleeing was intense, both for the men and their families…especially when so many young men came home in coffins. It was deeply dishonourable, and better to die for an unjust war than run.

So Jimmy went to ‘Nam. Jimmy went and fucked every whore in sight. He, along with his fellow soldiers, fucked as only doomed men could fuck.

Jimmy caught the clap more times than he could remember. The treatment for the clap was something he referred to as a “router treatment” that seemed to involve snaking a tube into the urethra. It was deeply unpleasant. His squad leader kept asking him why he wouldn’t just use the condoms that were issued to all soldiers. Jimmy said that no one used the condoms that they were issued, except on their feet. The condoms kept their feet dry in the oft wet jungles, and everyone feared trench foot the most. The clap was fine, but trench foot was truly the worst. 

Jimmy was proud to say that he left Vietnam with perfect feet. 

There were constant rumours about “The Black Clap” a version of the STD that made your dick rot off. If you caught the Black Clap, the legend claimed, you would never be allowed to go home. You’d be be sent to a sort of leper colony for the dickless and brave. 

The Black Clap has always been a military rumour, but Jimmy and his soldiers didn’t know and didn’t seem to care. 

I asked Jimmy once, out of the blue, if he had ever burnt down a village. 

He told me, quietly, that yes, he had. I asked him why. He told me because he was ordered to. That’s all it was, orders. So, Jimmy and his platoon burnt villages, killed the livestock of the people who lived there, yelled, and brought angry aimless terror to people of the land they were sent to save from the horrors of communism. 

Jimmy learned Vietnamese when he was a soldier, but he couldn’t remember it now. He was never sure if he even really understood it back than, or if it was some made up bastardized version of the local tongue filtered through the chaos of combat. 

Jimmy smoked a lot of weed back than, which, on the one hand eased the anxiety that comes from knowing that you could potentially get stalked and killed by a Viet Cong at any given moment, but on the other hand greatly increased your chances of being stalked and killed by a Viet Cong at any given moment. 

When his time with the army was over, Jimmy went back to the U.S, to sunny California. He walked into a bar the day he came back, and met a buxom blonde. She was the first person he talked to when he came back home. They got married. She was the love of his life. 

A little over ten years before Jimmy called me, his wife died of cancer. They didn’t have children, only each other. 

Jimmy had taken to calling phone sex services. He called my service looking for someone who sounded like her. I was the one he chose. 

He would talk to me, but than he would talk to her too. He would reminisce with her. He would ask me, “do you remember this…?” And I would say, “yes, of course.” And we’d laugh together like we were sharing a memory. 

He never cried. He never got upset. He was just happy to talk to her. 

The first time I realized what he was doing, I cried when I got off the phone with him. I cried because it was so sad, and so moving to me that he had found a way to soothe his grief. 

At the time, I was feeling the effects of the rape I had experienced, and have written about in previous blogs. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was experiencing the effects of PTSD, which is something Jimmy and I had in common, unbeknownst to me. 

PTSD is what happens to you when you encounter a malevolence that you are not prepared for. We all know that evil exists. It’s another thing to have evil find you specifically and try to destroy you. When evil is no longer an abstract thought and becomes a reality that you are experiencing, it changes you on a molecular level. It’s so shattering that it can be difficult to reconfigure yourself and your relationship with the world around you, or even with yourself. 

This is why soldiers can have such a time reentering society. They have just come from the hellscape of the battle field, and now they are expected to leave that behind and resume living alongside people for whom the battlefield is just an abstraction. Good luck with that. 

I was a really shitty person when Jimmy called me. I’m not going to blame my trauma entirely for this, because I chose to become shitty in some ways. Talking to Jimmy was the nicest thing I did for anyone. And, I was getting paid for it, it wasn’t something I was doing altruistically. I just happened to sound like his dead wife. 

I doubt I really even sounded like her at all. I bet I was just good to talk to for Jimmy. It was just coincidence. 

Around this time, something else happened that changed me. I was out one day, taking my daily, quick, paranoid trip to the store. I was waiting for a light to change when I heard a woman’s voice saying “excuse me?”.

I turned, and saw a woman a few feet away from me, and saw she was holding a laser stick. People could hear her, and were walking right past her. I sidled up to her and asked if I could help her. She needed help crossing the street to get to the streetcar stop. I took her arm and helped her. Her eyes were very clouded and sunken in. I would guess that she was born blind. She smelt nice and her skin was soft. She needed help, but there was nothing to pity about her. She had no sight, but she was still living her life more fully than I was. 

It wasn’t some grand humanitarian gesture, but, it was the nicest thing I had done in the longest time. It gave me a glimpse into a side of myself that I could let live if I really wanted to. 

Vietnam’s history is a treacherous one. Colonized by the French for over 80 years, they fought for a decade to expel them (along with the Imperial Japanese), only to face a 20 year war that saw their land and their people literally raped and terrorized by foreign armies and their own country men. Agent Orange was dumped upon their lush lands and a 12 million gallons of the dioxin, an extremely toxic biological weapon, was placed into their soil and the DNA of all that were exposed to it, causing decades of mutations and environmental issues. 

Despite this legacy, as well as the adjacent tyrannical rule of Pol Pot in Cambodia, a country that hugs the borders of Vietnam, for 20 years, Vietnam has rebuilt itself. The North and South were reunified following the Vietnam War. It has diplomatic relations with almost every country in the world, belongs to the WTO and the United Nations, and is one of the world’s fastest growing economic centres, and poverty rates have been reduced significantly since reforms were introduced in the 80’s. No small feat for a country that is only one of four one party socialist states in the entire world.

Unfortunate sons got shipped off to a war in a country where they put a toxin into the land that ruined the soil and made the natives babies come out twisted like monsters. But those people put businesses on that haunted land and made money and created lives for themselves regardless. They would not be defied by those events of the past. By those pictures frozen in time on the covers of magazines. They would not let that be them forever. That might be the Western world’s image of them, but it is not the image that they have of themselves. They saw a future, and showed the world what they could see. 

Maybe that is why Jimmy was always so happy when he spoke to me. He could see something I couldn’t. He was a smart guy, he was a fan of science. Maybe all I could see was a man who had suffered tragedy, but he could see himself differently. Maybe he could see his whole life inside his own mind’s eye and knew about infinity and the parallel universes of the past, present and future and  he could see her, alive, at some point in time, and time stretches,  and he found a way to save her from time itself and brought her back to where he is now, and so she really was here, with him, and he knew she would never die as long as he was alive and could remember her. He could always jump back and save her and they could always be together in some sort of way. 

How could anyone ever be sad when they can do something like that?

"“The thing about a story is that you dream it as you tell it, hoping that others might then dream along with you, and in this way memory and imagination and language combine to make spirits in the head. There is the illusion of aliveness.” 

-The Things They Carried, Tim O'Brien

 

Happiness In Slavery

“Inside the snow globe on my father's desk, there was a penguin wearing a red-and-white-striped scarf. When I was little my father would pull me into his lap and reach for the snow globe. He would turn it over, letting all the snow collect on the top, then quickly invert it. The two of us watched the snow fall gently around the penguin. The penguin was alone in there, I thought, and I worried for him. When I told my father this, he said, "Don't worry, Susie; he has a nice life. He's trapped in a perfect world.”
― Alice Sebold, The Lovely Bones

I got a call on the feminization line, which always pumps my nads. 

I’ve written about the feminization line before, in the entry, http://iamaphonesexoperator.blogspot.ca/2016/08/letting-go-hurts-like-good-sex.html

To give the Cliffs notes version, feminization is when a man wants to be dressed up in provocative or overtly feminine clothing, wigs and makeup and treated either like a slutty girl or a slave of some kind. These men range from being true gender benders who want to explore the female side of themselves, to being guys who just really want to be humiliated. Some are just guys with beards and body hair who wear lipstick and tutus and suck dicks at glory holes, and some are in an actual gender transition(although these ones are rarer) but still want to be sexually promiscuous. 

Feminization is one of my all time favourite things when it comes to being a phone sex operator. I really have a ton of fun dominating these dudes and calling them names. It’s like cardio, it’s so exhilarating. I have a reservoir of rage inside me that I have to keep a choke chain on at all times, and the feminization “ladies” let me howl like a bitch in heat. 

On this particular day, I met my bete noire of the feminization line…the live in sissy maid. 

The sissy maid is a creature that I have yet to fully master in terms of communication. A live in sissy maid is someone who was born a man and who has transitioned in some way to being a woman, and now lives full time with a master who they serve as a maid, and receives various corporal punishments and humiliations from said master. They typically are not paid, or are paid very little, thus making them even more beholden to their master. They are one of the few people who can say that they live a 24/7 BDSM lifestyle. They are full fledged members of the household that they serve, yet they have no real life beyond that. They never stop being sissy maids, they never aspire to anything else, because for a sissy maid, servitude is all that there is . They have no real goals for themselves, because they have already achieved everything that they want to be in life. 

On this particular day, I was called by a sissy maid named Ditzy. Ditzy was born a male. She came out as gay in her teens, but into young adulthood realized that she was in fact a woman trapped in a man’s body,  and she began her transition. 

Ditzy still has a dick, but she lives as a woman and has an impressive DD rack.  She says no one ever mistakes her for being a male. She described herself as looking like a “blonde Katy Perry”.

The man she once was is long gone. The only evidence of that person is now a secret inside the chromosome, and hidden under frilly dresses. 

Like most of the full time sissy maids that I have talked to, Ditzy was very soft spoken , dainty and graceful. She didn’t want me to call her names, or yell, like I usually do with the other feminization ladies. She was very asexual, and just seemed to want to tell me about her life…and ask some unusual advice.

And, oh, what a life. Turns out that Ditzy was “owned” by a teenage girl. A high schooler, in fact. 

This girl’s mom is a high powered lawyer who is divorced. She is deeply entrenched in the BDSM scene, in case that wasn’t obvious. The scene is where she met Ditzy. She brought her into her home to originally be her sissy maid, and than “gave” her to her daughter when her daughter was 13. 

Because , you know, 13 is the right age to have your very own live in transsexual maid. 

For years, Ditzy has done everything for this girl. She does her hair and makeup and nails, helps her pick out her clothes….Ditzy does it all. This girl basically lives the BDSM version of Cher from the movie “Clueless”’s existence.  

Ditzy had actually called me because she wanted to ask me some advice regarding her teenage mistresses love life. 

Seems that Kinky Cher had dated some boy at school, (a school at which Ditzy assured me Cher was very very popular at, by the way) and the boy had suddenly jumped ship and started ignoring her, causing hairline fractures to form in the surface of Kinky Cher’s shallow heart. 

Ditzy was baffled by this boy child who had done her mistress wrong…Kinky Cher was so beautiful, and had such a great personality…why, oh why would someone discard such a creature?

Ditzy seemed so sincere, so genuinely hurt for Kinky Cher, that I couldn’t bring myself to be as snarly and disinterested as I felt inside. 

I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the full force truth, which was that, firstly, he was a teenaged boy…of course he was flaky. This was not an event that would even warrant a footnote in either one of their life stories. 

There was also a very real possibility that he found out that she had a sissy maid doing her hair every morning, and he got weirded out. Teenaged boys want to fuck, but, they usually aren’t really into heavy involvement BDSM stuff. 

Instead, I gave Ditzy the semi truth…one that applies to basic human nature, but probably not so much to this situation in particular. 

I said that you can’t control the actions of others, and you probably can’t understand them either. People sabotage good things in their life, and there is no real accounting for why this happens. Sometimes they know this when they commit the sabotage, but they do it anyways. It’s best to not attach yourself to the actions too personally, and let them deal with the aftermath. 

Ditzy said that she felt he just couldn’t handle a strong woman. 

Yeah, sure, okay. I’m sure Kinky Cher is a real Gloria Steinem.  

The most disturbing thing she told me about her life with Kinky Cher was that her teenaged mistress doled out corporal punishments to Ditzy. 

Ditzy was punished and humiliated when she disobeyed, everything from being forced to stand in the corner like a bad child to being put into stress positions for hours at a time. Every Sunday, Ditzy was paddled in front of a group of people by Cher. The spectators included Cher’s friends, and Cher’s mom’s friends. The Sunday paddling was to keep Ditzy in line. Cher’s mom insisted.

You might think that Cher’s friends would be shocked by this display. Turns out  many of Cher’s friends also had sissy maids, and powerful, divorced moms involved in BDSM.

This circle was made of women who viewed men as little more than discarded sperm donors. 

I asked Ditzy what the name of this lifestyle was. She said it was simply called “matriarchal”. She claimed that there were circles like this all over the place, people just didn’t talk about it much beyond their own social scene because they were aware that it would be judged.

Ditzy explained that these women truly saw men as lesser than them. They weren’t beings you needed to get attached to, because you were better than them anyways (doesn’t really jive with Cher’s lamenting of her beau). Women were viewed as powerful Goddesses who lived a lifestyle where they worshipped only themselves. They flaunted their wealth like a gunslinger wears their belt. 

Kinky Cher was set to leave high school soon and go off to college, leaving behind her sissy maid. Ditzy seemed melancholy about this. She had basically helped raise this little freak, and spent every waking moment devoted to her. 

Personally, I can’t see Cher doing too well in a college dorm. This is a rich girl who lives in a fantasy land of insane dimensions. Her cosseted mind is going to tear apart when she goes from paddling her Katy Perry sissy maid to burnt hot plate noodles and communal showers. Cher doesn’t seem like a functional human being…even a Clueless style personality change wouldn’t help her. She will annoy the shit out of her fellow dorm mates.  I predict a meltdown. A screaming meltdown like only a horrified rich girl could pull off. When they take her away on a stretcher, she’ll be babbling away about floggers and safe words.

I asked Ditzy where she lived. She told me Los Angeles. This explains a great deal, I think. I have yet to visit LA, but I’m aware that strange things bloom in a place created with stolen water. LA is a city that is the embodiment of samsara, it is perpetually in a state of rebirth. People go there to discard themselves and  armed with hope, imagination and oftentimes a surgeons knife, they transform into who they want to be. Ditzy did that. She was an unhappy boy who became a beautiful woman who lives in a fancy house, which is what she wanted. 

Maybe you feel sad for Ditzy. Ditzy does seem alone, perhaps even lonely. She attends all her mistresses functions, but she doesn’t really socialize, not even with other sissy maids. They seem to be truly Stepford Wives. They are aware of each other, that pass each other, they smile placidly at one another, but they don’t really communicate or confide in any real way. Maybe they don’t need to. Maybe they understand each other perfectly. 

Shiny Horizons And Luxury Jeans That Hug Your Body Like They Mean It

A guy calls me and tells me his name is Alan. He wants to watch a porn video with me. The twist is that the star of the video is his girlfriend. 

He sends me the link and I start to play it. 

I was really excited about this because I’m a big fan of porn, and I thought maybe his girlfriend was someone I knew of. 

She isn’t. I’ve never heard of her. She’s one of those adult performers who isn’t famous or even that well known outside of the most die hard fans, but, due to the bottom dwelling nature of the business she is in, she still gets the title of porn “star”. 

His girlfriend has one of those names that is so obviously porn made that it almost warrants a face palm when you hear it. The first name is of the generic anybody’s baby-sitter in all white suburbia type. The second name is an adjective meant to imply the nature of the girl, a coy little word that defies the dirty settings I think she routinely finds herself in. 

She has long straight brown hair that has some chunky blonde streaks in it that I’m sure her stylist told her will highlight her face better. 

She isn’t fat, but, she has a thick waist and is untoned. She looks tanned in a way that comes more from a tanning bed or airbrush machine than the actual sun. 

There’s nothing especially interesting or attractive about her face. She looks like the type of girl who would have been really mean to me in middle school. She has a large gap between her front teeth, which is the most exotic thing about her entire look. 

She’s just a girl you could see anywhere, and probably pass by, but, instead she’s here, on the internet, lying on an old red couch between two black guys who are going to fuck her. 

Her eyes are hooded, but, not in a way that looks naturally sultry. I ask her boyfriend if she’s high. He says yes. She gets high for every shoot she does. She’s never sober when she works. He tells me that all porn performers get high when they work. If they claim otherwise they are lying. 

I ask what she was on for this shoot. He says he thinks it’s speed, but it may have been coke. I’m surprised by this, because she seems fairly languorous on film. 

Except for the giggling. She does a bunch of that. 

The two guys sit on either side of her, and she rubs their cocks through their pants. Her legs are spread,and she wears a pair of hot pink panties and a little pink shirt. She wears a lot of makeup. The three of them engage in dialogue related to fucking. Specifically, the two guys talk about how much they would enjoy fucking her. I have  a feeling it might be their lucky day. She giggles and seems incredulous yet flattered that they would like to partake in such activities with her.

The young lady stands up and removes her panties. Turning around, she reveals that she has a jewelled butt plug wedged into her anal orifice. The men are delighted. The plug is removed and inserted into the ladies mouth. She deems the device, and, therefore her own ass, to taste “sweet”. She giggles coyly. The fucking commences. 

One of the men has great difficulty getting an erection. The other does not. Her neck stiffens up as he tries to jam his enormous dick down her throat. The hard one fucks her from behind while she buries her head in the soft ones lap and tries to help him get hard. 

I’m gonna guess that watching the hard one pound the crap out of her pussy didn’t do anything to help out the soft ones game. 

At one point, she actually asks the soft one “what’s wrong?”.  You should never ask a soft one "what's wrong?". Nor should you hold them close and tell them it will be okay. Especially when there are cameras around. 

“I don’t know!” he replies, sounding like a frustrated, embarrassed guy who is trying to cover up the frustration and embarrassment he feels by injecting a bunch of volume into his voice. 

He gets up and goes to the corner of the room and jerks off silently while watching the other two fuck. 

It’s difficult to tell whether or not she is into it. I’m gonna guess no. She makes a lot of high pitched porno squeals and yelps and “oh yeahs”. Her eyes roll back into her head, but, I’m guessing that has more to do with drugs and anal sex prep related starvation than her sexual ecstasy. 

She doesn’t cum, but he does, down her throat. The soft one also cums, all without the benefit of penetration. 

I wouldn’t have masturbated to this video, even if Alan hadn’t sent it my way. He wasn’t masturbating either. We were just watching it together, two strangers, beholding his girlfriends pussy getting stretched open on a long tube of black dick. 

It was like we were watching a nature documentary together. Genitals for hire in their natural habitat. 

Her boyfriend told me that he was on set with her when she filmed this video. Afterward, he fucked her, along with the director, right on that same couch.  Alan claims that all the female talent in porn has to fuck the director, either before the scene films or afterwards. I asked what happens if they don’t want to. Alan says that they don’t get work.

Alan’s girlfriend is 25, and she’s been in porno since she was 18. She has no plans to stop. Alan is nearly 50, and they’ve been together for 3 years. 

I ask him how much money she makes. He says she does alright, but she isn’t rich. The two of them live together in a big house in L.A. He pays for a bunch of their stuff. 

I ask what he does. He asks me if I know of Guess jeans. 

I’m a girl of the 90’s, of course I know about Guess jeans. I used to rip out their lush ads from fashion magazines and plaster my walls with them, in the true covetousness nature of an adolescent girl in less than privileged circumstances.

I still can’t afford a pair of those goddamned jeans. But someday…someday I’m gonna waltz right into one of their stores and wander around for a whole bunch of time, acting like I can buy something. I’m gonna act like a real customer and everything.

Someday.

Anyways, Alan is the man in charge of art directing their infamous catalogues (although they have gone down somewhat in stock since using that rich ho for hire Paris Hilton as one of their models). He works a shit ton and makes a shit ton. 

 I have a feeling her and Alan won’t last. She’s in the porn game not because she’s especially pretty or sexy or even good at performing, or outrageous or unique…she’s in it because she’s willing to do it. Which is one of the reasons I do phone sex work.

I can never help wondering what the future holds for someone like her. I know not to sell her short, even though it’s easy to. I wonder if she wants things we’d never think she’d be capable of dreaming of. I know I do. I wonder if she’s full of hidden landscapes and shiny horizons, and someday she’ll look back on this strange, crazy life of drugs and fucking on film and luxury jeans, and shake her head and say, “I can’t believe I used to be that girl….”

"One more day like today and I'll kill you

A desire for flesh

And real blood

I'll watch you drown in the shower

Pushing my life through your open eyes..."

-"Pornography", The Cure