And let me try with Pleasured Hands

The phone rings. The sexy robot lady voice tells me a caller is on the line. Someone wants to talk dirty with me for a dollar a minute. No shit? Well, patch him through, you hot android bitch....

It is a man. He has a gruff, smoker type voice, like he rides horses and ropes steers for fun. I'm probably way off base with that one. He probably jerks off alone in a windowless office.

He tells me he is married. I never ask my callers their marital status, for a variety of reasons , least of all because I don't care.

I ask him how long he has been married. "Too long", he says, in a growly voice that makes me glad I'm not his wife.

He explains to me that she is "frigid". In my experience, this can mean a couple of things: 1) she actually doesn't like sex, or at least not sex with her husband and doesn't fuck him, or fucks him very little and with limited enthusiasm and creativity, or 2) he doesn't actually communicate what he wants sexually to his wife and his frustration with himself has turned into resentment towards her...hence the "frigid" label.

I'm just guessing, but I'm going to say its number 2, because he likes BDSM and anal sex. Men seem to have a tough time asking their wives for anal sex. I don't really know why. I suppose it can be a tall order for some ladies. I mean, all you have to say is "no, thank you."

I do implore all women to give it a go at least once in their lives...not while intoxicated either. Just try it, okay? It won't kill you.

Anyways, this caller was a BDSM man who liked to assume the dominant role. Sexually dominant men, I have found, either hate women and use BDSM to take out their anger on the entire gender by torturing them in a consensual environment, or they love the ladies and want the experience to be mutually beneficial.

This guy, luckily, fell more into the latter category. However, unlike a lot of sexually dominant men who are not misogynists, he didn't have much tact or social skills. I don't know if that was from lack of experience or if that was just his natural personality.

At any rate, he was very insistent that I get off as well. He really stressed this point. He didn't want me to fake it in any way, he told me, just let myself go.

"Great, sure", I told him, happy he couldn't see me rolling my eyes. I then gave him an operatic range of multiple faked orgasms, as he seemed to think that he could vocally command me to cum for him, despite his telling me he wanted me to let go and enjoy myself for real.

Look, guy, I'm not so sure you've heard of Pavlov, but, I'm not one of his bitches. The female body isn't designed to spasm vaginally at the sound of your creepy voice barking orders for me to get off.

No wonder his wife won't fuck him.

I never get off when working the phone sex lines. Occasionally, what I'm talking about with a client will make me feel a bit turned on, but, the feeling never sustains itself.

Only once in my time as a phone sex operator have I actually tried to get myself off with a caller. It was quite a long time ago now.

He was a regular, and he had a pretty sexy voice, and we had a good rapport, so, I decided to try. I mean, orgasms at work? Why the hell not?

So, I laid back on my bed, and tried to get down. I let him do a lot of the talking, for a change. At first, it was hot and I felt turned on...but, then, my brain couldn't seem to to fully get synced up with the rest of my body. My mind began to wander away from his words, and all the charged feelings that had begun to fill my body blinked out and slipped away.

I ended up faking it, like I always do.

He seemed really satisfied however. He couldn't tell at all that it wasn't real. After wards, I felt really shitty for having even tried to get off. I felt gross and hollow inside and just...empty. Maybe it was because I knew that this person was never going to mean anything to me, and because of that, I couldn't feel a connection to him, or to myself that went beyond the superficial. The body doesn't lie, after all, it has much wisdom, even if you aren't willing to see it, or hear what it has to say.

I recently read a memoir called "Breaking Night", written by Liz Murray. Murray is famed for going from homeless teenager in New York City to Harvard University graduate.

In her book, she writes about losing her virginity to her older boyfriend, whom she thinks she loves. She found the experience less than fulfilling, and writes,

"That's when I realized that sex was not necessarily a shared thing. Sex was something you do with someone else, yet you can experience it separately from each other. It doesn't necessarily bring you closer. In fact, it can highlight the parts of you that feel most separate. Sex could reveal to you your own isolation."

I don't ever want to get my actual desires tangled up in this job. I don't want wires to be crossed...the phone jobs can have my voice and my time, and my brain, but that's all I really wanna give.

To illustrate the disconnect, the following are activities I have engaged in while getting people off on the phone sex line:

- Giving my cat his insulin
-Cleaning said cats litter box (won't do that again-too noisy)
- Looked up random shit on Google
- written e-mails
- written this blog
-cooked an entire meal (Indian Dal-my first, not bad)
-read a cookbook
-read my new Vanity Fair magazine
-fucked around on Pinterest (still not so sure why I have an account on there)
-changed a tampon (this was an emergency situation)


In reality, this job means more to me than I sometimes care to admit. No matter what is happening in my life, no matter what chaos is surging around me, I always need to get in my 35-45 hours per week on the line. The schedule gives my life a sort of shape that its been lacking for a long time. I guess you never really know where you find your salvation. This job has given me an anchor and an exit...the exit is supposed to lead to a financially more stable, more free existence. But, I'm wondering if maybe this job has opened up other avenues that I hadn't previously thought were possible. Places in my psyche I haven't gone into before. I'm not sure where those avenues will lead, or what I'll discover, but, I'm willing to follow those dark roads in my mind, and see where they will take me...where I'll end up.

I'm good at that.

Son of a Preacher Man and An Ode To a Dipshit

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Dirty Talkin' 101:The Basics

I have a caller who likes to send me erotic writing. I always have a few clients who like to do this, but this guy sends it to me in a rather noticeable volume.

The thing about erotic writing, is that it is a lot like jazz music or improvisational comedy. What I mean is that , like those other two artistic forms, it is either wonderfully transcendent , or cringe inducing bad. Ever been to a bad improv comedy show? Reading bad erotica can weirdly produce the same kind of bodily reaction. The kind where you are so embarrassed by what you are beholding that you get this funny feeling in your pelvis like you are going to pee all over yourself from sheer shame.

Erotic writing should produce a funny feeling in your pelvis, and maybe it is a little bit shame based, but it is enjoyable, naughty shame, not "I want to die, right now," shame.

This caller is not a bad writer, but, his word choices leave something to be desired.

Oh, how my heart dies just a little every time I see a reference to a "throbbing manhood" or "delicate flower"...

"Flower"? Really? I do not have a daffodil or a posy between my legs, and I don't think any human woman does. Flowers are for funerals and weddings and bees to do their noble business. Writing about driving your cock through my flower is not sexy. It's perverse and hilarious, but not sexy.

I just imagine a man, possibly an unwell derelict (no judgment) , lying face down in a bed of flowers in a public park with his pants around his ankles, humping the dirt, or literally fucking the petals off of a daisy he picked.

In case you were wondering the word to use when talking dirty 'bout a lady's nether regions is "pussy". That's it. It's not a "crease" or an "axwound" or any of the other choice phrases that have been whispered or shouted into my professionally receptive ear.

Conversely, a man's nether regions are a "cock". Not "manhood". Manhood sounds like something King Arthur would say to Lady Guinevere. Unless we are role playing courtly love, then nix the talk about "manhood".

It's also not good to use the word "dick". A dick is someone who cuts you off in traffic. Many conservative politicians are dicks. That word doesn't belong in the bedroom unless someone cums on your face without express permission.

Cock and pussy. That's it. Don't try to reinvent the wheel here. Trust me, if the mood is right, and everyone is feeling it, those words are just dandy.

Now, of course, there is always the fabled "cunt". Scholars have debated for centuries about whether or not the c-word is good for dirty talkin'.

As a swear word or insult, it is miraculous. As far as word weapons, it is the tomahawk. This means you really need to know how to throw the thing around.

"Cunt" can most certainly be used as dirty talk, but it must be used skillfully and sparingly. One false move and it becomes a tomahawk word weapon again, and tomahawks are terrible sex toys.

I like to think of the word cunt as the oboe solo in the symphony. You must know when to call upon it to make beautiful, Gershwin esque sexual music.