Don’t get the wrong idea about phone sex callers – they’re not all crazy kinky lunatics (as much as I might wish they were – crazy kinky lunatics are generally the most fun). Some of the callers – lots of them, in fact – are just regular guys. Even some of the ones with the outrageous fantasies turn out to be pretty much, well, just regular guys.
•
The Garrulous Gourmet
When Jeff’s name popped up on my caller ID, I knew it sounded familiar, but didn’t immediately recognize it.
“Have you ever called a phone girl before?” I asked. “Ohhhhh, well…once or twice,” he answered. “Or ohhhh, about a million times.” He had a deep, hearty laugh.
I hate asking that question, by the way. “Phone girl” doesn’t seem like the right term. But I like “phone service” even less, and “phone sex operator” least of all. Phone woman? Phone slut?
Anyway, after I said that I realized that this was a guy that Rachel had told me about. She did a long call with him, over an hour, and he was talkative and friendly.
Well “talkative” doesn’t begin to describe it. I would guess we yammered about nothing for 45 minutes. We discussed the telephone company, cable vs. satellite dishes, cooking, marriage, debit vs. credit cards, stay-at-home dads, the phone sex industry, you name it. We talked about cooking quite a bit, since he fancies himself an amateur chef, and my best friend is a professional chef.
At one point reasonably early in the conversation, he mentioned how amusing he found it to be “naked with my dick in my hand,” only to talk about the relative merits of different kinds of paring knives. I immediately felt badly and tried to apologize, but he insisted that he just loved to talk.
“I’m a Chatty Cathy,” he said cheerfully. An odd way to describe someone with such a deep, masculine voice.
He loves phone sex, but also just generally loves talking to cute, smart girls on the phone. He got married recently, he said, and he adores his wife, but he still makes time for the phone calls.
So we yacked. He told me about making gourmet baby food from scratch, and I told him about the time my friend forced me to help cook Chinese dumplings when I had the flu. We got to talking about soup, somehow. I told him about my favorite cold carrot dill soup. He started raving about a pepper pear soup that he makes.
I perked up. My chef friend loves peppers and she loves pears. And I’ve learned my lesson. The last time I did a call with a chef, he told me about a fabulous dish he makes with Häagen Dazs ice cream. I, ridiculously, proceeded to give him a blowjob instead of asking for the recipe. She was mad at me for days.
So I obediently asked Chatty Cathy what was in the soup. He didn’t seem to mind and started naming ingredients. I heard sounds in the background, and he said, “Hang on, wait just one minute…”
Paper rustling.
“I know I have it here somewhere… I think it’s in this notebook… ”
Rustle, rustle.
“You know, this would be much easier if one of my hands wasn’t covered in Vaseline.”
I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing, and he did too.
“I’m on my hands and knees,” he gasped, giggling, “naked… in my dining room… talking to you… looking for a recipe….”
We just roared. I tried to apologize again, but he said he was having a great time.
We decided this ought to be the opening for a movie. A shot of the phone sex operator saying, “Oh, honey, that would be great.” A shot of his face, “Oh, yeah, just one more minute…” Maybe a shot of his hand on his dick. Then the camera pulls back to reveal him naked on the floor looking for recipes.
I suggested Tom Cruise for him, but he said that Cruise is too short. He wants to be Robert Urich, when Urich was younger – the Vegas years. Of course, Julia Roberts will play Kristi.
Eventually we did get around to the sex part, and he wanted to play with a teenage girl, a high school cheerleader type. I suggested a slutty cheerleader with a push-up bra and high heels and he loved it. He was my Home Ec. teacher who made me stay after class for not paying attention, and I seduced him over a cake batter. Good clean fun.
I didn’t expect to hear from him again soon, because he said he’d call me in a couple of weeks. So I was surprised to see his name pop up on my caller ID about midnight a few days later.
He was whispering. “How are you, Kristi?”
I whispered back. “Pretty good. Why are we whispering?” He laughed low. “My wife’s in the other room. I won’t be able to talk a long time like I usually do.”
Oooooh, naughty.
“She doesn’t know you’re calling, does she?”
“Are you kidding? No way! Oh god, I’m so horny!”
“So why don’t you go jump her bones?”
Look, I know it’s probably not good for business, but I always encourage them to go to their wives. I push them to tell their wives about their fantasies. I can’t help it. I approve of happy marriages.
“Nah, she’s not feeling well.”
Ahhh, in that case…
“Ohhh, so we’ll have to be very quiet… ”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Maybe you could just, like, talk about sucking my cock.”
“Someplace where we might get caught any minute now?” I asked mischievously.
I could almost hear him get harder.
“Oh god… yes…”
“Like maybe in the kitchen… or a closet off the kitchen… ” I teased.
“Oh yeah… in the storeroom next to the kitchen,” he moaned.
“I’m a cute waitress,” I said, “and the minute they’re out serving the first course, you grab me and practically drag me into the storage room.”
“Yesss…kiss you hard…push you down to your knees…”
“Shhhhh,” I cautioned. “Quiet, they could come back into the kitchen any second now… ”
It didn’t take but three minutes. But it was a hot, hot quiet quickie. And very satisfying. And hell, his wife got left alone when she didn’t feel well. It was practically community service.
•
Just One of the Crowd
I was warned both by Donna and by Trisha to limit my online chat time. I know from my own experience how easy it is to get sucked into that black hole of online chat, and how enticing and attractive people can be on the other side of the electrons. With pictures of Kristi-the-Gorgeous in my profile, it’s not surprising that I was quickly overwhelmed with would-be chatters.
I decided early on to approach this whole thing like what it was a business. It’s much easier to keep customers than to get them, and most of any business’s time is spent trying to attract the new people.
I decided that I’d put in the time chatting online for a while, to get to know some people and, I hoped, entice callers. I wasn’t going to chat with people who were clearly not interested in calling, but I’d make the effort to cultivate some regulars early on.
I read through the AOL profiles of all the other girls, and they seemed so rude.
NO cyber! I don’t chat so DON’T ASK! No, you CANNOT HAVE A FREE SAMPLE so DON’T ASK! NO FREE PHONE!
I decorously left such items out of my profile. A few days later, in slight annoyance, I added a polite, “Please don’t take the time to chat if you’re never interested in calling. Thanks!” A few days later I changed it to, “No cyber! Please don’t IM if you’re never interested in calling!” and today it reads:
NO cyber and NO samples. DON’T IM if you don’t want to call.
Well, I tried. But there are so many men online, all looking for hot babes, and so few who are actually potential customers.
Several of those early online chats paid off, though, and I developed a modest regular caller in Drew. His calls are always around 20 minutes, spaced out every few weeks.
Drew is in his early 20s, a kink-curious computer programmer with no one to play with. We chatted online, and he confided that had never called a phone sex girl before. I didn’t really believe him when he said he was getting off-line to call. I get that all the time, and it’s just usually an excuse to end the conversation. I was surprised when the phone rang a few minutes later.
We talked easily and played a light spanking-in-the-office scene. His desires were simple – a beautiful co-worker, dressed to tease, whom he could blackmail and turn over his knee. He only gave me a few swats (complete with sound effects, which were kind of sexy) and then went directly to the hot fuck. Short and sweet.
One of my other marketing ploys has been to write little thank you e-mails to the callers I meet online. So I wrote him a flirty note, telling him how much I enjoyed talking to him and suggesting a “cop stops sexy speeder” fantasy for the next time. Might as well get him thinking about calling me again.
It worked. He wrote back agreeing that he’d love to stop me for speeding, especially if I was wearing a low-cut outfit. I wrote back describing the outfit in detail. He sent back a warning against trying to bribe him.
We teased back and forth for a couple of days, and about two weeks after the first call, I approached him online. He seemed happy to hear from me, and the call started hot and heavy about the proposed police scene.
I had the feeling that he was interested in playing a little kinkier but needed some direction, so I made some noises about being handcuffed and bent over the hood of the squad car. He perked up right away, and suggested that other people might see me being punished as they drove by.
I responded with the appropriate “oh nooooo, noooo” pleadings, but he was having none of that.
“Maybe I’ll radio for some backup,” he suggested, “and let all my buddies fuck you one at a time. How would you like that, you little slut?”
Hell, I was game for a phone gangbang. Why not?
The conversation just about exploded. The somewhat-shy guy disappeared. He pulled me over, dragged me out of the car, frisked me, spanked me, bent me over the hood, and invited the entire police squadron from three counties to have their way with me while he watched. At the last moment, he even got some female officers involved, and that seemed to send him right over the edge.
Since then we’ve spoken often, always in the same pattern. He won’t generally call me out of the blue, but if I approach him online and get him worked up, he’s happy to talk to me.
Both recent calls had themes similar to the second call. Once he spanked me in a boat, stripped me, tied me to a log on the beach, and put me up for grabs for anyone in the area. Again he just watched without participating, and I ended up covered in the ejaculations of dozens. He really seemed to like that part.
The last time we spoke he actually approached me online, on a weekday afternoon when I was working from home. He started teasing me about skipping out on work, and wondering if my boss would approve. He called, and his naughty secretary received a nice, mild spanking followed by a full-scale office orgy.
In the aftermath of that last call, I teased him about his transformation from innocent computer guy to raging macho orgy pervert.
“Only around you,” he answered. “Somehow you bring it out in me.”
He’s not the first caller to say that to me, and in a way, it’s very flattering. These guys feel comfortable enough around me to play with their deeper, darker fantasies. And it’s amusing to know that I’ve been creating these lusty kink-monsters all over the country.
But lots of these guys are in their early 20s, just exploring their sexuality for the first time. It’s not really a game. In a way, these experiences are helping to shape their sexual identities. Sometimes it feels like an awesome responsibility.
•
Cindy
When I was about 20, I bought one of those trendy pop-psychology games that you were supposed to play in order to start interesting conversations. It was kind of a cross between “Truth or Dare” and Ethics 101.
It asked things like, “If you found a wallet with five thousand dollars in cash and no identification, what would you do?” or “Would you have sex with your spouse’s best friend if you knew for sure you’d never be caught?” The basic idea was to bare your soul to your pals and to get the dirt on everyone else. My friends and I played it obsessively one summer. We’d get together, wave around clove cigarettes, drink wine, and have pretentious discussions.
I don’t really remember where I was kink-wise back then. Certainly I was nowhere near putting my fantasies into practice, but I do recall smugly feeling like the rest of the gang were a bunch of prudes. Threesome? Sure, why not? Lesbian experience? Bring it on! Anonymous sex? Is there any better kind?
The only question I actually remember is the one that stopped me dead. It’s still with me, in fact, even ten years later. “If you were engaged to a man you loved, and the week before the wedding you found out that he was a cross-dresser, would you still marry him?”
The question disturbed me greatly. I stuttered around, tried to just wave it off and answer yes, but I couldn’t. Everyone was looking at me strangely; I’d participate in an orgy, but a little harmless cross-dressing would bother me? But it would. I had to answer, "I don’t know.”
A friend, who was totally vanilla but reasonably adventurous, asked, “But don’t you think that if you loved him and that’s what he was into, you could somehow make something sexy out of it?”
I was shaking my head. He was right, of course. I could do that with most things. If my lover had a thing for knee socks or sex on the floor or latex, I could make it work. And lord knows, with my sexual proclivities, I should be the last person on earth to be judgmental.
But I was horrified at the very idea. And to this day, I still don’t know why. Genderfuck scenes don’t put me off – I find the idea sort of hot and fun. I think most transvestites (the ones who really look like women) are gorgeous. Even transsexual-ism doesn’t bother me. But simple cross-dressing – a straight, generally masculine man who likes to wear pretty, feminine things – makes me uneasy. It’s one of those irrational impulses, I guess. I can think of no actual reason to be upset by it.
As I’ve explored the kinky world, and gotten more comfortable with my own sexuality, this reaction has eased somewhat, but it’s still there. The discomfort with that question all those years ago has been with me ever since. It’s always bothered me that it bothered me.
So imagine what ran through my mind when this IM popped up on my screen:
Instant Message from: Cindy1234
“Hi! Would you consider phone sex with a cross-dresser?”
Sheer terror. Irrational panic, but only for a moment. I realized I was being utterly ridiculous. How could I be afraid of talking to a cross-dresser on the phone? I decided it was time to get over it, or at least try. “Sure, why not?” We had a nice online chat for a few minutes. He loved my high black stockings. He was twice divorced and very, very shy. He told me he couldn’t call me because he was old and fat and ugly. Suddenly I felt deep empathy.
“You’re not putting yourself down, are you? Because I hate that.” And I gave him a smile.
“Well, maybe a little… ”
“Well don’t,” I typed. “I bet you look beautiful.” “No,” he corrected. “Yow are beautiful.”
Damn. Kristi is beautiful. I wanted so badly to tell him that I’m not the gorgeous twig in the pictures. But I didn’t. I thanked him. He asked if he could tell me what he was wearing. I pushed away a twinge of distaste, and told him to go ahead.
He told me he was wearing red satin panties and a matching bra. And silk stockings with a garter belt, and high heels. And that his cock was hard for me in his panties. What a strange juxtaposition.
Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. "Honey, are you interested in giving me a call?”
“I want to.”
“Great!”
“But Kristi, I’m 58 years old.”
“So what?” I certainly didn’t care about his age.
He was silent a moment. “Okay,” he said, “I’m going to call right now.”
I wasn’t sure he was going to, but he did.
“Hi Kristi, this is Cindy.” The voice sounded like your typical middle-aged teamster. Cindy.
“Hi, Cindy, I’m really glad you decided to call.” Not bad. I called him Cindy and didn’t waver.
“So am I,” he said, and I could hear the relief in his voice, relief at finally being able to talk to someone.
We chatted for a little while. He told me about sneaking into his mother’s lingerie drawer when he was five, and being married twice but never telling either of his wives. I told him about being interested in S/M, and sneaking off to read spanking letters in my dad’s Penthouse.
He was not at all feminine. He just likes feminine clothes. A paradox. He was interested in both my tits and my bra. I asked him if he ever wore panties under his regular clothes to feel naughty. He said he loved doing that. I told him how I sometimes don’t wear panties at all. We decided it was probably the same sensation. We discussed the relative merits of stockings vs. thigh highs. It was fun. I admit, I was still a little freaked out, but I enjoyed it anyway.
When we finally started to play, he wanted me to talk about the lingerie. I described having him on his back and crawling on top of him, rubbing my bra against his bra, my wet pussy rubbing against the hard cock under his slip. But other than the references to his underwear, he was no different from any other guy I’ve talked to, right down to him pulling down both of our panties and fucking my ass. Go figure.
I can’t say I’m over it, but it’s a step. A high-heeled, silky step.