18. Multiple Personality Disorder
Callers ask all sorts of questions. One of the most common is, “Do you do real life sessions?” They often seem surprised when I say no. Apparently most phone sex girls claim to also have other sex-related jobs: stripper, x-rated model, exotic dancer, escort, hooker.
I suppose this makes sense. It goes along with the “I’m a nymphomaniac” persona that is so apparently appealing to callers. The profiles of lots of these girls say things like, “I just can’t get enough” or “Everything turns me on, baby!” or “I have 15 orgasms a day and my fantasy is to fuck a different guy every hour on the hour.”
It all sounds so fake. Does that sound strange? Obviously it is all fake, but I always thought the idea was to make it seem real. How else do you sustain the fantasy?
Well, no, of course fantasy doesn’t have to seem real, and I suppose that the guys are entitled to their daydream “38DDD, 105 lb. shaved” nymphettes. But guys who want a cookie-cutter fantasy chick don’t like Kristi. Kristi’s just a regular person, with a real job and real ups and downs. When they ask if her father ever fucked her, she says no. When they ask when she last had a real cock in her mouth, she giggles and tells them it’s been a long time. Some of them get confused (Hey, where’s my nymphomaniac?) but lots of them laugh and start treating me like a person instead of a fantasy.
Kristi’s a bit shy. She did the one photo shoot for the website, but it was difficult for her. She doesn’t take her clothes off for strangers, she doesn’t do live web shows, she doesn’t do lap dances, and she doesn’t turn tricks.
I’m astounded by the number of men who ask things like, “Well, wouldn’t you make more money stripping than you do working in an office?”
When I tell them I probably would make more, but I still would never do it, they’re baffled. Why wouldn’t I? I’m a phone sex slut, so why wouldn’t I want to be a stripper? Or a porn star?
Sometimes I just change the subject, but sometimes I explain. Kristi enjoys her phone sex job, but she’s not going to do it for a living. She’s saving up money to go back to school. I go on to explain that I work from my own apartment, alone. No one is touching me. I don’t work in a smoke-filled bar, breaking my back and taking off my clothes every night for a bunch of drunk, sweaty guys who are hooting and grabbing at me. I’m home. I’m safe. I’m comfortable. And the worst thing that will happen if someone bothers me is that I hang up the phone and don’t pick it up again.
This is a revelation to them sometimes. To a lot of these callers phone sex equals stripping equals lap dancing equals prostitution. It’s all the same.
By the way, I have nothing against lap dancers or prostitutes, nor do I think that any of those professions is equivalent to the other. And I don’t think it’s a continuum either. I can easily see how someone could be comfortable being an escort and uncomfortable dancing on stage. All the jobs are different.
But it amazes me how these callers cannot understand why I’m comfortable talking to strangers on the phone but uncomfortable having strangers touch me. To me, there’s a universe of difference. Though I guess these are the same guys who believe that the pictures are real, and that they’ve made me so hot that I had two orgasms in the first three minutes of the call.
In any case, after I killed off Mistress Nicole, I decided to create a different new character, one that I’d enjoy more. And I thought I’d give the whole phone-nympho thing a try. Why not? Apparently it works for lots of the other operators.
In thinking about what kind of new girl I wanted, I tried to figure out what made Kristi successful. What came immediately to mind was that she’s different from the other girls on the site. She’s got that great red hair, and there are no other redheads. I knew I wanted to try a brunette (Mistress Nicole had been blonde) and I started thinking about what was missing from the lineup.
I realized it pretty quickly – there were no ethnic-looking girls. They all looked white bread. No Hispanics, no Asians, and only one African-American. I thought it seemed likely that a more ethnic girl would attract a different crowd than Kristi would.Trisha was agreeable. She thought an Asian character would be most successful, though she did caution me about the difficulty of maintaining an accent.
I’d already considered that, and knew there was no way I could pull off an accent. My girl would have to have been born in the U.S., I decided, and grown up in New York. (New York or San Francisco seemed logical as the biggest Asian population centers, and keeping her in Eastern Time Zone would make things less complicated for me.)
Trisha didn’t have any pictures of Asian girls. If I found them she promised to pay for them, so I began searching the web. This was an experience in and of itself, by the way. The sheer number of sites offering legal adult webmaster content for sale is amazing.
“We have everything!” they hawk. “Softcore, hardcore, teens, streaming video, Asian, pregnant…!”
And they do. Everything. I was looking for photosets – groups of pictures of the same girl – and there are literally thousands of them for sale. Despite the selection, finding one I liked was difficult. I wanted an Asian girl with a pretty face, who could pass for at least mid-20s (late-20s or early-30s would have been better – I was getting sick of playing ten years younger than myself), and who had a selection of primarily softcore photos. I preferred at least medium-sized breasts, since Kristi is small-breasted and I was looking for contrast.
Most importantly, I wanted to find someone who just felt right. I knew her as soon as I saw her. The site listed her name as Kim, but I wanted to give her a name I liked. I prowled Japanese baby name websites and came up with “Jini,” to be pronounced “Ginny.”
•
Jini’s Profile
Hi, I’m Jini. I’m 27, 5’4”, with long dark hair, a tight, round ass, and 36C tits just perfect for you to suck on. I keep my pussy bare, so it’s soft and smooth and always ready.
My parents were very strict with me when I was growing up. I went to private school and wasn’t allowed to go out with friends - forget dating! I guess when I moved away from home I went a little crazy trying to do everything I missed.
As soon as I turned 18, I got an apartment with a girl a few years older than me. She just couldn’t believe how innocent I was, and she made it her mission to corrupt me. The first night I moved in she took me out to this bar she knew, and I had my first drink and my first cock that same night! The feel of that hard dick sliding in and out of my cunt just about drove me insane, and I knew I could never go back to being a good girl again.
She taught me everything about sex - how to dress hot, how to suck a guy to heaven, and even the pleasures of a little girl-girl action. Our second week together she slipped naked into my bed, kissing me deeply, then burying her face in my throbbing pussy.
We spent three years raising hell and trying every kind of kinky sex imaginable. We got jobs in a strip club to make some extra cash, and at least once a month we’d take a couple of customers home after hours and make them very happy.
I think I got addicted to sex, and now that I live alone I can’t get enough of talking to you while stroking my slick, hot pussy. I like to imagine all kinds of dangerous games. I’d love sucking your prick in the back row of a movie theatre, or a hard, fast fuck in the bathroom at a party where your wife is in the next room, or sex with a nameless stranger whose eyes meet mine across a smoky bar…
I can be your naughty little girl or the teenage bimbo taking on the whole fraternity house. Or anything else you can possibly imagine. Oral, anal, threesomes, gangbangs… the kinkier it is, the better I like it!
•
I don’t know how it happened, but Jini turned out to be a valley girl. I didn’t plan it. This high-pitched giggly voice just came out of my mouth the first time I got a call.
She sounds like a complete ditz. She’s cute, she’s breathy, she giggles, and she says things like, “No way!” and “I’m, like, soooooooo totally wet!”
I’d been a little nervous about the whole Asian character, and of course, the very first call came from a guy who had spent six years in Japan. He immediately started chattering at me.
“I’m from New York,” I whined. “I don’t, like, speak any Japaneeeeese!”
He laughed.
Somehow this ridiculous, almost dumb persona is sort of freeing. I can say anything, no matter how outrageous, and the guys think it’s adorable.
This must be what it feels like to be a trophy wife. The callers are so entranced with my open sluttiness, willingness and good cheer that it just doesn’t occur to them to demand intelligence too.
Sometimes even I don’t believe the things that come out of my mouth. I behave like a nymphomaniacal piece of fluff. A Barbie doll with hormones. But they lap it right up.
“Oh, Jini, you’re so hot…”
“Oooh, thanks!” I giggle. “You’re fun! Want me to take my top off?”
The breathing deepens. “Um, yes, I’d like that.”
“Cool but, like, you have to take yours off tooooooooo!”
An indulgent masculine chuckle. “I think I can arrange that.”
“Ooh, you have lots of hair on your chest. I looooove that. I loooove to run my fingers through it! What do you think of my tits? Ya like ‘em?”
Strangled sound. “Oh yes, Jini, very much.”
“Me too!” I declare. “I like to rub them like this, y’know? And watch the nipples get, like, all hard ‘n stuff… and y’know what I reeeeally like?”
“What?”
“I reeeeeally like to have them sucked on. You wanna suck on them?”
“Ohhhh <gasp> yes, I do.”
“Mmmm that feels sooooooo good! I’m, like, soooooooo totally wet right now! Y’know what I wanna do?”
“What?”
“I want you to put your cock inside my pussy, y’know? And get it all good and wet and stuff… and then pull it out right away and then I wanna lick my juices off it ’til you cum in my mouth, ’k?”
I no longer worry about Kristi callers recognizing Jini, because they sound nothing alike. The biggest danger is that I find myself occasionally slipping into the Jini ditz-giggle during Kristi calls, and I really don’t want that.
A number of Jini’s calls have been specifically Asian-related: a guy who once dated a Korean girl, a guy who fantasizes about his Japanese sister-in-law, and a guy who claimed that only Asian women really know how to be submissive. I’ve also had a few overlap callers, mostly men who called Kristi one time several months ago. Some of these also called Nicole, so I think they just call every new girl for the novelty.
I have to be careful with these, because I know more than I’m supposed to. I have to ask for all the information again, even though I have it right there on my index card. And I have to be certain to avoid referring to information they gave me the first time they called. The last thing I need is, “Hey, I never told you my wife’s name. How did you know that?”
I had a real challenge a few weeks after starting as Jini. I came home from the supermarket Sunday afternoon and saw a familiar-looking name on the caller ID. I looked it up, and cursed to see that it was Jeremy, Kristi’s hot prison guard guy. Well damn, I thought, I missed him.
But only a few minutes later the phone rang again. It was him! But it was Jini’s phone, not Kristi’s.
For a moment I was actually insulted. How dare he call someone else? What was wrong with Kristi? Why didn’t he ever call her back?
Ordinarily I don’t pick up Jini’s phone if it’s a Kristi caller who might recognize the voice, but I had the overwhelming urge to see if I could pull it off. And if not? Well, too bad on that two-timer!
“Hello!”
“Hello, is this Jini?” The same voice.
“Yup, that’s me! Who’s this?”
Same name, same address, same credit card. Definitely the same guy. He seemed as entranced with Jini’s mindlessness as all the rest of the guys, and he definitely didn’t realize he was talking to Kristi.
I was dying to find out what other kinky stuff he had on his mind, but I held back. I asked all the polite questions about what he looked like and how old he was, checking them off the list of the information I already had.
“And so, like, what do you do for a living, hmm?” I tried to think of a question to ask about being a prison guard that was different from Kristi’s questions.
“I sell real estate.”
Huh?
I stopped myself from saying, “What? I thought you were a prison guard!” and stammered out, “Real estate? Reeeeeeally?”
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s kind of boring, but it’s a living.”
Before I could formulate a coherent next question, he continued.
“So, Jini, I have this fantasy I like. See, I’ll be the prison guard, and you’re a new prisoner…”
Damn. So the phone girls aren’t the only ones who lie.
•
Jini’s phone is the same as Kristi’s phone, but it has a different toll-free number. It also has a distinctive sound – two short rings instead of one long one.
This guy called and asked for Jini. We chatted for a few minutes.
“So, Jeff, do you want to do a call, or do you have a question?”
“I think I’d like to do a call.”
“Great! Now let me get some information.”
He gave me his name, address, and phone number. He made jokes. Halfway through the credit card stuff, he said, “So are those pictures really you, or are we just pretending that they’re you?”
“Nope, they’re really me!” I assured him enthusiastically.
“Wow, really?” he asked.
I gave him one of my two standard lines. “Yup! As long as you’re looking at the redhead!” (The other is, “If I was going to pretend to be someone else, I’d pick someone with bigger tits.”)
Just a half second too late I realized my horrible mistake. That’s Kristi with the red hair. He’s talking to Jini. Dammit.
“Redhead?” he repeated, puzzled. “I’m looking at pictures of a brunette. Isn’t this Jini?”
Shit. Shit shit shit.
“Yes…” I answered slowly, trying to think how on earth to get myself out of this.
“Aren’t you Japanese?” he asked.
I couldn’t say, “Oh yeah, I know I said I was a redhead, but I’m actually Japanese. I just forgot.”
So I said, “Nope, I’m a redhead.”
“Oh,” he answered, confused.
I was quiet for a moment, and then I feebly ventured, “Maybe you meant to call the other Jini.”
“Other Jini?” he asked.
“Ummm…” (I was hoping he wouldn’t ask why my number was on the imaginary Jini’s website.)
“I guess I might have gotten you mixed-up,” he said. “Do you have a picture of yourself?”
All I wanted was to get this guy off the phone and this was the perfect opportunity.
“Sure! Give me your e-mail address, and I’ll send it to you, and then you can call me back after you get it!” I babbled.
He did, and I hung up fast. I thought about sending him Kristi’s picture but decided it was too risky. What if he’d seen Kristi’s site too?
Instead I turned off the phone so I wouldn’t hear it when he called back wondering what happened to me. I felt badly but I couldn’t think of anything else to do.
•
Jini gets many more calls from guys who want to hear her masturbate than Kristi does – I guess the profile encourages that. Some guys are so unpleasant and have such unrealistic expectations, though, that I wouldn’t dream of really getting into it with them.
Chris called Jini a few weeks ago. He was very interested in toys, and he wanted to hear me use clamps, clothespins, and vibrators on myself. He took control of the call right away, and while I didn’t actually do much of what he wanted, he thought I did and it was entertaining.
He called again the following week, and if he’d been mildly dominant the last time, he was downright nasty this time. There was lots of “do it now, bitch” language. It wasn’t to my taste. It might have been hot with a different person, but with him it just felt misogynistic and mean. All in all, a big turn-off for me.
But hey, he’s the customer, and his kink is okay. What I found amusing was how unrealistic his expectations were. He gave me a list of toys to gather, and waited while I did so. He told me to strip and get into bed. So far, so good.
“What’s the biggest vibrator you have?” he asked.
I cheerfully described it to him, and after a few seconds he interrupted and ordered, “Shove it up your ass right now. But don’t turn it on yet.”
I refrained from primly explaining that this was not an anal toy, being much too large and also not equipped with a flared base. I’m sure he wouldn’t have been interested.
Now there are some things I’ll actually do on the phone, but anal masturbation is not one of them. I was happy to pretend, however, and I made the appropriate rattling and moaning noises.
Less than 30 seconds after his instruction, he was demanding to know if it was in yet. I suppressed a burst of laughter. This was obviously someone who didn’t understand what he was asking. Even if I was a circus contortionist who had anal sex multiple times daily and had all my toys lined up and pre-lubricated at my fingertips, it wouldn’t have been anywhere near in yet.
“Not yet,” I answered.
“Well hurry up, bitch,” he snarled. “What’s taking you so long?”
And that was the end of my interest in the call. That was the end of any pretense of realism on my part. Immediately I relaxed back on the bed, dropped into “compliant slut” mode, and said, “Ohhhh, there, I’m sliding it in.”
“Put clothespins on your nipples,” he snapped. “Three on each. Then stand up. But don’t you let that vibrator slip out of your ass.”
I wished for nothing more at that moment than someone to roll my eyes at.
The call progressed, with me moaning prettily in response to every ridiculous instruction. Either he was really dumb or he just didn’t care if I was actually doing it or not.
I ended up (theoretically) standing next to my bed, naked except for my high heels. I had a seven-inch vibrator in my ass, a vibrating egg in my pussy, three clothespins on each nipple, and a pair of weight-bearing nipple clamps attached to my pussy lips. Oh, and I was holding the phone.
When I was “ready,” he commanded me to spank myself with one hand and hold another vibrator to my clit with the other.
Come to think of it, that would have been quite a sight. If I’m that amazingly talented, maybe I should be doing live web shows.
•
Jini’s callers do seem a little different from Kristi’s callers – more intense and pushy somehow. I suspect that Kristi’s intelligence intimidates some men, whereas Jini’s obvious ditziness encourages them.
Harry is about 60, well spoken with a deep, gravelly smoker’s voice. He’s married, but his wife was out of town for a week. Harry is an odd juxtaposition. One minute he’s sounding sweet, telling me about his job, and the next minute he’s snarling, “On your knees, bitch!”
He also makes goofy phone sound effects. In this scene he stripped me, tied my hands in front of me, and pressed a button that raised them over my head (VROOOOOM VROOOOOM). The machine elevated them higher and higher until I was lifted off the floor by my hands.
I made suitable crying and pleading noises, and avoided pointing out that my arms were being torn out of their sockets.
“You know what’s going to happen now, bitch?” he growled.
I whimpered.
“That’s right, little bitch,” he barked, “you’re getting a taste of my whip.”
“Oh, no, please, Master, please no!” I begged.
I couldn’t get into it at all. The “little bitch” language didn’t bother me, but it didn’t turn me on either. And the scenario was so unrealistic that I couldn’t even enjoy the fantasy. I mean, one good stroke in that position would send me swinging across the room like a trapeze artist.
“Oh yes, little slut!” he shouted. “CRACK! CRACK! CRRRRRRRRAAAAACK!”
He actually said the word “crack.” Also “smack” and “whoosh.” I very responsibly didn’t giggle. (Well, not out loud.)
I didn’t think it was such a great call, but I guess he had a good time because he called again a few days later. That call started out more promisingly. He stripped me naked and dressed me from the skin out – stockings, high heels, a short slutty black dress, and a leather collar and leash. He didn’t allow me panties or a bra, which made me beg for him not to take me out in public.
“Oh, you’re going, bitch. You’ll go wherever I tell you to go, won’t you, little whore?”
He blindfolded and dragged me into a car by the leash. He refused to tell me where we were going, and seemed happiest when I was making little non-descript sobbing noises.
“That’s right, whimper, you little fuck toy. Just you wait until you see where we’re going.”
Fuck toy. Charming. That’s what I get for pretending to be a nymphomaniac, I guess.
When we got to our destination, he dragged me from the car and hooked chains to my wrists and ankles. He then described raising me off the floor and ripping my dress off. I got confused. First I thought I was hanging upside down, but then I wasn’t sure. I had a lot of trouble responding, because I’d lost the mental picture. I really couldn’t interrupt and say, “Um, excuse me, but where exactly are my ankles right now?” So like a good little fuck toy, I just whimpered.
He whipped me thoroughly (CRRRRRACK! WHAP WHAP WHAP! CRRRRRRRRACK!) and made me promise to behave. Then he lowered me down and dragged me stumbling into another room, forcing me to kneel, still blindfolded.
“Now, bitch, do you want me to tell you where you are?”
“Oh, yes Master, please!”
“You’re at the Ten-Six club. Ever heard of it?”
“No, Master. What is it?”
“Oh, it’s a very special club. In order to be a member, you have to have at least a ten-inch cock.”
I repressed a giggle and a “yeah, right” reaction.
“And it has to be at least six inches around.”
Wow, what a vivid and detailed imagination he had. I was picturing the application process: a desk, a tape measure, maybe a clipboard…
“And you have to be black.”
Ah. Harry isn’t black. So he wasn’t a member of the club.
“And I pull off your blindfold, and you’re kneeling on a turntable, surrounded by huge black men, with their huge black dicks right at the height of your mouth.”
I made a whimpering, frightened noise.
“That’s right, bitch, you’re going to suck every one of them off while I watch. Every last one!”
Well, you can imagine the rest. I ended up being violated every which way possible by the Ten-Sixers while my “Master” watched, and finally took his turn at the very end.
Apparently this “white woman raped by a bunch of big black men” is a very stereotypical fantasy. Apparently the only unusual thing about it is that I haven’t gotten a call like that sooner.
See what you learn when you become a nymphomaniac?