20.   Listening, Watching, Imagining

Listening

Richard called on a Sunday afternoon. He had a slight Hispanic accent, just thick enough for me to have to ask him to repeat himself a few times. We chatted for a few minutes and he told me about himself – his appearance, his age, and his job in retail. Then out of the blue he said:

“My girlfriend is here sucking my cock.”

“Right now?” I asked. Ooh.

“Yes,” he said. “Is that okay?”

“Sure! That sounds hot.”

It did, too. I wondered if it was true.

A husband and wife once approached me online, and they got me interested in trying a couple call. She was bi-curious, and they wanted to see how they would react to a phone call before they tried a live threesome. I was willing. Unfortunately I never spoke to them because they have little kids, and they could never seem to get Grandma to take the monsters away for the evening.

Anyway, I was definitely up for playing with a couple.

“Can she hear me?” I asked, hoping for speakerphone.

“No, we just have one phone,” he said.

“Oh,” I said. “Well, can I say hello to her?”

I didn’t want to be rude, and greeting the other half of the pair seemed like only basic courtesy. He hesitated and then said that she wasn’t really comfortable talking to me. I was disappointed and decided that there was probably no actual girlfriend with him.

But as he went on describing what she was doing to him and what he was doing to her, I started to hear little feminine moans in the background. He would say, “And now I’m pinching her nipple,” and there would be a corresponding cry. She was really there.

I listened to them make love and wondered if I would agree to such a call if I were the woman involved. I could imagine enjoying myself if the phone sex operator was on the speakerphone, but what would be the kick about giving a blowjob to a man who was talking on the phone to another woman? Nothing that I could think of.

I asked him some questions at first, but he seemed to find them distracting. He didn’t want me to tell them what to do, and he didn’t want to fantasize a threesome. Basically he just wanted me to listen to them.

After the first exciting moment of knowing there were real live people fucking on the other end of the line, the call was actually fairly boring. But they must have liked it because they called me twice more to have sex in my ear.

Oh well, they’re easy, if not interesting.

•

Watching

Sex technology, like every other kind, is becoming more sophisticated. About a year after I started doing phone sex, we got a new online system for running credit card charges. Instead of typing the credit card number into the phone, we began entering it into a website that verifies the address and gives us an approval number. It even builds a database, so if any of the other girls have talked to the client before, the address information is already there.

Nick, a regular caller of mine, is always at the cutting edge of sex technology. Nick could easily be an entire chapter of this book, not to mention a case study for a psychologist.

He says he manages a nightclub, but he spends so much money on phone sex that there must be more to his income. He talks for at least an hour at a time, and he calls several of the girls regularly. Mostly he tells me stories about his alleged sexual experiences. He doesn’t even want my input, though I breathe heavily and moan for him a bit. Sometimes his stories are quite sexy, and they’re always totally outrageous.

Nick’s fetish is about paying for sex. Occasionally he talks about other phone girls or prostitutes, but most often his stories revolve around paying non-professionals for sex acts. Sometimes the story involves a straight cash transaction – he approaches a beautiful young woman in a mall and offers her five hundred dollars to give him a blowjob. Sometimes it’s more subtle – an adorable but lazy cocktail waitress makes a deal to fuck him instead of getting fired.

More often than not, though, it’s a complicated arrangement. For example: a broke but cute girl needs a place to stay, so Nick offers her a room in his house until she saves some money. In exchange they decide on a complex and specific pattern of gratuities. She agrees to, say, perform oral sex on him every morning, plus have sex with him in the missionary position on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and doggie style on Sundays. The poor girl always ends up needing extra money for something (usually a boob job), which Nick agrees to supply in exchange for progressively kinkier additional services.

Anyhow, as a prelude to one of his stories, Nick started telling me about the exciting new world of video sex. Like phone sex, you pay by the minute with a credit card, but unlike phone sex, you can watch the girl of your choice on your computer screen while you talk to her. If you like, you can hook up a camera so she can see you too, or you can remain faceless.

Now, video sex is not something I’m ever going to do. First and most obviously, I don’t actually look like Kristi. But even apart from that, it wouldn’t be the same. I’d always have to look presentable. I’d have to wear what I said I was wearing and do what I said I was doing. It would be a whole different world.

My first real awareness of video sex was during a two-girl call with Trisha and one of her regulars. They have a unique relationship, he explained. She is his phone mistress, and he obeys her commands. On video. She doesn’t have a camera but he does, and she has special software that allows her to see him over the Internet. He turns the camera on himself and follows her commands.

Suddenly I was intrigued. I hadn’t imagined that a situation in which the caller has a camera but the phone sex girl doesn’t would make sense, but this one did. The guy said it was the ultimate in domination – to submit to the faceless voice of a woman watching your every move.

I promised to look into getting the special video program, the name of which I immediately forgot. I really wasn’t interested in investing money in a piece of software for this one guy who would probably never call me.

Soon after that, though, Richard called. I thought I was in for another evening of listening to him and Linda having sex, but he was alone. We chatted casually for a bit, and then he asked me how old my computer is.

“It’s brand new,” I answered, wondering why he was asking. “I just got it about two months ago.”

“Does it have NetMeeting on it?” he wanted to know. “Most of the new ones have it pre-installed.”

“I don’t know. What is it?”

“It’s a videoconferencing program,” he replied. “I have a camera, and if you have it, you’d be able to see me.”

“Cool!” I exclaimed. “Should I go look?”

“Yeah, go look!”

We laughed, and I went to sit at the computer. It took a few minutes of searching, but I discovered that I did indeed have NetMeeting. I typed in the string of numbers he gave me and less than 30 seconds later I was looking at him on my computer screen.

Wild.

The picture was a small square, just like any video clip you’d download. But it was live. It refreshed about every second, so it wasn’t as clear as streaming video, but it was close.

“This is amazing,” I said.

“You can see me?” he asked, waving.

“Yes! I see you sitting at your desk waving to me,” I exclaimed, like a kid with a new toy.

Then I had a brief moment of irrational paranoia.

“You can’t see me, can you?”

I don’t know why I even asked. I knew he couldn’t. I don’t have a camera. I knew it was a dumb thing to say even as I said it, but I needed the confirmation.

He laughed. “No.”

I don’t know what I thought he was going to look like, but he was perfectly average: around 30, glasses, a little nerdy, somewhat heavy. Not the hard body type that one might expect to be such an exhibitionist, I mused. (Then I chided myself. I know that exhibitionism has nothing to do with having a conventionally attractive body. Sometimes those damned stereotypes sneak up on me and piss me off.)

We talked for a few silly minutes. “Put your hands over your head!” I ordered, just to see him do it. He did, and we giggled.

“Oh, I wish Linda was awake,” he sighed. “You could watch us.”

“Ooh,” I said. “I’d really like that.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Definitely!”

I meant it. How often do you get a chance to watch real people doing it right there on your computer and get paid for it?

He got suddenly shy. “Would you… maybe… um…”

“Yes?”

“Can I take my clothes off?” he asked.

Hey buddy, it’s your $1.99 a minute, you can do whatever you want.

“Sure!”

So he did. He lifted his shirt off, and then shrugged out of his pants and underwear. It was awkward and slow, a real person getting undressed in front of a stranger. He was nervous. (Well, nervous but excited. That much was, ah, quite clear.)

He focused the camera right at his penis, showing me how hard it was, and stroking it for me. I think this has got to be a gender difference. Maybe it’s just me, but I cannot imagine a woman deciding to focus the camera directly at her genitals in the first three minutes of the call. But I digress.

So I spoke to his penis for a few minutes, then he said goodnight. He was excited, but he wanted to save it for when Linda was awake.

“Can we do that?” he asked. “Call you together to watch us?”

“Absolutely!” I enthused. “I’m looking forward to it.”

And they did, just a few days later.

We got all hooked up and there he was again, but this time he wasn’t alone. Linda was with him, looking shy but eager. She looks – well actually, she looks quite a lot like me – the real me,which I found kind of amusing.

The camera didn’t show a big enough area for me to really see both of them at the same time, so Richard sat down in a chair at the edge of the frame and pulled Linda in front of the camera. I could see him holding the phone with one hand and touching her with the other. It was very sexy. He ran his hands over her body, talking to me the whole time. She couldn’t hear me, so I told him how pretty I thought she was. (I hoped that he’d convey that to her, but he didn’t. Men.)

He lifted her shirt off over her head to reveal a nice shiny satiny bra holding up big breasts.

“Isn’t this exciting?” he asked me.

I agreed that it was. Linda squirmed, clearly turned on.

He continued to caress her, but seemed at a loss for what to do next. I decided get aggressive.

“Linda looks like she has such pretty tits,” I observed. “Can I see them?”

He didn’t answer, just said, “Take your bra off,” to her. She moaned, and did so. He grasped her nipple and pinched it.

“Ooh,” I breathed, “she does have nice tits. I love big tits.”

He was breathing harder. “I’d love to see you suck them,” he said.

“Ohhh, I’d love that too,” I answered. “I wish I were there. But why don’t you suck on them?”

He leaned forward and took one nipple in his mouth. She groaned loudly. I saw almost nothing but the back of his head.

“How was that?” he asked.

“Ohhh, great,” I lied. “Hey, I bet she has a great ass, too.”

“Oh, she does. Want to see it?”

“Yes!”

Within moments Linda was completely naked and facing away from me, Richard’s hand running up and down her cheeks.

“Ohhh, nice,” I breathed into the phone. “Tell her to bend forward over the chair there.”

He guided her so that she was leaning forward, her butt sticking out. Very nice. Like having my own personal video toys. I wondered if I could maneuver them into a doggie-style fuck.But no, he was already bored.

“Want to see her suck my cock?”

Oh well, can’t have everything. “Sure.”

This took time, since he had to get his clothes off, sit down, and reposition the camera. It took several tries, during which I wondered again what the kick was for Linda in these calls. Richard didn’t tell her anything I said – overall, she had no real contact with me. I still don’t get it, if truth be told. It seems to me that it would be like, well, like having sex with someone who was on the phone.

I was snapped back to reality by the sound of him moaning. She was indeed sucking him, quite enthusiastically in fact. But again, I could mostly see her head bobbing up and down. It was sexy, yes, but less so than you might think. At least in the porn movies they get the camera angles right.

That lasted a few minutes. Then they showed me Linda’s pussy, which I agreed was very lovely and wet. I also agreed that yes, definitely, they should fuck now.

I was interested, actually. It seemed like it would be an exciting event, watching two people have sex live – a show just for me. But sadly, once they got into position, his thigh blocked the entire camera, so all I saw for three or four minutes was a beige blur moving back and forth.

Then their cat walked in front of the camera. Maybe the technology still needs work.

•

Imagining

Despite Nick’s claim that it’s the wave of the future, I don’t think video sex will ever replace phone sex, any more than movies will ever replace books. In a way, it’s too real.

Some guys, like the ones who are mainly interested in listening to me touch myself, would certainly enjoy the enhancement of video sex. But if a caller wants a role-play fantasy – a Daddy’s little girl, or a violent rape, or a gangbang – video sex just wouldn’t work. On the phone, I’m just a voice. I can be as young as he wants me to be, dress him in a thousand-dollar ball gown by Bob Mackie, or insert a 14-inch dildo in my ass while tap dancing. Video would spoil that.

Sometimes just listening is sexier, because the imagination works all on its own. For instance, I always look forward to calls with a man I’ve nicknamed “The Whisperer.” He calls me with his cell phone, usually from his car which is sitting in a parking garage, but that’s the only thing I know about his real life.

His calls always feel intimate to me, and I think it’s because he whispers. I don’t ever recall hearing him speak at full volume, though I suppose he must have the first time when he gave me his credit card information. Far from being the annoying type of whisper that I can’t hear, his low voice is perfectly comprehensible. It’s an undertone that invites intimacy, and I can’t help reciprocating with my own murmurings.

I love to whisper on the phone. It just feels right to me most of the time, and unfortunately sometimes callers have to ask me to speak up. I would have thought that talking softly was common, but apparently it isn’t. Whenever I’ve listened in on other calls, the girls have spoken in everyday, normal tones of voice. Trisha especially almost sounds like she’s shouting.

In any case, this particular caller whispers, and I whisper back to him. He’s never once asked me to speak up, and I know somehow that it would break the spell if I did. After his last call I found that I had burrowed under the blankets to talk to him, and I realized that I always do that when he calls. It reminds me of having slumber parties as a kid, making fortresses out of the blankets so we could hide underneath them and tell secrets.

That’s just what these calls are like – listening to sweet, sexy secrets, the kind you can only tell in the dark. I don’t know if the stories he tells are real or fantasy, but it doesn’t really matter. He presents himself as a heterosexual man, and at the very beginning he talked about wanting to be with a dominant woman. Very quickly, though, it became apparent that the women in his stories are incidental, just tools to get him into situations where he sexually services other men.

He talks conversationally – well, as conversationally as he can, in a whisper – and likes it when I ask questions and tell him related things about myself. He seems especially pleased that I can identify with his submissive impulses.

I’ve wondered whether he is ashamed of fantasizing about men, and I don’t know the answer. On one hand, he tells his tales eagerly and in detail. On the other hand, I get the impression that the whispering is a necessity, that he couldn’t voice his desires aloud even if he wanted to.

The first story he ever told me was about him serving a dominant woman, who took him out in her car to a highway rest stop, found two truckers taking a break, and offered them the use of his body. He had never been with another man, he said, but the woman didn’t ask his permission and he didn’t protest.

“Did they take her up on her offer?” I murmured.

“What do you think?” he whispered.

“I think they did.”

He was silent. And then softly, very very softly. “Yesssss… they did.”

I moaned quietly, encouragingly.

When he didn’t continue, I coaxed him with questions, “Did you want them to?”

He answered again, exactly as he had before. “What do you think?”

I knew it was not a rhetorical question. “I think you did. You wanted them to,” I whispered.

“Yesssss…” he hissed. “Yes, you’re right, I did.”

He went on to tell me how the woman bent him over a corner of the hood of her car, so that one trucker could use his mouth and the other his ass. It was obviously an intense, emotional story, but I couldn’t tell if he was aroused or not.

Towards the end of the description, after the truckers had switched places and finished with him, I asked a little teasingly how his cock had felt being pressed against the warm metal of the car hood. Out of nowhere he moaned loudly – incredibly loudly for a conversation that had been entirely in soft voices – and the noise of his moans continued for a long time.

“Thank you, Kristi,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” I whispered back. “That was a hot story. I’d like to hear more.” It was the truth. I was aroused by his account, and sorry it was over.

“Okay,” he sighed happily. “I’ll call you again.”

And he hung up. Now he calls every few weeks to share his secrets with me under the blankets, and I always hang up the phone grinning and tingly. Video sex won’t ever match that.