Live Nude Girls Want You...

A Moment...OF TERROR.

Tue, 31 Jan 2006 09:54:48 GMT

[This was written for my personal blog, but I feel it has relevance in my work journal as well.]

IT SEEMED LIKE AN AVERAGE WORK NIGHT.

I was reading "Valley of the Dolls", nestled quite snuggly in my Batman blankets, enjoying the liberty of working at home, when the phone rang. I cheerfully picked it up, and began an uneventful-but-not-erotic call. I mean, diaper sex just doesn't do it for me. So fifteen minutes goes by and I'm talking in Mommy Voice, getting ultimately bored. And my nose gets itchy...like, ON THE INSIDE. So I keep pretending to wank this guy with Desitin while I start spelunking my nostril, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. I'm gone way past the first knuckle when I encounter something....HARD. Not like, I haven't-blown-my-nose-in-a-week, but OBJECT HARD. So I begin curling my finger, trying desperately to remove said object from my innermost cavities while pretending to breastfeed. The object dislodges itself from my nostril, and I pull it out to reveal....

...a small, winged INSECT.

Wrap your head around that one.

Pedophiles Pay My Rent.

Wed, 18 Jan 2006 22:22:53 GMT

Sorry it's been a so long between updates, kids. I recently switched companies, opting to control my content for a higher cut of the profits.

I'm currently working for Talksugar.com (by the way, you can call me now...crazy, huh?).

Trouble so far:

1) Lost ranking points for listing "Rape" as an interest
2) Accused of posting child porn, based on picture of me cowering in pigtails on my Submission listing. That was fun to explain..."No, that's me! I only LOOK twelve..."

But it's all good. I'm establishing a customer base, mostly due to my willingness to talk about ANYTHING.

A: So...what kind of fantasies have you done in the past?

Me: Oh, you know...incest, rape...the usual...

A: !!!

Apparently, a lot of these girls are too uptight to handle deviant calls! I mean, pedophiles and sister-fuckers were my bread-n-butter at the other company. They're missing a huge market!

Oh well. More for me.

Granted, you can ignore the Chester Molestors of this world...but it's so much more gratifying to take their money. Besides, if a guy has criminal fantasies, he's got enough problems. he doesn't need bitchy PSOs telling him off.

I'm speechless.

Sat, 07 Jan 2006 04:46:56 GMT

"So Ashley, you like boys?"

"Oh, I LOVE boys!"

[Ashley likes anything that gives her attention. Males, farm animals, her reflection. I've aimed low with this character.]

"No, I mean, like... young boys."

"...how young?"

"Really young."

"Yeah..."

[The customer is always right. I guess.]

"Why don't you tell me a story about something you've done. With a young boy."

"Well, this one time, I was, uh, babysitting..."

"RRRRIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPP!!!!! SCCCCHHHHAAAAA-RIPPPPPP!!!!"

"Uh, hello?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Go on."

"Um, what was that ripping noise?"

"Oh, don't worry about it. I'm just setting up a tent."

"A tent?"

"Yeah, like a camping tent."

"...I thought you said you're in the living room, watching TV."

"I am."

[For the first time in my short-lived career, I have no idea what to say. ]

"Oh..."

Click.

Being a pedophile is rough. Being a pedophile that camps out in his living room is priceless.

Just wanted to take a moment to thank all my readers, old and new. Every time I consider slamming down the headset and slinging coffee, I log on to see a new friend add. And that's awesome. In all honesty, you guys keep me going. Much love, and remember: questions and comments are always welcome. I'd love to hear from you.

A Case of Richard Gere Syndrome.

Wed, 04 Jan 2006 19:31:29 GMT

"Ashley..."

"Yeah?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"Um...what do you mean?"

"I just...it's amazing to me how you can go from being a champion cheerleader to...this."

[First off, if you think actually think I'm a cheerleader, you're a fucking idiot. Yes, I am an 18 year old cheerleader who lives with her parents, has lots of boyfriends, AND PRETENDS TO SUCK MIDDLE-AGED DICK ON THE PHONE. For fun. Suspension of disbelief only goes so far. And anyways...]

"What do you mean, 'this'?"

"Phone sex! I mean, you've dropped so far...."

[Okay: Fuck. You.]

"Ashley, you're such a nice girl...I mean...I want to save you from this..."

[Uh oh... I smell Richard Gere Syndrome on this one:

Richard Gere Syndrome: a chronic illness, in which a man comes to sex services for fun, but then decides he cares about the provider, in which case he becomes devoted to Saving Her. See: Pretty Woman]

"But Q., I really LIKE my job!"

"Listen, I'm almost out of med school. I can take you away from all this. I'll take care of you, right?"

"Oh, Q...."

I actually feel bad for you, Q. You don't know the real me. You're in love with a phantom, a character, a cheap construction of the sexually viable female. You think I'm a fallen woman, a woman who can be saved by your love/money/concern.

The truth is: we know what we're doing. Sex workers hardly ever need saved.

Besides, if I showed up at your door, you'd probably scream.

"Hey, Q.! This is Tuesday, your friend from the sex lines! Er, Ashley. Whatever. Yeah, hey!" I'll storm right past you, drop my Hello Kitty suitcases on the floor, and make myself right at home. And you'll wonder how you ended up living with an outspoken, DDR-addicted, blue-haired feminist who walks around dripping coffee on the floor and blasting Motorhead.

Ashley is sweet, but Tuesday eats gullible med students named Quincy for breakfast.

"Hey, Q.?"

"Yeah? Maybe you should talk to some of the girls in your program. That Lindsey girl sounds real nice..."

I wouldn't wish loving me on anyone.

The Audio Blowjob: Advancing My Skills

Sat, 31 Dec 2005 18:58:45 GMT

"I'm bouncing your balls up and down with my tongue...you like that? Yessss....you like that, don't you? And I see this little drop of cum sliding down the underside of your cock, so I stick my tongue out and lick, right up the underside of that thick, hard, cock; all the way to the tip. And I run the head of it over my lips, so they get good and wet, a little STICKY. Then I slide my wet lips over the head of your dick, and I SUCK the cum... right. out. of. you! Then I flick my tongue over your dickhole, so I get EVERY LAST DROP...."

"Damn, girl."

"I squeeze your balls , let the cum drip out of your cock, get you slick and wet..."

"Girl, I came like, five minutes ago."

"...oh."

"I was just listening to you describe that blowjob. Shit, you are good. "

"Wow! Thank you so much!"

"No, I mean...that was amazing! Girl, you should be writing books and shit!"

"I am writing books, actually. I'm a writer."

"No shit, man! You're writing books about blowjobs?"

"Well, no. But I do write."

"You should write books about sucking dick, cuz girl, you got TALENT."

Why thank you! Getting compliments about phone sex makes me all warm and fuzzy. I experience this overwhelming job satisfaction.

I have this regular who calls me for oral all the time. I don't know his name, only that he's an engineer. But I always recognize him, because he's very into the idea of training his "naughty girl". And he makes me bark.

"Bark louder, you little fuckslut!"

"Ruff! Ruff! Grrr...."

"Oh yes!"

"Master, can I PLEASE have another taste of your CUM? Oh, please!!!"

"Pant for me!"

"Pant! Pant! I'm shaking my little ass for you! I'm down on my hands and knees, shaking my tail!"

"Good little fuck slut! Open your mouth wide for me!"

"It's so BIIIGGGG!"

[I simulate choking, gasp for breath]

"Ung! Schahhhhh....Honey, you got me."

"Hooray! Want me to clean you up with my tongue?"

"You're just...you're so good at this. You know what you should do? You should go to HOLLYWOOD!"

[Hmmm...one month later...]

"Yes, my name is Tuesday Taylor. I specialize in hardcore voice acting. I can suck imaginary dick until I choke. I can be strangled with my own panties. I can beg Daddy not to hurt me. And I can bark like a dog."

"That's great, Tuesday, but this romantic comedy requires a simple girl. You fall in love with Freddie Prinze Junior, who is hip and urban. But you're supposed to be a country girl, unfamiliar with the ways of the world."

"This one time, I did this fantasy where I was a simple farm girl! This guy came to the barn, right? And he exacted my father's overdue taxes...ON MY ASS! I also pretended to suck a horse dick, which takes TALENT."

"...."

"Fuck you guys, I'm going home. The film industry is patriarchal anyways."

In my industry, I'm a fucking diva.

You want to fuck WHO?

Wed, 28 Dec 2005 22:08:43 GMT

"Hello?"

"Want...toooo...fuckkkk...!"

"Hey, great! So do I! We've got something in common!"

"Unnnggggg!"

"So what's got you so excited, sweetheart?"

"Want to fuck..."

[Not much to work with, here.]

"Want to fuck... me?"

"Noooo....."

"Um. Who do you want to fuck then?"

"Want...to...fuck...Lisa...MARIE!"

"You mean...Lisa Marie Prestley?"

"YES! OH YES! Oh, Lisa Marie...ung...!"

Let me tell you something, okay? Pretending to be strangled by your own underwear is tiring. Pretending to fuck Jessica Simpson is worse. But pretending to be Lisa Marie fucking Prestley?!

Think of the paycheck, Tuesday. Think of the paycheck.

Neighborhood Sex Workers Association

Tue, 27 Dec 2005 23:43:52 GMT

"I'm a stupid cunt."

"Say it again!"

"I'm a stupid cunt....who fucks for money."

"Yes! Yes!"

"I'm a stupid cunt! Who fucks for money! I get wet seeing a wad of bills!"

"Oh yeah! Yes!"

"I LOOOOVVEEE TO FUUUUCCCKKKK FOR CCCCASSSSHHHHH!!!"

Sometimes I wonder what the neighbors think of all this ruckus. I am consistently announcing things at the top of my lungs.

"I LOVE WHITE DICK!"

"IT FEELS SO GOOD TO PEE!"

"DADDY! NO! YOU'RE HURTING ME!"

"SLAP MY ASS AND MAKE IT PINK!"

"WHO'S MY LITTLE SLUT NOW, GIRLIE-MAN!"

"LICK MY CLIT, YOU MISERABLE BASTARD!"

I scream these things at the top of my lungs, then drink coffee amicably on my stoop, in my bathrobe, blue hair haphazardly swept into pigtails. Hello, neighbors!

Happy XXX-Mas

Sun, 25 Dec 2005 00:39:24 GMT

"Tuuuueessdayyy...
You don't have to PUT ON that VOICE tonight!
Tuessdaaayyy,
you don't have to SELL YOUR VO-CA-BU-LA-RY to the NIGHT!...."

I'm hanging up the phones for the holiday season. Best of fuck... -er, luck, to all of you.

A question, for my friends.

Wed, 21 Dec 2005 21:51:59 GMT

How far would you go to live the life you want?

What price do you place on your own happiness? What would you give? How far would you go?

Maybe you get tired of playing by the rules. Maybe you get tired of your time being $6/hr, then $8/hr, then $12/hr. Maybe you're tired of your life ticking by in hours, quantified in a salary. Maybe I've wasted 21 years of my life so far, ticking away those hours. Every hour, I was dying inside. Incremental murder.

Maybe I'm tired of playing by the rules.

I want to see a world beyond Pittsburgh. I want to see all the filth and grime, anger and sorrow. I want to wrap myself in grit, play by my own rules, live the life I want.

I want to take bike trips without worrying about Paid Time Off. I want to burn my khakis. I'm sick of spending 1/3 of my day doing things I hate.

Maybe you push the envelope a bit, and you're suprised how easily it comes. You look inside yourself, expecting waves of shock. All you find is emptiness. You're a husk.

HOW MUCH DO YOU VALUE YOUR HAPPINESS?

Would you sell your time to live the life you want? Would you sell your fragile psyche, let it be chipped away by anger and degradation?

How far would you go?

PSOs Against Drunk Driving.

Mon, 19 Dec 2005 21:03:09 GMT

"Hahllo?"

"Hey there, what's your name?"

"Duddn't matter..."

"...well, I'm Sidney! Thanks for call-"

"You SSHHHUUUSSSHHHH! You are gonna LISTEN ta ME! You gunn USE me for ma MONEY like every udder woman out der!"

[I lean back, relax. I love being told stories. Especially from the obviously intoxicated. And getting paid for it? Heaven.]

"Okay."

"Mah wife? She is a BITCH. She izz... she takes all mah money right out DA bank!"

"Oh."

"En I try to go out for a liddle drink, and she's all JAWN! JAWN! Watch da BAYBEEEE!!! I wanna sllleeeepppp!"

"I see."

"She fuckin, she HATES my freynds! Hates em, we cain't even drink a beer in da hause without her bitchin up a sterm!"

"Okay, yeah."

"So we go to da POOL HAWL, and she starts callin me, bein a FUCKIN BITCH, and tellin me to cahm home fore I spend any more MAHNEY."

"Were you at the pool hall tonight, John?"

"Ah just wanted to SOOOBBBERRR up a bit, an she starts callin me on da cell and bitchin, sos I drahv home all drunk n shit, an I get ta fallin asleep on da inner state..."

"John? You're not driving now, are you?"

"Naw. I pulled over in da parking lot of dis here grocery stoe, an I thought I'd let some BITCH be usin me fer ma MAHWNEY a while. Thought I'd CAWL you."

"Well, I'm glad you pulled over, John. I'd be happy to talk to you while you sober up."

"Ah bet you WOULD! You want mah MAWNEY!"

"John, how much did you drink tonight?"

"Dat ain't none yur bidness! You...I'ma start drivin naw, how you like dat?"

"Oh, jeez...John, put down your keys, you're smashed."

"Ah am PAYING you ta LISTEN! TO ME! Now I am gone drive home, an when I get der I'ma let you tawlk to mah WIFE, cuz you both lahk takin my MAWNEY and tellin me WHAT TA DO!"

"You think we'll get along?"

"FUCKIN WOMEN...FUCK!"

Click.

It was a pleasure doing business with you, Drunken Redneck Man. Call anytime.

Sun, 18 Dec 2005 22:17:29 GMT

I hate cell phones. I hate them. I hate people who won't turn off their phones in movie theatres, or restaurants, or cafes. I hate people that sit on the bus and test out every ringer at ear-splitting volume. And, most importantly, I hate people that leave their ringers on during phone sex.

"Say my name!"

"asshhhllleeeyyy..."

"LOUDER!"

"Ashley! Ashley!"

"That's right, bitch! What kind of MAN wears his sister's panties? You cock-sucking little whore! Suck that cock, bitch! Suck it like you love it! Open wide and say ah!"

"Ahh.."

"LOUDER!"

"Ahhh!!"

"No, suck it like you love it..LOUDER! I WANNA HEAR!"

"MMM...mmm..."

"Say Yum, Ashley!"

"Yum Ashley!"

"Thank me for letting you suck my boyfriend's dick!"

"Thanks for...."

At this point, a deafening Muzak song begins to play. I hear fumbling.

"R., is that your cell phone??"

I try not to giggle as I realize what song I'm hearing. When the Saints Come Marching In? Indeed!

"***** and Associates, how can I help you? Yeah....uh-huh..."

OK, I came out here with all my exhibitionist cheerleader friends, and we brought all our strap-ons so we can beat you with them while you suck off my boyfriend, WHO WAS CLEARLY ENJOYING HIMSELF, while you wear women's panties and whimper like a girl, AND YOU'RE TAKING A BUSINESS CALL?

Hell, I can hold. For $3.98 a minute.

When porn is research, your job is good.

Fri, 16 Dec 2005 16:44:04 GMT

Okay, confession: I'm a writer. I'm not an actress. So when I'm working, I can be very descriptive about what's supposedly happening. But when it comes to faking orgasms...

I'm maybe not the best.

Don't get me wrong: I'm a yeller, always have been. But a girl who's sitting on her couch, sipping tea and drawing comics, may experience some difficulty breaking into earth-shattering moans at the drop of a call-tag.

So I called Keith.

As a feminist/"bohemian"/all-around odd girl with esoteric interests, I've crossed paths with many sex workers. Among them is Keith, who makes kick-ass arthouse porn. He has the most diverse, bizarre collection of movies I've ever seen. The house is brimming with DVDs, videos, CD-roms, and magazines, some of which are standard-issue ("Teen Slut Squad #20058.6: Cum-Guzzlers Go WILD!"? Okay, then. Ho hum). Other titles are more...shall we say, inspired. "Sacred Punishment." "Bella Donna: My Ass is Haunted". "The Best of German Torture III." "GERBIL MADNESS".

I've always respected Keith, mostly because of his academic approach to hardcore pornography. He can sit with me on his couch, watch some girl get a turn-crank stuck up her butt, and talk quite calmly about the camera angles and the lighting. Sans boner, of course. Keith is a resource on fetishes, deviancy, sex toys, and everything sick and fucked up you can imagine. For a PSO, he's a walking encyclopedia, a true resource. You can cite him in MLA format, he's so informed.

We hooked up to talk about sex work, pornography, and the art of making men come as creatively as possible. I went to his house to screen an original Keith flick, which features shots of mutilated cows, industrial music, and good old oral sex. It was brilliant.

So we're watching porn together and talking about the sounds. And no, I don't mean the shitty techno music that veers strangely from soul-funk to Kraftwerk. I mean the girls.

My biggest issue is the slurping effect. So many of these movies feature a unique gagging-choking-slurping sound that can only come from getting, shall we say, "face-fucked". I'm particularly thinking of Max Hardcore, whose actresses churn spit while wearing costumes reminiscent of Deb in Napolean Dynamite. This sound doesn't seem very erotic to me...it calls up memories of vomiting Mad Dog 20/20 out of my 21-year old boyfriend's Volvo, a high-school pastime in which I frequently indulged. Keith doesn't find this sound erotic, either. But the effect could be heightened over the phone. How could I recreate that? I think a lot of my feeble-minimum-wage-employees-turned-BIG-BAD-RAPISTS would really get down to forced-entry slurping.

And how about moans? There was a girl in "Anal Trainer" that just SHRIEKED. Like she was born to have anal beads in her tush, she had achieved her sole purpose in life, and could die happy. "YES YES YES HARER HARDER YES YES", and so on, at the top of her lungs. Are words good? I do a lot of "Yes! Harder! Deeper!", and related cheers. Good old-fashioned moaning seems more effective.

And how about volume? With that headset on, I could deafen the guy. I could make his eardrums implode at the crux of my pseudo-ecstacy.

So here's an open call for my readers:

What porn actresses turn you on, audibly? If you were on the phone with me, what could I do or say that would specifically arouse you? Do you prefer moans, cheers, complimenting? If you can recommend any porns for me, I'll ask Keith about them at my next Fun Time Porn Night (I'd love to make this weekly).

It was truly an informative, enlightening experience. Keith is the man- he even gave me an iVibe! Actually, if you like my work, you'll LOVE his. It's dirty, gritty, industrial erotica, dripping with S/M and power play. Cruise over to:

http://www.myspace.com/lorddissecther

and check him out. And boys: dig into your best porn memories, and help a sister out. I'll truly appreciate it.

I will gladly pee for you.

Thu, 15 Dec 2005 20:32:13 GMT

"Have you gone to the bathroom, Ashley?"

Good question. I haven't, lately. And it's problematic.

In case you didn't know, phone sex operators don't get bathroom breaks. We stay on the line for four hours straight, until the dispatcher lets us go. Not a terribly long time, you would think. But when you fake up to 20 orgasms a shift, you need to sip water between calls. I've found that most of my shift is spent having to pee. The little sketches I make tend to veer from caricatures of the callers to giant toilets. It's especially hard when guys want you to talk about being wet all the time. I run straight to the bathroom, after work.

Feasibly, I could pee while on the line. In between calls, I could usually take a few minutes. But what if a call comes in while I'm on the toilet? Not all guys are into that- do I say it's my gutter leaking? I could say it's my pussy dripping. Audibly. Maybe I could moan real loud to cover the tinkle, but that might actually throw me over my (very high) giggle threshold.

So I immediately like this guy.

He's been telling me about his urine fetish, how he likes to listen to the sound of numerous women peeing through the bathroom wall. Then he asks me to pee for him.

I couldn't think of any reason not to, really.

"I'm taking my clothes off....tiptoeing down the hall..I don't want my roommate to hear me..."

Speaking of roommates, we share a connected bathroom. Which means there's two doors. I have this feeling that he can hear everything.

"I'm in the bathroom...I'm lifting the lid now..."

Clank.

"Wait a minute...you're really gonna do it, aren't you? It's really happening?"

Damn right I'm gonna do it. I had a pounder of coffee before work today.

"OK, I'm wearing a headset, so I have to take it off while I talk to you. I'm gonna set the microphone right on the edge of the toilet, okay?"

"Oh Jesus Christ, you're really doing it, Ashley!"

"I have a shy bladder, so it might take me a second, okay? But I'm still here."

I angle the microphone between my legs. Concentrate. I really do have a shy bladder. So I think of the same thing I always think of, when I'm in a busy public restroom and I have to go. I think of the Windows screensaver with the flying stars. I start to tinkle...just a little bit at first...so I push harder. And there it goes, a nice thundering pee. I realize I've been holding it for approximately two hours.

"Ohhh....it feels so goooodddd....to ppppiiiissssssssss....."

I'm totally not acting. It really did feel good to pee. I just usually don't articulate it. Out loud.

I give my tush a little shake, thinking my friend would like the stray droplets hitting the toilet. And oh, was I right.

"Ashley...that was sooo gooooddd.. Oh my God! Ashley...I... no one's ever done that for me before...I think I love you..."

"Oh! You're so sweet!"

[He kind of is. Or maybe I'm just riding some post-urination high.]

"I love you..I wish I could marry you....you're the only woman that's ever understood me..."

[I don't doubt you for a second there, buddy. I think if women were more open-minded about peeing, dressing up, beating down, and just being kinky for their men, the divorce rate would drop to zilch. But then I'd be out of work, so let's keep that secret.]

"Is there anything else?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you have to...."

"...go Number Two?"

"I think I do."

[Panic! Oddly enough, I can't poop in public restrooms. I can't poop anywhere I don't feel comfortable. I can't poop if people can see me. I have poop issues. Besides, I don't have to go.]

"Can you try for me...please...I'm calling from London just to hear you do this..."

[So that's the cute accent, eh? Anything for a Brit...I look around desperately for something I wouldn't mind dropping in the toilet.]

"Okay, I'm sitting on the toilet now..."

[I settle on one of the five hundred million dead AA batteries lying around my room, having been drained by the voracious appetite of my Walkman. Should do the trick. ]

"Okay....I'm relaxing my sphincter..."

"GGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!! AASSSSSSHHHHHHHHLLLLLLLEEEEEEE..."

Click.

Now where's the toilet paper?

If you ain't on myspace...

Wed, 14 Dec 2005 20:17:02 GMT

...you're maybe better off. But if you are, you can now add me!

www.myspace.com/~tuesdaywantsyou, display name Tuesday Taylor.

And since I'm reposting all livejournal entries on a myspace blog, you can get a subscription and recieve Live Nude Girls in your inbox.

Tuesday hearts the internet!

Customer service, Southern fried.

Wed, 14 Dec 2005 14:19:46 GMT

"DANG! Holy...jeesssuuuusss..... Girl, you just made me come all over myself. I'm all a-soaking wet nahw! My computer's all nasty and sticky...DANG, girl, I swear, you are TALENTED! You are BETTER than SEX!"

-a Friend from Tennessee

Questions posed, questions answered.

Wed, 14 Dec 2005 14:18:00 GMT

How did you find out about the job?

I think I may have addressed this is the FAQ, but regardless. I was working full-time for a hospital, and I hated it. I rarely had time to write...I could barely finish my arts and entertainment assignments for the local alt-weekly.I knew I had to move on. The daily grind was killing me.

I originally considered writing pornography and erotica. I've done it before, and it pays deliciously. So I started going to sex work classifieds. There were plenty of writing jobs, but none paid well enough or frequently enough to support me. Out of curiosity, I started looking through phone sex ads. I did some research, decided I could do it...and here I am.

What made you want to go into it?

If you're a fiction writer, there's nothing better. You have to be very clever, come up with things on the spot, create an entire fantasy in 15 minutes. I felt that phone sex would tickle my creative streak, really put my talents to use. I also found it interesting to be talking openly to guys with dicks in their hands. The honesty, the intimacy...it's fascinating. It's the human psyche laid bare- the openess appealed to my academic side. I also get to work from home, which is nice. I can work in pajammies, with blue hair, and no one gives me shit. Well, maybe my roomie. But still. Oh, and the money is great. If you're good at it. And apparently I am.

Have you had any 'I need a cold shower after this one' phone calls?

Hmm...tough one. I've found myself in various states of arousal during these calls. But it's usually when I'm leading.

Some of my best fantasies, and my favorite calls, have been guys who wanted to listen. I would lie back, close my eyes, and create this entire situation that's often loosely based on my own desires or experiences. Talking about these ideas will occasionally get me going... especially if the client's moaning and groaning (and the best ones are).

Just last night I had a call from a guy who sounded my age. Really young. Sweet. He wanted to have sex with his neighbor. We did a fifteen minute roleplay scenario- he was really into it, and I was enjoying myself. But not sexually...just in the way it's fun to pretend you're a 16 year old girl in a bikini, teasing her neighbor. He came, and I faked. His orgasm was prolonged, and I could hear him breathing on the other end. I told him the fantasy had made me really wet, my panties were soaked. He asked me if he could have them. I told him I can't take his address, and he sounded really disappointed. But this image popped in my head:

"If we were near each other, I would arrange to meet you on a street corner somewhere. I would walk up to you, real innocently, and I would push you against a building, slide my body against yours...I'd pull you close to me, and kiss you on your neck, one soft, wet kiss...then I'd take my panties out of my pocket...and I'd slide them down your pants...so you could feel how wet and hot I am...I want you to feel my warmth.. I'd look you dead in the eyes...I'd part my lips..."

"Ahhhh....I really like you..."

[I'm suprised to find that: a) I actually feel some warmth for this guy, after 30 minutes of conversation, and b) goddamnit that panty thing has me all rowled up, what an awesome idea...]

"Ashley, I hope I get to talk to you again...I wish you were here so I could kiss you..."

[Luring customers to stay on the line goes, very briefly, out the window. I find myself whispering.]

"Goodnight, honey...I hope you sleep well..."

Click.

What a doll. And now I'm soaked. Sheesh.

My rare moments of genuine arousal are usually destroyed pretty fast...the next call will always suck in comparison...

"Hi Ashley wanna suck my big hard dick? Are you all wet and shit?"

Not at all, bro. Not at all.

Thanks for your interest.

Masochism does not come natural to me.

Wed, 14 Dec 2005 13:57:24 GMT

"Get on your knees."

[His voice is so commanding that, for a split second, I actually start to assume the traditional position of compliant females. Then I remember that I'm home, I'm nowhere near him, and I stop. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I find myself becoming excited. Well, not that way. But still...my first sadist!]

"Are you on your knees, BITCH?"

[I start mumbling. I close my eyes, sinking deep into my imagination. ]

"Please don't hurt me..."

"First off, you address me as Sir, you start every sentence with Sir, you hear me, BITCH?"

"Yes sir...please...."

"Are you afraid?"

[This isn't the first time I've been asked this question. It usually marks the difference between a man with a vivid fantasy life and the actual criminally insane. I realize that this one may be dangerous.

Well, am I afraid? No. I'm home, warm in bed, watching the snow fall in big clumps through my window. I'm burning cinnamon candles, so my room feels golden and safe and sweet-smelling.]

"Yes, sir....please have mercy on me.."

[I begin to cry. I've never faked this before, and it's pretty amazing how good I am. A natural, if I may say. ]

"No mercy for you, you FILTHY. FUCKING. SLUT. Where do you work?"

"....a bar..."

[Tara, my "Anything Goes" character, is a barmaid. Though she usually ends up roleplaying anything from teenaged neighbors to angry cheerleaders.]

"I bet you've sucked every dick in that bar, haven't you?"

"...yes....I can't help it...I love the taste of come...sir...."

"I'm bending over in front of you now, I've got my ass right in front of your face, how do you like that, you fucking whore?"

"...it's making me sick....sir...."

"Lick my ass, right now, before I break your fucking teeth in..."

[I make noises of desperation and disgust. Under the circumstances, it's pretty easy. I wouldn't even call it acting.]

"You know what comes out of there, right?"

"No, sir..."

"You're not the smartest little cunt, are you?"

[Actually, I am. You'd be suprised. I've qualified for Mensa. My room is full of books on gender and sexuality- Paglia and Bornstein are practically dripping off the shelves. I know exactly what you're doing, and what you want from me. I'm pushing your buttons, and you don't even realize it... ]

"That's right, bitch...keep licking...you little fucking whore..."

[...not only that, but I'm sitting in bed with the Encyclopedia of Deviant Sexual Practices in my lap, and I'm highlighting relevant passages right now. Like this one: "A man with excessively sadistic tendencies toward women has often experienced some traumatic event in the past, particularly humiliation or dejection at the hands of women."]

"I'm gonna come all over your dirty fucking face, I'm gonna shoot my dick right in your face...."

[I wonder who she was. I wonder what she did, to make you this way. Do you see her face, right now?]

"Are you ready BITCH huh huh ARE YOU READY OPEN YOUR FUCKING MOUTH WIDER...."

[I try to feel angry at you, to hate you, because the shadow of you and others like you has been following me through every dark alley, every lonely hallway, every dead-end street for my entire life. Because I've got five sisters, a mother, because I pass dozens of little girls when I walk down the street... because I'm a feminist, and I always have been...I try to feel angry...]

"I'm FUCKING your face gonna COME ALL OVER YOUR FACE..."

[It's funny, really. I only feel bad for you. I wish I could give you a hug and tell you to get over her, whether she was your mom or your girlfriend or your neighbor. She's gone, now. And if you don't get over this, you're never gonna feel human warmth. You'll never what it's like to be held by a woman. Mutually. It's funny, but I want to fix you. After all, you sound like a lost little boy...I wonder why I'm not the slightest bit unnerved by your persistent stream of bile....then I remember...]

"AHHHHHhhhhhhhhh......"

Click.

You're not scary at all. Because we have your credit card number.

The phone sex operator always wins.

Sometimes, I take questions.

Tue, 13 Dec 2005 13:41:29 GMT

This one is from a person who knows the real Tuesday. And it brings up an interesting point, so much that I opted to post my response.

"You mentioned that you had to develop a character for
each of a number of types that your clients could
choose from. Have you ever had difficulty mastering
the appropriate voice for any of these characters?
Since you're working with an aural medium, your voice
would seem to make up totality of your character's
identity. I've always thought your voice had a very
distinctive, almost literary tone, which probably
wouldn't be appropriate for all of your
characters--has this ever been a problem? I'm sure
your clients realize this is all play acting, but even
so, an unconvincing voice on the other end of the line
could ruin the illusion. Have you e'er been vexed by
such an obstacle, or are you just that good at voice
manipulation?

Also, do that many people really neglect to stick
around to say "thanks" or "goodbye"? That makes me
sad, somehow.

- A Rhinovirus"

Phone sex is one part voice and one part description. You're very correct in noting the connection between voice and illusion. Any call under a minute is free of charge, so initially these guys are testing your voice. If your voice is too deep, too raspy, too young, etc., they'll move on in a heartbeat. Your voice is how you catch the client.

For those of you who don't know the real me, I have a characteristic way of speaking. I preferred books to people as a youth, which has made my speaking voice atypical- I tend to enunciate in strange places, revert to outdated colloquialisms, and generally "over-articulate". When I work the lines, I have to kick that voice entirely.

When I'm doing character work, I usually draw on real people. Ashley (my Barely Legal) is the easiest for me. I raise my voice a bit, try to giggle more, and revert to words with less than three syllables. If I feel like the client wants a Teen Slut type, I go to this almost Valley-esque way of talking, inspired by ditzy girls from high school. "So ohmygod this guy was like, suck my dick, and i was like, i dont even KNOW you, so i want my best friend to be there, ya know? and she is CRAZY!" You get the sense I just spit out my Bubblelicious and geared up for a blowjob. On the other hand, if the guy wants Sweet-n-Innocent Ashley, I make my voice softer and sweeter. "Okay...you're really nice...you wont hurt me...will you?" Like I'm clutching a teddy bear or something.

My dominatrix is pretty easy, too. Short commands. Direct questions. I make my voice deeper, and a little more raspy. "Have you ever been dominated before? Speak up. Are you touching yourself? DID I SAY YOU COULD TOUCH YOURSELF?" I get to keep my articulation for these calls. An intelligent voice makes you sound more domineering and powerful.

Black is tricky. Most of these guys are white, and have this crazy racist idea of how black women act. As far as I can tell, it's less about speaking in Ebonics and more about being raunchy. So Chantelle is a little sassy, laid-back. "Mmm-hmm, I know that's right...You're a white boy? I llloooovvveee white boys....I love when they lick my wet black cunt..." Black is a mix of smooth, laid-back, sassy, and very explicit language. Chantelle says the dirty words loudest and longest. "Wet. Black. CUNT."

I guess I'm pretty good at voice manipulation. I did a lot of planning before I even hit the lines, which helps. I would say my biggest problem is maintaining that voice throughout the call. But as the call progresses, they get more...well, excited. So I highly doubt they notice.

And yes, they almost always hang up when they come. It makes me sad, too. Sometimes I feel like we've worked together to build this whole crazy illusion, and they just ditch out. Sometimes they click before I get to finish my story- what a rip!

Hell, if I was paying up to $4 a minute, I'd hang up too.

But sometimes you get that "ung...er! Chh...ahhh....thanks ashley..." click. And that's awesome.

By the way, I'll take questions. Post a comment if anything vexes you, and I'll try my best to answer.

Quote of the Day.

Tue, 13 Dec 2005 13:12:18 GMT

I've been on the phone with this guy for about 15 minutes. He sounds like your average construction worker type. Enjoys a cold beer, porn, Nascar. Oh, and dick. He likes giving head to men, in front of his girlfriend. I try twice to steer him into a fantasy, but he changes the subject. Seems to just wanna compare notes. So we've been hanging out, talking about blowjobs. Like we're best friends or something. We share strategies, talk about our biggest...uh...conquests. I'm enjoying myself. And I'm curious.

"So you and your girl pick up men and bring the home?"

"Yep, we do. All the time."

"So you can give them head?"

"Oh yeah...especially if they're really big. I like a big dick."

"After you give them head, do you do anything else with them?"

[He pauses.]

"Like what?"

"Like, anal sex, maybe."

"No! Jeez!

... that would be GAY."

Oh. Well excuse me, then!

Truth or Dare.

Tue, 13 Dec 2005 13:03:57 GMT

It can be really gratifying to shock your clients...

"Truth or dare?"

"Excuse me?"

[G. was a repeat call, which is rare. Between the earlier call and this, we've been on the phone together about 45 minutes. It took me a while to figure out what he wanted. G. speaks in a hushed whisper, like he's telling a secret. He tells me about his wife, and how she fucks his father. In graphic detail. I whisper, "Tell me more." And he does. "She takes it. In her ass. For him." And I say, "How does that make you feel?" And he gasps and says, "I like it..." Repeat this theme for about 30 minutes. It's easy, but creatively unfulfilling. So I'm suprised when he addresses me so directly.]

"Truth or dare?"

[I pause.]

"Dare."

"If I could send pictures of my wife, bound and gagged, to your father, your husband, or your father-in-law, which would you choose?"

[I'm suprised to find that I don't hesitate. My answer is honest.]

"My father."

[My father, in reality, is the least accepting person I know. Unconditional love is a mystery to him. His children are expected to conform to his very narrow standards of success. As you probably know, I haven't done a very good job of that.]

"Give me his address."

"No."

"Please?"

"I'ts illegal....I'm sorry..."

[He breathes heavily into the phone. The seconds pass slowly. I sense his disappointment.]

"If I said truth, what would you ask me?"

"If you had to fuck your father, your father-in-law, or your husband, which would you pick?"

[I pause. He's really into this father-in-law thing. And since I'm not actually married, I find the answer acceptable as well.]

"My father-in-law".

[pause]

"Truth or dare?"

"...dare."

"Call your father-in-law and ask him to come over."

[I have an idea. Creativity has always been my strong point.]

"Okay."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Dial. I wanna hear you dial."

[I pick up my cell phone and dial random numbers. Rather than the last digit, I hit end. He gasps.]

"I wanna hear it ring."

[I hold the cell phone to the microphone, praying for a psychosomatic effect.]

"Can you hear it?"

"No because you hung up..."

"The volume on my phone is low!"

"I wanna hear it. I dared you."

[Improvisation: I dial my roommate's number, knowing his ringer will be off. I hold the cell phone to the reciever so he can hear the ringing. He gasps. Loudly.]

"You really did it! You did it!"

[I hang up.]

"I'm flipping my microphone up now...It's still ringing...I think I'm gonna get his answering machine...what should I say?"

"Tell him to come over!!"

[The guy is hyperventilating. If I weren't so close to giggling, I might have offered him a hit of my Primatene Mist.]

"Hi Daddy...this is Tara, your daughter in law...there's some TROUBLE at the house...if you could come over...AS FAST AS YOU CAN....I love you, daddy....Buh-bye..."

"He's coming he's coming he's coming!!!"

"G....G..."

[He gasps for breath. Get this man a respirator. Stat.]

"G...what should I do when he comes?"

"Give. Him. Your....ASS!"

UNG...drr...chhh...ahhh....

Click.

Tara and Tuesday have one thing in common: they always pick dare. Heh.

Writing is a one-way street...

Tue, 13 Dec 2005 00:08:11 GMT

or so it seems. Until you enable commenting, such as I did today.

I'm interested in feedback from any and all- I clearly have a lot to learn. I recommend anonymous posts, especially to those who know me in real-life.

My cunny is not an mystic grotto.

Mon, 12 Dec 2005 23:36:52 GMT

"As your partner is falling asleep, begin to whisper in their ear: You are in a safe, warm place. We are walking into deep, warm water. Together. Feel the tensions flow from your body as we begin this journey into ecstacy..."

I was kind of just wondering whether I should use "cock", "dick", or maybe "rod".

There are no good erotic talk manuals. All are wishy-washy, focused on communication between partners. I had to wipe the new-age bullshit from my hands with a napkin.

It's hard to research phone sex. Most of them give bullshit advice (like above), or are really vague. My personal favorite: Just Tell the Truth!

Yeah fucking right!

"What do you look like?"

Well, I have shortish blue hair, all different lengths because I cut it myself. Big tits, complimented with little beer tummy. Buddy Holly glasses. I'm the Anglo-Saxon Bjork, baby! Are you touching yourself?

"What are you wearing?"

A Primus T-shirt, from the Pork Soda tour. Kathy Ireland slippers, from Kmart. But the best part is my underwear...a pair of original Hello Kitty pink knickers I've had since high school, complete with blood stains from all the times I forgot to pack a tampon. They look like a murder weapon, only cute!

"Are you in bed?"

Yep. Curled up in my Batman sheets.

"Do you like dick?"

I'm impartial to it, normally. Sometimes I get cravings, but only before my period.

"I bet you get all horny all the time."

Nope. Faking 20 orgasms a day is exhausting. It makes me want to curl up with a nice scifi novel, or watch cartoons.

Yeah. I'd get real fucking far with those lines. I can hear the clicks now...

Apparently, I have to do this alone. Sheesh!

Getting off on the right foot...literally.

Mon, 12 Dec 2005 17:44:26 GMT

My first call ever, and I was nervous. Sitting on the phone line, listening to the fuzz of a dead end, waiting. Who is he? What will he want? Jesus, what if I fuck up? Please, send me someone sweet...

The dispatcher comes on: "Barely Legal!"

"Hello?"

[I take a deep breath. For the first time through this entire process, I wonder what the hell I'm doing. Am I crazy or what?]

"Hi! What's your name?"

"I'm Joe...what's your name?"

"I'm Ashley!"

"What do you look like, Ashley?"

[I go through my sales pitch. It's the same every time. ]

"So, Joe. What do you like to do?"

"Well, I'm really into feet. And shoes."

[Uh oh. I've had some esoteric interests in my sex life- the actual Tuesday is open-minded. But feet are not my strong point. I remember a moment of drunken inspiration where I fucked my boyfriend's toe...but we don't talk about that. Gotta wing this one.]

"Oh! So am I! I remember being a little girl and going to these slumber parties, and me and my girlfriends would tickle each other's feet and see how long we could go without giggling, and ever since I've been really into feet."

[Total lie. But I want him to feel comfortable around me...fetish people need reassured, in my experience.]

"Yeah? Wow...I remember being a little kid and being really fascinated by women's feet, not in a sexual way or anything, I just loved looking at them."

[I'm suprised to find that I actually like this guy. He's sweet. I'm genuinely intrigued by his fetish, too. I find myself determined to do a good job.]

"Would you like me to put some shoes on for you?"

"Wow, that would be great!"

"What do you like?"

I find myself walking around my bedroom in high-heeled, black vintage pumps, bought at Goodwill during my retro phase. He's loving it. I describe this really vivid image, it hits me out of nowhere, random inspiration. I'm running my feet along his face, my toes through his hair, he's licking the arch of my foot..

"Ashley, I wanna come in your shoe...come...in...your...shoe..!"

"Do it baby, I want that black leather to be hot and sticky, I want to feel it between my toes..."

"Ung...shhh...ahhh...."

[Hearing men orgasm is surreal. I thought this would wear off on me, but it never really did. I'm still in awe of the intimacy of this moment.]

"wow...that was really great...."

"Hey, do you like sneakers?"

"Yeah..."

[Keeping a man on the phone post-orgasm is like winning the PSO triathalon. You reeled them in, got them off, and kept their interest afterwards. You are the champ!]

"Maybe we can talk about sneakers sometime."

"Ashley, honey, I have to go now, but I really wanna talk to you again, is there any way I can talk to you again?"

"Hit star until you find me."

"Thanks, sweetie...thank you...wow..."

Click.

My first call totalled at 23 minutes. And I had a prospective regular.

I like Joe. I'm genuinely interested in what makes him tick. I was determined to do a good job, and I felt genuinely good when he came. Making this guy feel comfortable, and good, gave me job satisfaction I had never experienced at the hospital.

What do you know... I like my job.

Daddy, No!: Fun with Pedophiles

Mon, 12 Dec 2005 01:43:55 GMT

"Are you scccaaarrreeeddd, Ashley?"

[No. Ashley's not, and Tuesday isn't, either. Your weasely voice implies a life of loneliness and computer programming.]

"Oh Daddy, Im so sccaaaarrreeeddd...."

[Where does this crazy falsetto come from? Where did I get this voice?]

"Look at this report card! You failed math!"

[Damnit, why do little girls always fail math in pervert fantasies? I almost want to say I was too busy building a nuclear reactor to study.]

"Oh daddy...please don't spank me..."

[I start picking dead skin from my toes. Ho hum, ho hum.]

"Daddy's gonna spppaaannnkkk you, Ashley. Pull down your shorts!"

"But it'll hurt more!"

"That's right, little Ashley...take them off....now."

"Okay, daddy...should I take my panties off, too?"

"TAKE EM OFF!"

"But Daddy!!! What if Mommy hears?"

"Ung...drr....ch..."

"Uh...Daddy?"

Click.

Jeez. It's a wonder you even concieved a daughter, with a hold time like that.

Pedophiles are an interesting lot. I should know.

Apparently, men will cruise the Barely Legal lines, trying deperately to find the girl with the youngest voice. And guess who that usually is? Lucky me.

I expected to be way more disturbed by these calls. Being a phone sex operator puts you in a unique situation, where a man will outright tell you that he thinks about little girls being raped by their fathers. Therapists will occasionally pry this out of a pedophile, but therapists don't get them with their dicks in their hands. I suspect that what I hear is closer to the truth.

My second call was actually a Daddy, No!. And it was difficult, because I had to improvise the whole thing:

"Hello?"

"Hi! I'm Ashley!"

[In case you can't tell, Ashley is my Barely Legal character name. She's sweet, but dumb as a brick.]

"What do you look like, honey?"

[First thing I notice: nice voice. Smooth, sounds relatively articulate. Vaguely academic for reasons I cant place, exactly...]

"Well, I'm really petite...only about 5 feet tall. Maybe 105 pounds on a bad day, which is good cuz Im a cheerleader, and it makes it easier for the boys to catch me! I have long, strawberry blonde hair, big blue eyes...Im kind of an all-American girl."

"What kind of calls do you normally get, Ashley?"

[The most important thing to phone sex is responding to customer cues. This indirectly tells you what they want. A question like this struck me as odd- for one, it requires me to lapse out of character by acknowledging that I recieve other callers. So I did the only thing I could do..]

"Well, what do you mean?"

"Like, what do guys normally want? Do they ask for really crazy stuff that maybe freaks you out?"

[Oh...he's testing the waters... something bad is definitely coming. But I'm up for it. This guy needs reassurance if he's gonna open up to me.]

"Well, it's kind of like ice cream. Some people like really standard things, like vanilla and chocolate. But some people like, say, butterscotch praline. Either way, it's all ice cream, and it's all okay with me. [I smile here] Besides, I'm open-minded."

"Okay, well... [voice lowers conspiratorially] I kind of have this daddy thing...you know...did that ever happen to you? With your dad?"

[Deep breaths. Its only your second call, but you can do it. Lie back, relax, close your eyes. Make it a story. ]

"Well, this one time...I was about twelve..."

I'm not going to write it out. I just rolled with the punches. Writing on air. He's breathing heavier as the story progresses. Sometimes, I toss in cute comments that make him chuckle. It's remarkably easy. I'm not the slightest bit turned on, but the intimacy is shocking. He's responding to everything I say. Im telling a story about my father raping me, but its just a story. Right?

I get to the nitty-grittys, and begin to make whimpering noises. I figure it would hurt. And here's the suprising part: this guy starts reassuring me.

"It's okay, honey. Daddy loves you, you're Daddy's little girl. Daddy's gonna take good are of you, baby, its ok, daddy doesnt want to hurt his little girl...

...Ashley, I'm coming..."

And then it's done. Im glad. He stays on the line a while.

"Wow, you were really good at that... it was so believable..."

[Gee, thanks.]

"Honey, I have to go, but thank you so much. I hope I get to hear you again. I really hope you enjoyed that, too...Thank you, Ashley."

He seems genuinely thankful.

So here's something to ponder: I always thought that pedophilia and sadism were inherently linked. Maybe in some cases, like the first call in this entry. But here's a guy who genuinely seem to want a consensual sexual relationship with his daughter. To the point of openly consoling her throughout the ordeal.

Also, does my service prevent things like this from actually happening? Maybe some real-life Ashley out there avoided peril because I took it for her. Maybe.

Hmm.

I, personally, find pedophiles to be disgusting. It's horrific to me that anyone could harm a child. But it's interesting to have open conversations with sexual deviates. They're being completely honest, maybe for the first time in their lives. Maybe I'm the only one who knows.

Lesson #1: Phone sex is shockingly intimate. You will never experience such raw honesty in your life.

It's intense.

It's Been a Hard Day's Night (or, Popping my phone cherry...)

Sun, 11 Dec 2005 06:03:07 GMT

It was 11:20. My shift was supposed to end at eleven. I was mid-gangbang.

"You like that hard cock, dont you"?

"Oh baby, Im sucking the precum right out of you...yum..."

"Is that a knock on the door?"

According to this client, I was being gangbanged by his friends. He is a very popular guy. Im pumping with both hands, guy in my bum, guy in my cunny, the protagonist in my mouth. I am, apparently, a very talented young lady.

"Come in...who is it, baby?"

"It's my ex-girlfriend!"

"Tell me about your ex-girlfriend while I suck your cock!"

"Well, she was this like, total bitch, right? And like, she wouldnt give head or anything, and she was all stuck up.."

"You know what I think? I think she's a cum-guzzling slut. Just like me! Get over here, SLUT!"

I look at the clock, try not to sigh. Its exhausting to have sex with every casual acquaintance this guy has had, ever, let alone all his ex-girlfriends.

"Maybe we should fuck her, you think she'd like that?"

"Yeah, yeah!"

"That's it, Im putting my strap-on...on...! You want a taste of that, BITCH?"

"Oh yeah, she totally wants a taste of it..."

So I just wanna end my shift, but now Im rubbing my fake phallus all over this guy's ex-girlfriend's face. I find myself wondering what it takes for a guy to request this sort of thing. She really wouldnt give him head? I guess this is therapeutic....

"Ung, gah, chhh..."

Click.

Goodnight to you too, sweetheart.

Phew.