Secrets Of A Phone Sex Operator

Mastubating Green

2009-05-03T08:10:00.000-07:00

For years I've been what I consider to be an eco-friendly masturbator. I've reduced by switching to a plug-in vibrator, and frankly WOW.. wouldn't go back. By doing so, I single handedly eliminated thousands of batteries from being put into out landfills.

Before that, I reused. When a vibe died, I would keep it in the vibrator graveyard that was my nightstand drawer, knowing eventually I would use it to frankenstein a new vibe out of the old ones.

Now, my eco-friendly solo artists, there is the final piece to the triad of conscientious masturbation.. a place to recycle your used sex toys.

http://recycleyoursextoy.com/ accepts clean, used sex toys to take apart and recycle.

Well, that's what they say, anyway. For all I know it's a very devoted fetishist with a clever scheme to increase his collection.

One year Later...

2009-04-29T20:09:00.000-07:00

Still alive, still healthy, and still happy to be a sex worker.

I've been getting more and more writing work, much of it for adult magazines.. go figger.

Since we last touched base, I've still taken calls, though far fewer this past year, averaging, only a few a week and often only a couple of weeks a month. Mostly, I stay busy with writing and caring for my family.

As I watch people being hit by the harsh economy, I've been relieved to have a job I can't be fired from. In theory, I could see a reduction in income from fewer or shorter calls, but so far that hasn't been the case.

This past month, I've started advertising my services once again, my ex-husband has become unemployed, like so many others hit by the recession, and I'm working a few extra hours to replace the support check I imagine he will be hard pressed to produce. He's never (figuratively) screwed me before, so I might have nothing to worry about. Still better safe than sorry. I'm going on a cruise soon, and I'd rather be more flush than usual than less.

I'll be updating my blogroll to get rid of dead links, and include some valuable sites for PSOs and those curious about the business. I might even have a new look for the old clunker of a site soon. For those of you who remember the good old days when I posted regularly, it used to look kinda personal. That was before I virtually abandoned you all to go play with my real world friends.

I hope you're all well.. those fifty or so who still check back after all this time.

Til next time, take care.

What's up buttercup? Operator15's FAQ

2008-04-21T06:44:00.000-07:00

Well, to overstate the obvious, it's been a while since I've posted.

I'm always flattered and humbled to see how many people still visit my blog and leave kind, albeit sometimes a bit crazy,(I'm looking at you, Dragon Baby) comments and emails.

I get a few of the same questions repeatedly and, lax pen-pal that I am, I don't respond in a timely fashion, which leads to guilt, which leads to me avoiding the blog, which leads to more questions about when I'm posting again and what I've been up to, which leads to me being a lax pen-pal and the whole thing starts over.

SO...

To nip this little blossom in the bud, here are a few of my frequently asked questions along with my infrequent answers.

1) When will you post more?

And my answer is? You guessed it. "Now."

2) Where can I call you?

You can't. I'm flattered, really. But while I talk about work here, this is my personal blog. I have revealed something of my true nature here and there is no room for my true nature in a phone sex call.

Besides, do you really want me blogging about you in my next post? I'll do it ya freak.. I swear I will.

3) Can you tell me how to get into the business?

I don't imagine I would recommend any particular company, but there are websites where many companies advertise for agents. www.sexyjobs.com is one of them. Be warned, this is only a place where they advertise, this is in no way a recommendation of the companies listed there. The companies hiring vary from established to just starting up and have reputations both good and bad. Try to do research on any company before you accept a job with them. Google their name, number, website, anything you can think of. Find message boards and ask around.

Keep in mind also, getting a job is only the first step. Keeping it and making money take research and a willingness to constantly learn. Anyone who thinks having a pleasant voice is enough to make them money is in for a cold dose of reality when the paycheck comes in.

4) Will you teach me how to be a good phone sex operator?

No. I'm afraid I have a bit much on my plate for training. I do expect to start classes at some point. When I do, you'll be the first to know.

5) Are you still working as a phone sex operator?

I've been involved in most aspects of the business for the better part of two decades now. I still take calls, though not as many as I used to. I enjoy it and don't plan to stop in the near future.

6) What have you been up to?

Aside from working on the phones, promoting my sites and characters, and keeping in loose contact with the rest of the industry, I do actually have a normal life.

Those of you who have seen my myriad of typos may be amused to know I'm a published writer. I tend to check over my work before submitting better than I do my posts here, but you may still feel free to pity my poor editors. I'm sure I put them through a great deal when my fingers can't keep up with my thoughts.

I do volunteer work, though I won't say where or what kinds. I spend time with my family, and I support my amazing husband in his work to enrich the region in which we live. Oh, and of course.. I knit.

7) Can I interview you for my thesis/article/psychological evaluation/etc.?

I'm always so pleased to get those questions and wish I could help, but honestly, I check my email here so rarely, the point is moot before I get the email. Thanks for your interest though.

8) Are you the same Operator15 from the industry messageboards?

Yes, that would be me.

and last but not least..

9) Have you found Jesus?

I have, he was right where I left him the whole time. Thanks for helping look.

An Impolite Conversation About Money

2007-07-06T06:47:00.000-07:00

When done right, there are some great perks to working as a phone sex operator.

Aside from saving cash and time on commuting and dry cleaning, when done correctly, it pays really fucking well.

Now this is not to say all operators make good money. In fact, the sad part of it is that the least paid are often the worst treated. Poor operators being forced to sit by their phones during their entire shift, or even wear headsets for hours on end, waiting for the tell-tale beep of a call coming through. These women are often end up making less than minimum wage when they get done. It's legal because they sign on as independant contractors, which is why it's also legal to offer no benefits or overtime while not with-holding taxes or paying unemployment insurance for them. No, for these poor bitches and bastards, life can be a stressful stream of calls from often abusive men, talking about things they may find distrubing under the supervision of a legal form of pimp or procuress who harasses them to make their minimum average call lengths.

If you're a caller, please be aware that you may be speaking with one of these women who takes a job at home for whatever reason and hasn't yet figured out how to make good money at what she does. it's her job to show you a good time, so even if you ask her about it, she'd be obligated to give some story about how she just really loves to get off with 20 self-indulgant strangers(and one or two kind gentelemen)a night so BE FUCKING NICE!

That said, once operators figure out how to get off the hamster wheel and work for themselves, or for a more, shall we say, appreciative company, it's possible to make pretty good money.

I get an average of $75 per hour for talking plus tips and gifts. Now, some of that goes back into advertising, and I have to spend some unpaid time in promoting myself. Still, my total wage for the hours I put in is around $50 per hour.

Now, I can see the little wheels in your head turning 'oh my gosh, thats's $50 per hour at 40 hours a week for 2k a week.. fifty two weeks a year, figure taking a few weeks vacation, that bitch is banking over a hundred thou a year. Oh gotta start turning phone tricks!'

Cool your jets, happy hooker. It's not that simple. It's true, I make really good money when I work. But unlike those poor call center slaves, I don't get call after call. And while a good number of calls last an hour or more, many end in just a few minutes. So, even among those of us who know how to bring in good money per hour, I don't personally know anyone who makes $100k off phone sex alone. And it's not as though we can go out partying with the money while we're not on the phone. In order to make the money, we have to dedicate the same hours anyone else does to a job, making ourselves availabel for when the phone rings.

Emancipation, the Ultimate Punishment

2007-06-05T11:38:00.000-07:00

It’s an eventual fact for even the best of Mistresses that there are sometimes pets who challenge authority. This isn’t always a bad thing. There are certainly Mistresses who enjoy the continual struggle to break and re-break a bratty or out of control pet like an incorrectly set bone. I think it’s fair to say though, that this type of relationship is more about feeding the desire for punishment or drama than about true submission.

I’m not one of those Mistresses who enjoy a good fight.

I recently had a slave whose lack of self-control often led him to email without taking time to think about what he was saying. Each week, his need for attention grew, and on a typical day I would check in to find either one or two email messages from him.

We had a bit of a routine, he and I. I

It’s an eventual fact of even the best of Mistresses’ work that there are sometimes pets who challenge authority. This isn’t always a bad thing. There are certainly Mistresses who enjoy the continual struggle to break and re-break a bratty or out of control pet like an incorrectly set bone. I think it’s fair to say though, that this type of relationship is more about feeding the desire for punishment or drama than about true submission.

I’m not one of those Mistresses.

I recently had a slave whose lack of self-control often led him to email without taking time to think about what he was saying. Each week, his need for attention grew, and on a typical day I would check in to find either one or two email messages from him.

We had a bit of a routine, he and I. On even numbered days, I would receive two notes. The first would be a proclamation of love and devotion and a request for a session. The second letter, coming a few hours after the first, would explain how distraught he was while waiting for my response. In it, he would pour out his angst with many capital letters before ending with the words “I can’t take this anymore, I’m through!” I saw this closing line so often, it may have been his email signature. I’m not sure.

On odd numbered days, he had his calendar set to “apologize” and I would receive remorseful letters of regret and atonement.

For my part, I would lecture him for the silly pet he is, reprimand him for getting his panties in a twist, and punish him for expecting me to wait by the computer for his email. I warned him to respect my free time.

Eventually, his histrionics, and my lack of firm enough limits, led him to cross the line from self-recriminating protestations of quitting, to an attack directed at me. “You should give me more direction,” he said, as though he were paying for daily training. He even dared to tell me “I guess you just can’t handle a slave who is so devoted.”

Of course, a Dominatrix can’t tolerate such disrespect and still maintain her control over the slave, but to mete out punishment for insolence through email on a near daily basis would simply be giving him the service I normally sell. Though he’d been a consistent and well-paying caller, he wasn’t paying me for all that.

The only way I could win this negotiation was to be willing to walk away from the table. After all, it's the person who doesn’t care who holds all the cards. If I was desperate to keep the caller, and his money, he had power over me. That wouldn’t do, no would it?

I told him to find another Domme.

It’s been a month, and he’s back now, willing to behave and pay a penalty fee for having wasted my time. I haven’t decided yet if I’ll take him back. We’ll see.

One last note... I have a former pet who sometimes reads this blog, the following is a message to him, but the rest of you may feel free to eavesdrop.

Oil-man: For the record, no, this post is not about you. I will not consider taking your calls. There are a few things in this world your money can’t buy, my phone number is one of them.

Oh, and I bought the hybrid, bitch. :p,

A Fetish Explained

2007-04-18T02:46:00.000-07:00

OK, now I can see what turns guys on about it.

Watch and see...

Exposing the Hypocrites

2007-04-01T19:12:00.000-07:00

Since my last post (ok, rant) about the Purity Balls, I've been seething a bit. I thought about all the sexism and hypocrisy of religious zealots, which started me thinking about the sexism and hypocrisy of so many others.

You see, I speak to these freaky bastards all the time. Especially on the really kinky calls. I've had politicians, judges, religious leaders, and leaders of industry call me from across the world to spank it while I tell them sordid stories about my imaginary antics.

Now, I'm not one to rain on anyone's orgasm, but some of these people are real pieces of work. It takes a real shit to argue against same sex marriage, or even civil unions, when you're a crossdresser and part time cocksucker, even if it's only in fantasy. It's a real asshole who'll say women should be virgins on their wedding day, while he pays prostitutes to play with him. And it particularly chaps my ass to hear anyone preach about the sanctity of marriage while spending thousands of dollars from his married income while talking to me each night, and his wife hasn't seen him at bedtime in weeks.

It all comes down to people pretending to be what they're not for the sake of what they think other people want to see and hear. And the reason they care about other people's opinions usually boils down to money and how much of it they can get from people who like them. The problem is, most of the others are hiding their own freaky shit anyway, and while you're keeping up appearances for the neighbors, you're also perpetuating the problem.

I've said for a long time that if people were just open and honest about what turns them on, the world would be far better off because we would all be humbled.

This issue has bee bothering me so much it's brought me to a decision that wasn't easy to make. I've decided to expose my caller list.

I realized I have no contract with them, either expressed or implied, which would keep me from listing the real hypocrites who call me. Some of the names you'll recognize, most you won't, but whether they're famous, infamous, or only known to their family and friends, they have all shown me a very different face than they present to the world. Sometimes, the dichotomy is shocking.

Want to know about the Minister who likes to talk about being a sex slave? Or how about the "family values" politician who wants me to be his neighbors 18 year old daughter? There's the actor who loves to talk about his politics but hasn't mentioned how many times he's paid two and three girls at a time to wear cheerleader outfits and then calls me to tell the what to do. Or maybe you happen to know the average joe, pro-life shitheel who hasn't paid his child support, but has the cash to give me a ring for an hour.

I'm gathering my list now, and I'll have it posted in a bit.

Check back soon, and buckle up... it's going to be a bumpy ride.

Father/Daughter Weddings? Gotta Hand It To Christian Values

2007-03-29T14:49:00.000-07:00

An article caught my attention and chapped my ass.

Seems there are father daughter "Purity Balls" where little girls are dressed up like brides, or prom queens to go on "dates" with their fathers where they will exchange rinds and vows of chastity (the fathers vow to "cover my daughter as her authority and protection in the area of purity" and be pure in their own lives) before having a first dance with daddy and eating wedding cake.

How sick is this shit?

From the article:

"Randy and Lisa Wilson, parents of seven (five girls), originated the purity ball at their Generations of Light ministry in Colorado Springs in 1998. Their mission is to preserve girls' chastity by building healthy father-daughter relationships."
----

How in the fuck is pretending to marry your dad a healthy father-daughter relationship. Hell, were I come from, it doesn't get much unhealthier than pretending to be Daddy's 10 year old wife and property.

They're only a degree better than the sick fucks who would actually take their daughter's virginity. It's still a father laying claim on his child's body and teaching her that his love for her and her value as a human being is tied to what's between her legs.

Here's a tip to all me evangelical friends out there.. (and I know you're out there, you hypocritical fucks, because I've spoken to you at $3.99 per minute when you mention my blog or others like it) If you want your daughter to save it for marriage, try teaching her that her body, and the care of it, is her own responsibility. Try teaching her that her value lies not in her sexuality, but in her intelligence, her decency, her talent, and her work ethic. Encourage her to be proud of who she is and make her believe a bright future is attainable, so that she doesn't want to risk it all by getting pregnant or sick.

It may not keep her a virgin, but it will be more likely to keep her alive and well and she won't be putting out for the first boy who tells her he loves her and wants to marry her.

This Is Your Call On Crack

2007-03-08T22:57:00.000-08:00

I really hate getting calls from men who are drunk or stoned. Having them impaired by both blinding lust and debilitating chemicals seems like such an unsporting advantage.

Besides, a lot of times, it increases desire while decreasing ability. A man who can't cumm but wants to can be an annoyance. Oh sure, it makes for a profitable call. But it's annoying nonetheless.

I Love My Bulk Mail Pen Pals

2007-02-28T23:02:00.000-08:00

I just received an email telling me how I could raise ejaculation volume wih the sender's handy dandy new product.

For crying out loud.. how much more do I need to contribute to the world?

Sheesh

This just in..

2007-01-14T08:21:00.000-08:00

I have an update on the studly sissy..

He does just want to fuck me! He does! He Does!

{{{Dani does the happy dance while breaking out the lube and the lipstick for the sissy who likes to fuck.}}

Why Can't Men Like That Ever Just Want To Fuck Me?

2007-01-04T22:37:00.000-08:00

There's a guy I talk to.. we'll call him Rhonda.. wants to be femme.

He looks like Ralph Fiennes with a built up body. All muscles, and meat, and dreamy green eyes. It makes me want to bang my head against the desk to turn him into a woman.

Wax the eyebrows -*bang*

Orange cover for the beard shadow- *bang*

Shave the chest hair-*bang* *bang* *bang* *bang* *bang**bang* *bang**bang* *bang**bang* *bang*

Speaking of domination

2006-12-19T14:05:00.000-08:00

This shit just amuses the hell out of me.

Check it out: http://theduchess.wordpress.com

An Orgasm Isn't The Only Good Feeling You Can Buy From A Phone Whore

2006-12-01T02:37:00.000-08:00

"You know I care for you Danielle, but this will be the last time we speak unless you contact me directly. True friendship can't exist when one party is paying for it."

It was about eight years ago a man said those words to me. He'd been calling often, and for extended periods, sometimes intentionally hanging on the line until he fell asleep to the sound of voice as I read mystery novels aloud. While I didn't have any romantic feelings for the man, I was concerned for his middle class income and an apparent penchant for downward spirals into reckless spending.

Not that there was much I could do about it.

I know many would rightly say I contributed to the man's addiction and encouraged him to keep calling. Those people would point out how easy it is to hang up a phone and save him the money. I won't feel harshly toward those accusations, (who could I? I just posed them myself,) I enjoy my own self-rightousness too much to deny it in others. I will, however, defend myself to both my accusers, and my guilty conscience.

I was not the owner of the company I worked for an had no control over who called me, how often, or how much they were permitted to spend. And hanging up on a caller was strictly forbidden.

I had college to pay for, and a small child to raise by myself. I was in no position to risk my job for the sake of someone who's problems began before he spoke with me and would continue after our conversations ended. I couldn't stop his addiction, the best I could do was to discourage him from overextending himself. I did so gently, and in soft terms for the benefit of any monitors who may have been listening. "I want you to take care of yourself so you can keep calling me, babe."

Unfortunately, my concern for his well being, only served to bond him to me more closely, and for three months, his calls increased in frequency and duration. Though he regularly encouraged me to contact him outside of the work line, he accepted my protestations both of loyalty to the company who had hired be, and of the fear of being fired.

I realized it might have been kindest to be cruel, to make him believe, without being overtly rude, that I cared nothing for him and that he'd been foolish to think so. And while it was the truth, I couldn't bring myself to say so. He was obviously in great need of a kind word and warm voice. He'd been recently divorced and his ego needed reassurance before facing the world of romance again. The very fact he thought he was falling in love with a stranger on the phone made me think he needed kindness more than money.

To a point.

Shortly after I realized how deeply he was digging himself, I presented the owner with my case for blocking his calls. "It's easier to get $300 from someone than $3,000 or $30,000."

"The credit company knows what he can afford, they're the ones letting him call," was my boss' dismissive response.

I quickly began looking for another company to work for. Lest you think I'm in some way motivated by honorable sentiments, let me disillusion you. I just figure a man who doesn't mind putting his customers in the poorhouse wouldn't mind screwing me out of a nickel here or a dime there.

I left the company a short time later, but not before my caller had his moment of clarity. I applauded him when he stopped calling, wishing him all the best in the world.

The nest company I worked for limited calls to 30 minutes. Being a busy call center, a caller who tried to get back with the same operator was unlikely to manage it. Serious seeming romance didn't blossom on the phone again for the next few years. Especially as I'd moved into management, taking only occasional calls as a teaching aid.

I'm back on the lines again now, working for a company which caters to a more upscale clientele. Calls are longer and more involved. The women working the lines are all very knowledgeable about sex, fetish, and some psychology. We are fantasy artists and take pride in our work. And we also build relationships with our clients.

For the most part, the callers understand the deal and we work together with mutual respect as we call each other filthy names. But sometimes, every once in a while, there's a guy who imagines himself in love.

Here I'm going to be arrogant and speak on behalf of all my colleagues who take their jobs seriously and do an exceptional job.

When you call us, it's important to understand that our job is not simply to make you orgasm.. it's to make you feel good. If it takes a bit of stroking your ego along with stroking your cocks, we'll do it. Enjoy the rush of the compliment when you receive it, but don't consider it too highly as proof of our esteem.

You know we won't give you our addresses and home phone numbers, please understand that these aren't the only steps we take to protect out identities. The vast majority of us use fake names, and more savvy operators will never admit to having children, pets, spouses, or sometimes even neighbors. To ward off the extreme calls, we don't admit to having anyone or anything we wouldn't want to talk about having sex with.

Since we can't admit to where we live or who we know, there are many more things we can't discuss with you. The tornado which ripped through our garage will go unmentioned, for fear you could google the news story and find out who we are. A beloved friend with a unique career will go unmentioned for the same reason. These are just a few examples of how we keep barriers between us.

With all these precautions we take, it's simply not possibly for you to know who we are. What you think you know about our interests or activities are likely lies to make us fit your idea of the perfect companion.

We research different hobbies, areas, and interests, all so we can speak with you intelligently and become your prefect women. We collect stories of other people's adventures to share with you as if we'd experienced them first hand. In this way, a man who rides in the rodeo can hear how I broke my collarbone while learning to barrel race, even though the accident actually happened to another caller.

Through the phone we are courtesans, we are geishas, we are chameleon enchantresses, but we are not ourselves.

If, during the call, you believe we love you, we've done our job. But just like at the movies, when the curtain goes up, it's time to stop suspending your disbelief and remember that it was an illusion.

Enjoy the call. Embrace the feeling while you have it. But don't imagine you love us or we you. You have no idea who we are.

Busy, Busy, Busy

2006-11-28T01:17:00.000-08:00

I've taken a position with a new company, specializing in domination and it's kept me very busy.

You'd be amazed how many men need to be tormented, beaten, restrained, and humiliated in preparation for holidays with the family.

Of Sex and Science

2006-11-03T09:36:00.000-08:00

A new study has determined that there is no firm link between promiscuity and sexually transmitted diseases. They point to the fact that nations with the highest rates of HIV/AIDS are not the nations with the highest rates of promiscuity.

Sometimes, scientists fucking kill me. I don’t know what part if "sexually transmitted" is confusing.

Don’t get me wrong, in general, I love them. I question everything, have the hots for Jamie and Adam on Mythbusters (I know, they’re not actually scientists,) and become utterly provoked when pseudo-scientists like ghost hunters claim what they do is science though they’ve clearly never heard the words "scientific method."

But to deny that promiscuity has any correlation to sexually transmitted disease defies reason. Any fool knows, if you continue to dip from the well, eventually, you’ll pull up the goldfish that’s been down there.

Their reasoning takes into account only one factor contributing to the spread of one STD. The scientists themselves displayed a lack of cultural understanding when they said they expected to see the most promiscuous behavior in regions like Africa where the virus is most concentrated.

Africa... where so many people are devout Muslims or Christians. This is where they expected the highest concentration of promiscuity.

Morons.

Of course the disease is spreading rapidly when a good potion of the continent had HIV before we knew how to prevent it and few people could afford condoms once we understood they protection they afford.

Nowadays, every African woman who sleeps with a single man, and make no mistake, that’s the average number of partners for an African woman, has a fifty-fifty chance of contracting the disease. And every single woman who has the virus can give birth and pass it down to more than one child before she dies. It’s amazing there are any Africans left, with or without promiscuity.
They may as well have said "there are more dark people in Africa than in Europe, ergo, sleeping with dark people has no direct effect on the outcome of your potential offspring’s skin tone." It makes about as much sense.

It’s simply not possible to determine the effect of promiscuity on the spread of disease without removing other factors which would skew the results. No credible scientist would run such a study and call the results conclusive. I’m confidant when the test subjects are all from a relatively equal socioeconomic class and all have equal access to condoms, you’ll find sexually transmitted disease is more prevalent in the more promiscuous population.

And lest you think condom use is the single difference in the spread of disease, and promiscuity may be dismissed as a factor, you should understand condoms do not prevent all STD’s and won’t prevent any at all if improperly used. Many people are not aware of the basics principles of condom use for disease prevention and either don’t use condoms for the entire duration of all sexual encounters or don’t use condoms and dental dams during oral sex.

Ok, so why am I getting all worked up about this? Well, for one, I like to beat dead horses, and this bastard’s still needs one last kick. But mostly because the claims of this study are dangerous. They promote a false sense of security. And the people most at risk are the ones we should be most passionate about protecting. They are the young, who have more time and drive to be promiscuous and less experience discerning when something is nonsense.
I’m pissed because I have children, who will one day want to have sex, and I will have to combat the dangerous misinformation coming from people who, at first blush, seem to be experts.

200 years ago, everyone knew the prostitute down in the red light district was going to die of the pox before the holy housewife. It took modern fucking science to deny what common sense has always known.

You can find an article on the study I'm bitching about here.

Put the Ginger Root Down and Back Away Slowly

2006-11-01T12:30:00.000-08:00

Ok, I realize I've been a bit obsessed with figging. I'm unreasonably fascinated that such a large portion of my visitors are into it when I've only once heard it come up on the phone.

In live, one on one conversation, I've heard far more people tell me they want to be shrunken by some mystery potion slipped in their drinks, and then tormented and ingested by their now proportionately giant girlfriends. I'm guessing in real time, more people are partaking of the ginger than of their shrunken boyfriends. But I digress.

I need to get over the figging. I've beaten that dead horse for far too long now, and it's time to move on. In the interests of aiding the pink-rectumed public, I've found some good links on figging.

The first is a google-goup on figging. It seems they had the idea before I did, but I bet they don't have a cool song. And don't get me started on the secret handshake. Anyway, you can find the hip figsters hanging out at http://groups-beta.google.com/group/figging

www.figging.com has excerpts from stories and articles which reference figging, including a Harry Potter fan-fiction and a Mad-Libs style job.

And for the detailed ins and outs of figging, you may want to visit Master Michael's infamous article on the art of ginger play, posted at http://www.albanypowerexchange.com/figging1.htm

Happy Figging Halloween

2006-10-31T10:18:00.000-08:00

Once again, I stop by my blog to discover that easily 15% of my visitors are looking for information on figging. Well Happy Halloween my burning-bottomed little kinksters! Did you realize there were so many of you?

You should all start a club. Hell, maybe I'll start a club for you... If you're nice. But first, you'll have to come out of the closet, or rather, the spice cupboard, and tell me it's what you really, really want.

You can be the Fig-kateers.

Sing the song with me, will you?
G-I-N... Anyone up for a figging?
G-E-R... Are you ready for the burn?
A-S-S-E-D

(I realize many of my readers aren't from America and may not understand the reference to the Mickey Mouse Club, but please don't feel left out. You'd be amazed by how many Americans don't get my jokes either.)

Wow, how many times in life will I get to bring Mickey Mouse and figging into the same conversation, huh? It's days like these that make me adore being literate.

Well, Happy Halloween everybody. And to my pagan friends, Happy Samhain.

I'm going to go wrap myself in seaweed paper, shove a ginger finger up my derriere and tell everyone I'm dressed as sushi.

Sexy Skirt

2006-10-17T12:24:00.000-07:00

Me: Hi, this is Lara, who's this?

Him: What kind of skirt are you wearing?

Me: Poodle.

Him: Poodle?

Me: Yes, poodle.

Him: What do you mean, poodle?

Me: I mean I'm wearing a poodle skirt. It's a skirt... with a poodle.

Him: Like one of those old fashioned things?

Me: Yes, just like one of those old fashioned things.

Him: You're not really wearing a skirt are you?

Me: How did you guess?

Him: {{{{Click}}}}

(Next time I'll tell him it's a grass skirt and see if I fare any better.)

Figging revisited

2006-10-08T12:49:00.000-07:00

I’ve recently added this nifty little feature to my blog which allows me to see where people are visiting me from both geologically (Hellooooooo Dubai!) and virtually, as in "what link did you follow to find me?" Turns out a disproportionate number of you little kinkmeisters come to me after you’ve googled the word “figging.”

Oh yeah, you know who you are.

Well, as a public service for my lovely burn-bottomed readers, I thought I’d go into it in a little more detail.

First, some safety tips.

1) Peel it. Smooth it down, take off the rough patches and knobbly bits, and round the end. Inserting the ginger should burn, not scrape.

2) Wash the damned thing! We all know you shouldn’t be eating fruits and vegetables without giving them a rinse, do you really think it’s advisable to shove one up your ass, pesticides and all? You’ll also need to clear away any peelings still clinging to the root.

3) Use a root large enough not to slip in and disappear. This really isn’t anything you want to take to the emergency room.

4) Don’t leave it in for extended periods. While the burning begins to diminish in ten to twenty minutes, depending on freshness, the root is still capable of causing irritation.

5) Cut an indentation around the root for the rectum to close around, keeping the ginger in place. Put the indentation far enough from one end to afford you a small handle or base when the ginger is in the rectum. (Like a butt-plug.)

6) While some people have used ginger in the vagina, others claim vaginal secretions are too acidic to combine safely with the juices of the ginger. You’ve been warned.

7) Wash you hands after touching the ginger. Avoid touching your face until you do so as the juice from the ginger will burn your eyes, nose, and mouth.

8) To avoid unexpected and unwanted after-effects, begin by testing it for a few seconds, increasing to a few minutes, checking for signs of prolonged irritation between inseertions.

Now for some tips and tricks:

Some enthusiasts recommend a slice of ginger berifly placed on the clitoris for added fun.

The peeled ginger requires no lubricant. Lubricant creates a barrier between the ginger and the rectum, diminishing it’s effect. The juices of the ginger may be used as a natural, though less effective lubricant. Some preliminary fingering may be required to relax the rectum prior to insertion.

Fresh ginger has a stronger effect than older ginger.

To increase the effect of older ginger, allowed it to age in a sealed bag in the refrigerator until it begins to develop a mold. Peel and use as normal.

For reviews of personal experiences with figging, check out:

http://www.agirlwitha.com/content/2004/07/ginger_fingers.php

or

http://sinerator.blogspot.com/2006/04/figging.html

The Supreme Court Refuses to Jugde Dildo

2006-10-02T13:54:00.000-07:00

A man in El Paso was arrested for violating a Texas law prohibiting the sale of sex toys shaped like sexual organs.

Two undercover police officers made the arrest when adult-bookstore employee Ignacio Acosta made remarks which indicated the phallus was intended for uses which were prurient in nature as opposed to educational, medical, or artistic.

Let me repeat that slowly.

He was arrested, while selling a dildo

in an adult bookstore

to police officers who were disguised as people who have sex

when he indicated that the dildo

the one that was in the adult bookstore

was intended to be used as a sex toy

instead of medical or educational use.

If he had sold a dildo shaped like a rabbit, it would have been somehow alright.

If he has sold a dildo shaped like a penis under the guise of using it as a rectum dilator, it would have been somehow alright.

If he had sold a dildo shaped like a penis, claiming it to be a ten inch, rubber sculpture representing man’s inhumanity to man, that would have been somehow alright.

But selling a dildo, shaped like a dildo, to be used as a dildo, is against the law in Texas.

Acosta challenged his arrest and the El Paso county court agreed with him that the law violated individual sexual privacy. But apparently the district attorney felt strongly enough about dildos to appeal the decision and the ruling was overturned in appeals court..

The next step would be the US Supreme Court, but they’ve been busy with Ana Nicole Smith and refused to hear the case.

I just wonder how they'd feel about a dildo shaped like a high court justice? It would only be in violation of Texas law if they admit they're dicks.

Why ask why?

2006-09-29T13:20:00.000-07:00

I've on occasion been asked why I would do phone sex for a living.

To be honest, I don't do it for a living, it's more of a hobby. Which is not to say I'm getting off while I do it, but that entertains me by lettiing me have an amusing glimpse into some men's psyches.

There's that, but I really just wanted to see the look on the auditor's face when I claim vibrators as a legitimate business expense.

I Just Don't Get To See Them AT Their Most Intelligent

2006-09-27T14:09:00.000-07:00

Me: Sure, I can send you a pic of myself baby. Where would you like me to send it?

Him: Number five Elm Street, Springfield.

Me: Ok, well hun, what’s your email address?

Him: There isn’t one, I live in a house.

Eeeeeeeeeeew!!!!

2006-09-26T12:07:00.000-07:00

My good deed for the day

2006-09-22T13:53:00.000-07:00

In response to a request for links to other phone sex perator's blogs, I've found a list of directories which allow you to search for adult blogs by category (BBW, Tranny, hardcore, etc.) Manny operators list their blogs on these directories.

Here ya go puddin's;

Adult Blog Directory

Adult Blog Spider

Porn Blog Catalog

Directory of Sex Blogs

Quality Adult Blogs

Sex Blog Hunter

Twisted Blogs

Adult Blog Turtle

Porn Blog Dog

Porn Blog Rabbit

Porn Blog World

Sexblog Demon

Pornblog Finder

Sex Blog Dump

Sex Blog Pussy

Sex Blog Zilla

WorldWide Topsites

Do You Want To Know What I Do When I'm Feeling A Little Kinky?

2006-09-17T15:48:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, not often, but every once in a while, when I'm feeling a little bit freaky, I talk about thinks that have nothing to do with sex.

I've started a Blog over at MySpace for those days. You can find it at http://blog.myspace.com/operator15

Go.. Laugh... Be my friend.

Please?

The advertising think-tank is filled with intellectual guppies

2006-09-09T09:51:00.000-07:00

I normally prefer to stay away from the war between the sexes. They usually end up being ugly accusations which cite extreme examples of behavior as a justification for the attack of half the population. It’s ridiculous and the attacker ends up looking more foolish than the attacked.

That said...

Some men are so fucking stupid I could have an aneurism just thinking about it!
There’s an old truism in advertising that says simply "sex sells." Let me be the first to raise my hand and testify to the truthiness (I love you, Stephen Colbert) of this statement.
The heavily male dominated advertising industry has been pitching sexy ads to the heavily male dominated executive businesspeople almost since mass media and branding were created. For the most part, it’s been a great success.

An new study conducted by three University of Florida professors is saying that for women, the theory is a falsehood.

The study showed women who were shown advertisements featuring attractive female models and asked to both categorize the type of beauty the model represented (classic feminine, sensual exotic, trendy, cute, girl next door, and sex kitten) and rate their level of response from bored to interested.

The data showed that the more sexually charged the model seemed, the less interested the women were. The conclusion? Sex does not sell to women.

OK, here’s a pop quiz who can see what is wrong with this statement? They were basing their conclusion on the responses of women to images of attractive *women*. No study was done based on the responses of women to sexy men.

Now, I don’t know if the studies participants were surveyed on their sexual orientation, but presumably, it was the same 90% heterosexual as the rest of the population.
So let’s analyze this equation. We are heterosexual women who aren’t attracted to images of sexy women, ergo, sex does not attract us in advertising.

And the Diet Coke guy had no part in boosting sales of Diet Coke that year. And Fabio’s books sold so well because he was a really brilliant author. (I said that sarcastically, but really, Pirate was a great book.)
For decades, Advertisers have been pitching sexy women in advertisements to women, hoping to entice the buyers to emulate the models. But the first rule of communication is to know your audience. Before we ever picked up a magazine telling us what products we want, society taught us not to be whores.

Damn society.

It took three PHDs to figure out that I really don’t want to buy toothpaste from a Victoria’s Secret model. How many of them will it take to figure out I’d buy any freaking floorwax you’re selliing if you just put Keanu Reeves’ half naked body on the kitchen floor.

Small Penis Prevention Day.. Spread The Word!

2006-09-07T13:15:00.000-07:00

It's here at last! I know you've been waiting. The 1st annual Small Penis Prevention day is finally here.

Mistress V has decided to take matters into her own hands and cull the herd of underendowed men through the use of tagging, tattooing, and branding to mark these men as unfit for procreation. She also supports the use of chastity devices and sterilization to prevent these men from passing on the puny-peter gene.

Show your support, visit he site today and learn what you can do to prevent small penises.

Trapped In Chocolate?

2006-08-18T19:35:00.000-07:00

The AP wire released a story about a Kenosha Wisconsin man who fell into vat of chocolate. The poor bastard was stuck until rescue workers could blend in enough cocoa butter to thin the goo to a workable consistancy.

I'm smelling a new fetish hitting the phones.

Oh wait, that's mine.

Self-fellatio as an art form?

2006-08-02T12:54:00.000-07:00

Here I thought all those guys in my Yoga class were either gay, or there to pick up women. I egotistically assumed that if they weren't there to check out my Downward Facing Dog, it was because they already had a little bit of bitch in them.

Turns out some guys are just there training for the oral-masturbation competition in the Sex Olympics.

I don't want you to go thinking this is all about self gratification though. No, not at all. As with so very many personal journeys toward self-sufficiency, this physical manifestation of emotional need (the emotion being lust) has inspired intrepid young artists, and Ron Jeremy, to immortilize their work on film and paper.

A man who signs his messages only as "Self" has created some images of his pursuits that can truly be called artistic. His composition is striking, the lighting mysterious, and the overall tone of his works have a rather sophisticated feel for a man who is pictured with his head almost literally up his ass.

His website http://www.selfellatio.com/ is a gold mine for the D.I.Y kind of guy, with advice and illustrations for getting started and working through the kinks so to speak. There's a helpful group of supportive men, (self-supporting even) who will welcome you into the fold and make you feel a part of the solo-suck community.

To answer the questions I'm guessing are at the front of your mind, no, he's not gay. He has a wife, proving that for some men at least, women *are* good for more than one thing. And yes, he takes all the photos, because he can do that by himself too!

While it doesn't really rise my tide, I hope a lot of men get the hang of it. If they want to savor the feeling, they can let their own jaws get tired and strained.

It could have plenty of other uses too. I can hear it now, "Attention all passengers, the captain has requested you please assume the crash position. You are in no danger, he just thought it would relax you and reduce the instances of air rage. "

Juggling Is The New Mime

2006-06-22T10:44:00.000-07:00

As a rule, phone sex operators can be pretty busy during the prime-time hours.

As with any entertainment industry, there really isn't much business during the day, and it's in the after dinner hours that things pick up. Now, what with sex being a common bedtime ritual, we tend to keep going a little later than your average movie theater, but the principle is the same. We mostly work nights.

By know, you should be reasonably wondering where I'm going with this and what it has to do with juggling mimes. Well Poppet, my point is... We don't get to watch much television unless we record it.

Be patient, the jugglers are coming.

I took this week off from work for the first time in five years (the beauty of phone sex is that it can go with you when you're on vacation) and reintroduced my ass to my couch.

I don't mind saying, I had some rather high expectations. For the past decade, I've occasionally caught a few good shows, but only after the seasons are released on DVD. (House MD is a special case, I'd rearrange my schedule for Fry, Laurie, French, or Saunders any day of the week. I'm glad none of the others have American series going right now or I'd never get anything done.)

So, there I am, with the remote, a bowl of popcorn, and my expectations and what do I subject myself to but a new show called America's Got Talent.

Sigh.

The first act was a guy who snaps his fingers. Nuff said.

Of course, I never leave it alone when enough has been said, so I'll continue.

For those of you old enough to remember The Gong Show, you'll understand what I was looking at for two hours.

Oh sure, there were a few truly talented people on the show. There were two kids who clearly hadn't made it just for being precocious. They had talent that could stand up to any adult, any day of the week. There were a few singers who were good and some guys who really need to be auditioning for Cirque de Soliel. But for the most part, it was nose organs, singing saws, and rapping grannies.

And jugglers. G-d help us, there were jugglers.

Hence the title of my post.

It seems the new trend in obnoxious street performance is toward juggling. Unlike mimes however, who can only make rude, but silent gestures if you make a disparaging remark, jugglers can threaten you with knives and chainsaws. Oh sure, they use them in the act, but really the weapons are there to make sure you keep your catty comments to yourself.

On last night's show, one such juggler managed to get a second shot at the $1 million prize by baring his machetes to the judges after they'd all voted him off. If you tune in to the next episode, you'll get to see Mr. I-don't-take-no-for-an-answer-without-making-you-fear-for-your-safety (we call him Mr. I for short) and be able to check out his encore. He's kind of clumsy though, and keeps dropping his stuff, so maybe he'll take himself out of the competition when he dismembers himself.

Enjoy your TV. I'm going back to work.

Talk about phoning it in...

2006-06-13T12:49:00.000-07:00

I found a new sex toy for you!

Ok, maybe not the kind you're thinking of. It's a chatterbot, and you can now chat online anytime with my vacuous alter-ego.

Go ahead, she's right there at the top of the right hand column.

Here----------->

Go on. You know you wanna.

She may not be as stimulating as a venus butterfly vibrator, but if you ask the right questions, she can be penetrating none-the-less.

Enjoy.

I'm a geek.

My All Time Favorite Call

2006-06-09T09:09:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry to say, my absolute favorite call isn't even mine. It was a story I once heard of another operator's call.. Let's just call her Operator16.. And she was kind enough to give me leave to publish her story here.

She: So.. You're actually in your garage?

He: Yeah, I'm in my car.

She: You're in your car in the garage.

He: Yeah, I'm in the trunk.

She: Why are you in the trunk?

He: So my wife doesn't hear me.

She: Are you playing hide and seek?

He: No, I just don't want her to hear me.

She: Where is she?

He: In the kitchen making dinner.

She: Ok, so she's in the kitchen making dinner and you're in the trunk of the car in the garage. Did you leave the truck latch open?

He: Um.. No. Do you think I should have?

She: How are you going to get out?

He: I.. Um...

She: I see.

He: I guess I didn't think this one through.

She: Clearly not.

He: What am I going to do?

She: Why don't you feel around for a safety release inside?

He: (rustling sounds) I'm not finding anything.

She: Does it have fold down back seats? Can you push them down?

He: No, the trunk is separate.

She: Wow, I don't even know what to tell ya. Sound like you got yourself into a jam there.

He: How much oxygen do you think is in a sealed car trunk.

She: Just take shallow breaths.

He: (Begins to hyperventilate)

She: Ok, well, that's not what I told you to do. Look, can you shout for your wife?

He: No, she's at the other end of the house. She'd never hear me.

She: So why did you need to... Oh never mind.

He: (whispering) Wait a sec. I hear something.

She: Ok, great, maybe it's your wife.. Try shouting.

He: (whispering) Shhhh... Hang on.

She: Wouldn't now be a good time to stop hiding and get out of the trunk?

He: (no response, just the muffled sounds of a key going into a lock and the unmistakable sound of a trunk door opening.)

The wife: Dinner's ready, stupid.

Robbie the Robot? Is that you?

2006-04-24T09:49:00.000-07:00

OK, now, since we've already explored the fetishists who like dolls and mannequins, the whole robot fetsh was not lost on me, (if you're new to this blog, go on and read through the archives. I promise you'll be amused. And don't try to pretend you've done it if you haven't. I can look at the stats and tell you're lying. Don't give me those looks. If I have to come over there, you'll be sorry.) I must say though that I've never before spoken to a man who actually wanted to be a robot.

It was, to be frank, rather distracting. He spoke in a flat, monotone voice, kind of like the robot from the old Lost In Space episodes. (I saw them in reruns.. don't go thinking I've dated myself) At first I wasn't sure if he was just a bit.. off. But when asked him "do you like that baby? Does that feel good?" He responded with "I am programmed only to perform, I do not feel."

Oh boy.

You know, if he would allow me, I could think of a whole bunch of material for robot fantasies. Rutger Hauer in Blade Runner, Brent Spiner in Star Trek The Next Generation, (what can I say, I'm attracted to older artificial gentlemen) but with that ridiculous voice, all I could picture was the robot Asimo with a strap on.

And for all the people reading this right now saying to me "only Asimo is really a bot, the others are androids." Why don't you just leave me alone? I don't come over to your blog and point out what you're doing wrong with all those women you don't have sex with do I?

Gilbert Gottfried's too unsexy for the Taliban

2006-04-19T08:50:00.000-07:00

The Boston Pheonix has released a list of the unsexiest men alive and Gilbert Gottfried topped out at number one.

At first glance, it's perfectly reasonable. He's a physically repellant little person with a grating voice and a propensity toward offensive humor. (Rumor has it he's told Holocaust jokes to death camp survivors and once asked a preteen girl if she had pubic hair yet.)

Yes, Gilbert Gottfried is a troll in need of a bridge.

But then I look further down the list and see that to get the number one spot, he beat out Osama Bin Laden. Now, I don't feel any attraction for Gottfried, but it must be said, at least he doesn't look like he has fleas in his beard.

Perhaps I'm a bit predjudiced. I'm an American and a New Yorker. I'm still kind of bitter about the whole 9/11 thing and it no doubt colors my perception of Bin Ladens manly charms. Who knows, maybe his multiple wives actually dig the tall, dark, and psychotic persona and they aren't just victims of a sexist society that treats them like chattel. But I don't get the sense that The Pheonix interviewed many Afghani women anyway.

I'm surprised that American sensabilities would permit anyone to be less attractive than our public enemy number one. Even if he wasn't the orchestator of what is arguably our greatest national tragedy, he would still be skinny and scraggly, with a big nose, hollowed out eyes, and lousy fashion sense.

What's funnier than Gilbert Gottfried being less sexy the Bin Laden, is that he had plenty of company. According to The Pheonix, Randy Johnson, Roger Ebert, Dr. Phil, Alan Colmes, Chad Kroeger and Mike Mills are all less sexy than Osama Bin Laden.

Other amusing notes from the top one forty list:
Jerry Seinfeld is less sexy than Larry David
Ron Howard is ledd sexy than Clint Howard
John Lovitz is less sexy than Chevy Chase, who is less sexy than Chris Kattan, Who is less sexy than Al Franken.

At this point, I'd like to point out that over 30% of all the world's least sexy men have either hosted, acted, written for, or otherwise appeared or contributed to Saturday Night Live. And you know if John Belushi and Chris Farley had lived, they'd be on the list too.

For more than thirty years Lorne Micheals's tryanny of the unsexy has ruled late night television with an iron fist and an ugly stick. What's worse, spin-off movies basedon unnatractive SNL characters have brought the unpleasantness into the daylight.

I guess they weren't kidding when they said comedy isn't pretty. But does it really have to be monkey-butt ugly?

I hope you'll help me do something to end this plague of ugly. Please boycott SNL and their advertisers until they agree to employ only the aesthetically pleasing.

Remember, it's not nice to laugh at ugly people.

The County Slut Is Online! The Country Slut Is Online!

2006-04-14T20:31:00.000-07:00

The Country Slut has created a Blog but she's blogging about the men in her life so I've deleted the link that was here to protect the unworthy.

Introductions

2006-04-14T20:26:00.000-07:00

Me: Hi, this is Amy. Who's this?

Him: I'm stroking my dick.

Me: I bet people just call you Dick for short, huh?

If this doesn't work out for me, I can always be a Foley Artist

2006-04-07T09:43:00.000-07:00

Phone sex isn't always the easiest job. The easiest job I think would be oh, I dunno, ethics advisor for George W. Bush. It's not like you'd be called on to do anything.

I probably should'nt have gone there huh? You didn't come here for partisan politics did you? No, you didn't. I'm not a polite person and if you wish to spank me for my insolence, perhaps we can arrange something.

Anyway.. phone sex. It's not the job for a brainles slut who has nothing to recommend her beyond a sweet voice. Oh sure, there are a lot of us out there who are sluts, and most of us have sweet voices, but the brainless ones don't tend to do very well.

The most important skill a phone sex operator will use is not a naturally pleasant voice, but the ability to read people and decipher what callers want without the benefit of body language and few, if any, spoken clues. Beyond that, the ability to quickly spin engaging stories based on ideas never before heard or thought of is mandatory and last but not least, the ability to convincingly simulate noises associated with those stories.

What is they sound of one hand clapping? Well, it's similar to the sound of testicles coming in contact with flesh as the result of a forward pelvic thrust.

In other settings, my vibrator sounds amazingly like an electric toothbrush and my friend has one with a pulse setting that sounds just like her cell phone set to vibrate.

Those are the easy sounds to make. But there are times it's not so simple.

A lot of guys are into golden showers, and after a long shift of drinking coffee, they can be a real blessing, but there's obviously a limit to how many you can do during a twenty minute phone call and for the guys who want brown showers or rainbow showers (if you can't use your imagination to figure out what they are, you may be at the wrong blog,) it can be nearly impossible and distinctly unhealthy to do such things on command. (Did you know that satifying a belching fetish for a half-hour call can make a person vomit? Now you do.)

Thankfully, we ladies of the line need no longer resort to pouring water from cup to cup or letting ice plop into a beverage as we blow razzberries until our phones are covered in saliva. Thanks to the blessed internet, and a few people with too much time on their hands, we have recorded resources!

Kevin Kelm, a man with a distinctly scatalogical sense of humor has devised both a virtual vomit site that simulates the sites and sounds of a queasy stomach using the foods and settings of your choosing, and also the Robodump, a robot he left in his office men's room which convinced his coworkers that a man with severe intestinal distress had spent and entire work day in the first stall.

The few vocalizations in the recordings sound rather male, so female operators may want to listen to the recordings a few times and carefully time when you pause the files, but you gentlemen in the business have it made.

While you're there, take a look around his site. He also has the phrase "I have lard in my anus" translated into the languages of the world. You never know when that may come in handy.

Life's most challenging question

2006-04-02T19:45:00.000-07:00

Him: Oooh yeah. Suck it.

Me: Mmmm yeah baby, I'm gonna suck it real good.

Him: Oooh yeah.

Me: That's right, I want to take it deep to the back of my throat. I want to run my tongue up and down the length of it and bring my mouth down on it again and suck.

Him: Oooh yeah.

Me: I'm gonna slide my hand over the wet, slick monster and pump it into my mouth.

Him: Ooooh yeah.

Me: I want you to just hold my hair and move it in and out of my mouth. That turns me on. I'll be able to play with myself as you do it.

Him: Oooh Yeah.

Me: I get to have hand down between my legs as you just hump my face. I want to look up into your eyes while you do it to me. Tell me, what color are your eyes?

Him: Ooooh yeah.

Me:...

Him: Yeah.

Me:Babe? What color are your eyes hon?

Him:.... uh

Me:...

Him:.. um, Hazel

Me: I knew you could do it.

Who Would Jesus Do?

2006-03-22T07:53:00.000-08:00

So, I stumbled upon this site called Blogshares, The fantasy blog stock market.

OK, I didn't stumble upon it so much as it came up when I was googling myself.

Either way, I found my blog on it and I got to see some of the sites who have linked to me. It was an amusing little exercise in ego stroking. It was sort of like hearing what people say about you after you leave the party.

There were a few people I sort of know through the blogs (Hi Gern! Hi Cuddleslut! Hi Peanutbutterfilthy!.... Peanutbutterfilthy looks like Sid Vicious doncha know) but most of the links were from strangers., and apparently, like Jerry Lewis, they love me in France.

By far and above, my absolute favorite was a site called Who Would Jesus Do. It's a sick and twisted compliment to be listed there, but I'll take it.

I must say though, that while I'm flattered they think I'd be sexually appealing to the messiah, only son of G-d, physical embodiment of the almighty, prophet, philosopher, or mythical hero... whatever you think Jesus is or was; I've seen Jesus' online personal ad and I really don't think he'd do me.

It seems Jesus likes sporty, young, German women. I'm mostly Irish and I so profoundly suck at sports it's pitiable. I'm also in my late thirties, which puts me right out of his preferred age range.

I can't say I'd fancy him much either. I really love those dark eyed exotic darlings or the geeky guys who look like they've been locked in a library for a few months. You know the ones, they're so pale they're nearly blue.

Hey, I wonder if Vishnu is looking for love online?

My Own Oddest Jobs List

2006-03-19T18:01:00.000-08:00

Because someone asked, and because I don't have much else to write at the moment, here's my own personal list of oddest jobs, adapted from Carerbuilder.com's America's Most Unusual Jobs list.

Here's where I made the list.

A) Actor for haunted house: Once upon a time I was a make-up artist and, in that life I did special effects make-up for a haunted house. While I was there, I took a part as a victim in a freakish laboratory experiment.

J) Jelly donut filler: It was one of my duties when I worked in a donut shop as a teenager.

P) Phone Psychic: A lot of phone sex operators also work as phone psychics at one time or another. Many of the skills are the same, listening and being understanding. I did it briefly.

To my profound surprise, I quickly saw there was something to all that paranormal stuff. The more calls I took though, the more I understood that what there is to it would be the natural inclination of the converted to believe they find confirming details in vagaries. Once I realized it was too often a placebo for real problems, I had to move on. The few weeks it took me took between my realization and taking up another job was the only time in my life I've ever felt like a whore.

It shouldn't surprise you that many of the same companies that have phone sex lines also run psychic lines. After all, they already have the system in place. I once worked at a call center that had phone psychics on one floor, phone sluts on another, and yet another floor full of people taking catalog orders for mail order companies. The break room was always an interesting mix of people and conversation.

V) Voice over actress for movies: OK, I fudged on this one. I did commercials.

I got the job through my work as a make-up artist. While working with a fashion photographer, I answered his office phone and it was a guy trying to track down an actress who was late for a job. She wasn't there but I was.

I ended up working for the caller on and off for the next seven years. Along with commercials, he also contracted me to do a series of pseudo-sexual recordings. The scripts would be something that sounded explicit until you got to the last line like "Oooooh, it's so big. Please be gentle, I've never had anything so big in me before. Oh please, do it fast... oh, oh, oooooooh. Thank you for taking that splinter out doctor."

X) X-mas tree decorator: I once had a summer job working for a company that decorated malls and mansions for Christmas. (There's actually so much to be done, they have to begin in the summer getting things together.) It was there I enjoyed hearing America's most unusual quitting words when a man who had struggled all day with a garland finally stormed off in frustration saying "fuck it, I have to believe little elves do this."

My absolute most unusual job though, was not listed and it wasn't even phone sex. It was working for one of those old fashioned photography studios where they take sepia toned pictures of people in period costumes. I was the wardrobe person who helped people get in and out of thier costumes. When there was a long line waiting, I could strip a man of his chaps, gun belt, and tin star faster than you can say "cheesy old west gear."

I beat out the other applicant for the job because I was tall enough to reach the hats on the top shelf without needing a stool.

Public Service Announcement

2006-03-07T09:30:00.000-08:00

For those times when you're tempted to use your phone to call a sex line, place an order for an inflatable love doll, or even to just to ask your pharmacist about the best cure for head lice, please keep the following important reminder by the phone.

Warning: All Calls May Be Monitored because our president doesn't hink he needs a warrent.

Last year, nearly 30,000 Americans learned only when they tried to fly that they'd been mistakenly placed on terror watch lists. If you haven't flown recently, you too may be one of the lucky thousands who have yet to discover your status as a threat to the country's safety.

On the bright side, since you're going to miss your flight anyway, you may take the time to convince the cute chick with the wand at the security gate that you're an international man of mystery.

Woo hoo! Cavity search!!!!!

America's Oddest Jobs... Not a Rim Or A Blow To Be Found

2006-03-03T09:21:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine forwarded an A to Z list of America's oddest jobs. I've done five of them.

I'm not sure if I feel enriched or unnerved.

Surprisingly, phone sex was not on the list. While I'm not one to say phone sex is, in and of itself odd, certainly talking to a man about how long he should heat the cantaloupe he's just scooped a penis sized hole into can't possibly be considered the norm.

I'd like to thank everyone who has been patient with me while I post so infrequently. Your attention is both flattering and appreciated.

Slipping in the side door as if I've been here all along

2006-01-16T20:39:00.000-08:00

OK, it's been a while. I'm not normally prone to disappearing for months at a time, but I do tend to move on with other creative venues for a while.

I may not have been Blogging lately, but I've been keeping myself busy. You see, I've been knitting dildo cozies for friends. I can't very well type and knit at the same time now can I?

Sadly, that's not a joke. I don't have the patience for sweaters and I have all the hats, scarves, and mittens a body could ask for. It was either cozies or doilies, and doilies are just.. well, doilies.

It wasn't all small projects for me though. The cozy for Barney the Purple Dildo-saur requires a full skein of yarn and a week of knitting...

Anyway, I thought I'd welcome you all back to my Blog with this little bit of news on the sexual front:

The results of a recent study done by a sexologist in Italy show that couples with a television in their bedroom have half as much sex as couples without one. Clearly, they don't watch the same movies I do.

The study showed that some shows were more likely to impede sex than others. Violent images, for instance, were more likely to turn-off half of all couples.

Conversely, reality shows actually turned on a third of all couples... Forget figging, when The Amazing Race revs your engine, you're KINKY!

You want me to put a what? Up your where?

2005-08-24T16:20:00.000-07:00

Me: I'm sorry, what did you just say?

Him: Figging

Me: Figging?

Him (slowly now): Yes, figging.

Me: Not frigging?

Him: No, not frigging, figging.

Me: Not fingering?

Him (sighing): Not frigging, fingering fucking, or flying. I said figging. Obviously you've never heard of it.

Me: Is it obvious?

Him: Would you like to know what it is?

Me: I dunno, I'm afraid now.

Him: It's pain free.

Me: Oh good.

Him: For you.

Me: ...oh.

Him: It's where you take a hot pepper and put it in a guy's butt.

Me: Ow!

Him: Yeah.

Me: Ow!

Him: It's not so bad. It burns some, but it feels good.

Me: Ow!

Him: You mentioned that.

Me: Ok, I suppose I can do that. Just one thing though?

Him: Yeah?

Me: Why is it called figging?

Him: I don't know. Do you need to know that in order to do it?

Me: Well, quelling my curiosity *would* help me focus...

Him: I trust you'll manage.

Me: My curiosity is burning like a hot pepper up the ass.

Him: Are we going to do this or not?

Me: Sure.

Him: Why do I hear clicking in the background? You're typing aren't you? You're looking it up!

Me: Hmmm?

Him: Ok fine, what did you find out about figging?

Me: Well, wikipedia says it's " a sexual practice involving the insertion of a prepared "finger" of ginger root or even pepper into the anus. The burning sensation is said to induce intense pleasure. The technique is used by some practitioners of BDSM."

"The practice is sometimes said to have originated in a preparation technique for show horses, where an irritating "fig" would be inserted into their anus to induce them to hold their tail high. Others claim that Victorian corporal punishment methods sometimes involved figging to further humiliate and chastise the culprit, as well as preventing the clenching of the buttocks during caning, birching or flagellation."

Him: Those wacky Victorians. So, are we ready?

Me: But if they use ginger, or hot peppers, it doesn't explain why they called it "figging."

Him: I'm hanging up now.

Me: Wait! I'm sorry. I'll be good, I promise. I'll fig you silly and I'll even wear some hot victorian lingerie while I do it, how's that?

Him: Better.

Me: You don't mind if I call you Newton as I do it do you?

Him: Newton?.. (sigh) Ok, I get it, fig Newton. You know what? I've changed my mind.

Me: You want to use the ginger root?

Him: No, actually I think I'd get more satisfaction from doing it to you now. You could obviously use some discipline.

Me: Wait, I'm sorry. No more jokes, I promise.

Him: Too late. Now be still, this will only hurt alot.

Oh Say Can You See Fetish Friday

2005-08-19T16:07:00.000-07:00

How can I still be surprised? What part of researching Plushies could have possibly left me with any shred of my soul unweathered? How can anything raise my eyebrows after I saw seven thousand dollar love dolls that were selling like hotcakes. (And how well do hotcakes sell by the way, can anyone tell me that? Anyone?)

But somehow, some way, surprised I am, to learn a new word, invisiphile. An Invisiphile is one who has a sexual attraction to men or women who are invisible.

Perhaps what surprised me most is not the respectable number of internet groups and websites devoted to Le Femmes Invisible but that they each have a photo gallery. Of invisible women.

Let me say that again. They have photos gallerys of invisible women.

To be fair, not all the girls are fully invisible. Some are just fading. Of the fading women, some are just sort of translucent all over and others start out solid at one end and fade to invisible at the other. All the sub-species, the transparents, translucents and the fade-outs have their own fans.

From the guys who were willing to write about their attraction, it seems the fantasy has something of a playful dominance element. Being invisible puts the woman in a powerful position for obvious reasons. At anytime during the day, the invisiphile can imagine himself to be unkowingly observed by his invisible lover. The invisiphile can have no secrets from the object of his affection. Conversely, if she has observed him to the point of knowing him better than he knows himself, it's reassuring the imagine she lusts for him anyway.

The invisiphiles seem to be a fun lot with a sense of humor about their admittedly unusual interests. I guess if you were going to fall for an imaginary girl you couldn't see, you'd have to have a sense of humor about it. Of course, it's better than falling for an imaginary girl you *can* see... that'd be just crazy.

Did I mentions they have photos of invisible women?

A Phone Sex Operator Walks Into A Bar

2005-08-15T08:32:00.000-07:00

When I was twenty-two, I lived in South Florida.

It's a great place to be a young woman. While your body is still young and firm, you always get the perfect weather to show it off while pretending you're only wearing so little because it's so hot out. What's more, your youth and vitality are a sharp contrast to the retirees lounging in beach chairs near where you lie on a blanket in all your sun-sweet juiciness.

On one particularly blistering afternoon at the beach, I wrapped my sarong around my bikini clad hips (ok, it was a towel with Mickey Mouse on it, but sarong sounds sexier) and sauntered off to the nearby pier, where there were a few shops (I needed to buy a sarong) and a bar.

Being the parched girl I was on this hot day, I perched myself on a stool at the outside bar and ordered something virgin as I eyed a young man reading a comic book on the beach.

As is so often the case where women and booze are found under one roof.. er, umbrella, it wasn't long before I was approached by a stranger.

"My G-d, you're an Amazon."

I took a bracing breath and turned, ready to lash at the voice behind me with some comment about originality and calling a tall, large breasted woman "Amazon." As I say, I turned, and I was ready, but then, I didn't. It was one of those rare moments in my life when I was surprised into silence.

Standing next to me was, without a doubt, the largest man I'd ever seen in person. He was huge! I didn't even come up to his shoulders. My smart assed comment slipped from my mind like an extra large condom from Dubya's dick.

As my eyes continued up and up, trying to focus on his far away head, I considered forgiving him for the lame comment. The air must be thinner all the way up there, he couldn't possibly be getting enough oxygen to be at his wittiest.

"You're not exactly Lillipution yourself," I observed, my neck craned back for perhaps the first time since third grade. "How tall are you anyway?"

The stranger smiled. It was the same strained smile I recognized from all the times I'd been asked the same question. He answered with a well rehearsed tone, "I'm six eleven stadning up, nine inches lying down."

Moments later, I excused myself from his company. Despite what I do in private, my public persona has always been respectable and dignified. I didn't think being picked up in a bar was an acceptable practice to begin with, but especially not by someone who announces the size of his penis to strange women.

I did however go straight to my car and right the line down, so I could use it on the phones.

"How tall are ya baby?"

(pretend to listen to answer)

"Oooh, nice, and how tall are ya lying down?"

Fetish Friday: Brace Yourself

2005-08-12T21:08:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's the image of fresh faced guilessness associated with the age at which most young women get braces, but dental appliances have garnered a following of their own.

Brace faces beware, the orthophiles are on the loose.

I assume the allure is similar to that of the lusty innocence of the school girl uniform. Braces and short skirts are the accessories of that time in life when youth blossoms into voluptuous beauty and eager curiosity about all things grown up.

I never really know what to say to the orthodontic fetishists. My own experiences have been limited to mild discomfort a few times when I had my wires tightened and one traumatic day when I first saw a childhood crush in braces and headgear. Before he explained what they were, I was sure he'd been in some horrible accident and the straps around his head were all that kept his head upright.

So the glamour and glitter of the mouth jewelry has eluded me. Fortunately for me, there are websites to refer to.

I read the news today. Oh boy!

2005-08-08T13:41:00.000-07:00

In India, where pornography is illegal, men caught watching the illicit flicks are being sentenced to do sit ups and make a public pledge never to watch the smut again.

Want the details? Read it for yourself. I ain't yer nanny. (though I've played one on the phone)

Now, I'm just gonna throw this out there, but maybe something similar would work to control obesity in America. We have the fattest people and the largest porn industry, there's got to be the potential for a tie in. Besides guys jacking off to workout tapes I mean.

I'm seeing a new national health craze "Mastercize." Soon enough Richard Simmons will have BBWs Sweatin to the Pornos.

Phone Bonding, Not To Be Confused With Phone Bondage

2005-08-08T10:05:00.000-07:00

Wooo Hooooo... My very best phone buddy is moving near me!

No, I'm not foolish enough to be meeting callers. I'm talking about a co-worker.

We've been friends for years but we've never met in person. Now, she's moving to the countryside just 90 minutes away from me.

We'll be like the Country Slut and the City Slut!

Fetish Friday, Oh You Doll, You.

2005-08-05T20:38:00.000-07:00

Robots and dolls, mannequins and androids, however you like em, imitation humans are hot stuff for some people.

Going back to childhood, (since that is, after all, where our sexuality takes shape) I can easily remember times when faux humans have tripped my trigger. The Tin Man seemed to me the sweetest of Dorothy's travel mates. At age six I felt a special bond with Pinnochio after playing him in my dance recital. And the day I sat on the floor in the den watching a rerun of Star Trek where Spock's brain had been removed and his body was being walked about by remote control, I distinctly remember thinking "that could be handy." I was fascinated by the possibilities for a long time after.

As far as I remember though, I didn't consider doing anything more scandalous with Spock than having him clean my room and do my homework. Now admittedly, I was young, but as I grew older, my titillated interest in Spock may have evolved into a taste for tall, dark haired and emotionally reserved men but certainly not into a passion for robots.

It's clear from my research however, that many men and women saw their first robot on TV or mannequin in a mall and saw limitless possibilities for a luxuriously compliant lover. And many of them are willing to put their money where their fantasies are. If you've heard of The Real Doll you know people are willing to spend upward of seven thousand dollars on what is in effect, an anatomically correct mannequin.

It would seem Jude Law's character of the android Gigolo Joe was more than just idle speculation about what people would do if they were given such attractive appliances.

Further evidence of the mainstream attraction to mechanical men and women comes from Star Trek again, where the actor playing the android Data received by far the highest volume of lust filled fan mail of the relatively attractive Next Generation cast.

I'm going to stop now before I make any more science fiction references and make myself out to be even more of a geek.

But I leave you with one more thing to consider. You may be tempted to believe that a fetish for robots or mannequins is recent only to the past century or so, as they weren't exactly found in earlier periods. I hate to get all literary on your ass, but it seems this fetish goes back as far as ancient Greece, where we find the myth of Pygmalion, who fell passionately in love with a statue of his own creation.

Now look at that... What other Blog is gonna offer you sex dolls and Greek literature in the same entry? I may be a geek, but I'm a damned fun geek!

50 Things About Me No One Needs To Know

2005-08-04T12:37:00.000-07:00

I'm tall.
Really tall.
I've only ever seen two or three women taller.
I'm adopted.
It was obvious, my parents were short.
I met my birth mother when I was 28.
I was shocked to learn that she's kind of short too.
I thought she had the wrong person until she told me my father
was 6'7".
I was the youngest of six siblings.
Until I was 28, when I learned I had a younger blood brother.
Now I never know which part applies to me when I see articles about
the affect of birth order on one's personality.
I'm clumsy and accident prone.
I've been injured in car, motorcycle, dirt bike, bicycle,
skateboard, rollerblading, and horseback riding accidents.
Oh, and I fell of a pogo stick once
I once had amnesia and short term memory loss for two days
following a fall from my horse.
It was great, everything I owned was new to me.
I was very excited to learn I had a horse.
Because of the short term memory loss, I was excited to learn I
had a horse about every ten minutes.
Given my proclivity for accidents, my paralyzing fear of flying
seems sensible.
I didn't lose my virginity until a few years after high school.
But I graduated pretty early.
I've had sex when I didn't feel like it, just to burn the
calories.
I've had sex when I didn't feel like it, just to end a boring date sooner.
When I was fifteen, I secretly listened to Culture Club.
I think these lists are shallow exercises in narcissism.
I like to think I'm self-aware.
I'm aware of my latent narcissistic tendencies.
I have a daughter who's everything I wanted to be as a child.
I have a son who's everything I actually was.
Sometimes, I hate Karma.
Considering I was an orphan until I was five, I think Karma
fucking owes me.
I have a small, strawberry birthmark on the inside of my right
forearm.
I consider any other identifying marks to be strictly classified
information.
I've been on television and in the news a number of times.
I will never admit to where, when, or why.
I've been known to say some stupid shit when a camera was pointed
at me.
I've never done a tenth of the things I've talked about at work.
But I as I've talked about things that aren't physically possible, that's not saying much.
Until I was trying to conceive, I always practiced safe sex.
Which is best, because, by my own standards, I was a slut.
But I still slept with fewer men than my best friend.
But I think Madonna's probably slept with fewer men than my best friend.
I think that last one wasn't actually about me.
I don't care.
I'm getting desperate for things to say.
I'm this--> <--close to making things up.
In my spare time I'm a test pilot for NASA and the world's first
hare-lipped supermodel.
I just thought of something else about me.
I often start things and don't finish them.

Wanna Lick?

2005-08-03T14:11:00.000-07:00

I'm sucking a popsickle right now.

No story to go with it... I just thought I'd share.

Fetish Friday Featuring Fancy Footwork

2005-07-29T11:28:00.000-07:00

I was twenty, waiting in line at a movie theater. A lovely tall man introduced himself to me as the boy I used to play with at our bus stop back in middle school. We chatted briefly as our respective friends waited awkwardly for us to enter the building before agreeing to exchange numbers.

I wrote on the back of a grocery receipt as he called out the digits and from the corner of my eye, I thought I saw him checking out the long, bare expanse of leg between my denim mini and my strappy sandals. As I tucked the number in my purse, his voice next to my ear gave me goosebumps. "You have the sexist feet."

I scanned his face for the teasing expression I remembered from grade school. Was he playing with me by saying my feet were my most attractive feature? Was this his retribution for the time in sixth grade(before his growth spurt)when I clipped his pen to the top of the stop sign and laughed as he jumped and jumped, trying to reach it?

No, the sincerity was plainly written in his dilated pupils and parted lips. He was turned on by a high arch and slender ankle. And he was not alone.

Foot fancy is arguably the most common attraction categorized as a fetish. Sensual foot massage and toe sucking (also known as shrimping for you literacy lovers) has become as accepted a part of sex play as digital penetration and oral stimulation. And rubbing feet, kissing feet, even humping feet seems to be a down right favorite pastime for many men and women.

I've heard sex researchers theorize that it all comes down to pheromones. The feet, like the underarms and crotch, produce pheromones in the sweat. Though the precise method is unproven, mainstream science is inclined to believe that pheremones are a chemical signal to our brains encouraging reproductive behavior.

And if you'd heard the calls I have, you'd believe it. The smell is always a huge factor for foot fetishists. Whether they like the feet bare or in shoes, clean or dirty, with siren red nail polish or plain, natural toes, they all want to sniff and kiss as they worship a gal's feet.

And if a guy gets off by giving me a pedicure... hey! I'll sit patiently while he talks about licking and kissing, rubbing lotion on my heels, filing, and polishing my nails.

Although I'm inclined to believe it would ruin the wet polish when he ejaculates on it.

Sometimes I don't know my own strength

2005-07-26T11:44:00.000-07:00

Me: Hi, this is Tessa, who's this?

Him: Umm.. I'm Bob.

Me: Hi Bob, how are ya doing tonight?

Him: Uh.. good I guess.

Me: Just good? We'll have to work on that. Where are you calling from?

Him: Georgia

Me: Georgia? I love Georgia! I was eating a Georgia peach last night.

Him: Oh yeah?

Me: Yeah, her name was Maggie. She was sweet and juicy.

Him: oh, mmm, ooh, oooooh, oooooooooooh...

{{{click}}}

And Now We Dance

2005-07-23T20:28:00.000-07:00

I remember once upon a time being a bit amazed by Madonna's Sex book. Back when it came out, the idea of being out of the closet with your kink was outrageous to me.

My how times change.

Nowadays, I've spoken to plenty of submissives and Doms and I've befriended a few Mistresses. You might find this shocking, but I know for a presonal fact that most of them look nothing like the people in this video.

Music Video Codes By VideoCodeZone

A Sniffly, Snuffly, Sneezy Fetish Friday

2005-07-22T12:26:00.000-07:00

"Oh dear Operator," I hear you whisper, and I'm touched by the concern in your voice. "You're not sick, are you?"

Save your chicken soup for another day darlings, I'm not sick. Though as much cannot always be said for my callers. Now gather round lovies, and you shall have a story.

Once upon a Fetish Friday, there was a man who called a phone sex line. With charm and skill, The Operator was able to draw from the man, his most secret and treasured sexual fantasy.

"Operator15," said the man, his tone heavy with anticipation "could you, if you can't I understand, but I'd really love if you could manage, possibly, to sneeze for me? I have a sneezing fetish."

Despite her usually implacable demeanor there was a noticeable moment's delay in The Operator's response.

"I'm sorry, did you say sneezing?"

"It's OK if you can't, I know it's weird."

"No! No, no, no, no no dear," The Operator protested a bit too emphatically. "No, I was just thinking it's fortunate you called now, because I've been feeling a bit, um, sneezy today." The Operator grimaced.

"You don't think it's weird?"

"Not at all, as a matter of fact I have one coming on now.. ah.. ahh.. ACHOO!"

There was an awkward silence as both The Operator and the caller realized how bad the faux sneeze sounded.

The Operator was in trouble and she knew it.

Franticly, her eyes scanned the desk before her. There, silently mocking her, were all her Foley props. There were two glasses of water, for keeping her throat moist, and also to simulate a golden showers for those callers who enjoyed them. There was a bottle of lotion to help her simulate sloppy wet sex sounds with her hands and standing next to it, The Operator's electric toothbrush patiently waited to mimic a vibrator.

There was absolutely nothing that could tickle her healthy nostrils to a sneeze. To her dismay, the tops of her door and window frame had been recently dusted and even the hundreds of books lining her office wall, usually a haven for dust bunnies, had just been given "the proper cleaning." 'Damn my mother and her visits' she bitched to herself.

The Operator realize she needed to buy herself some time. Thinking quickly, she asked the question calculated to bring the longest response.

"So tell me, how did you first learn that sneezing turns you on."

Like a man recounting his first time with a woman, he began the story of his sexual sneezing history. As he talked, The Operator did something she'd never done before, she put the phone down as quietly as she could on the padding of her office chair, and quickly slipped out of the room.

The race was on. She only had to make it through the dining room and across the kitchen to get to the pepper mill. She was there within seconds but as she turned back, the bizarre thought occurred to that her that her mother's New York City apartment could probably fit in the space between herself and her office chair. She wondered if she'd taken too long already. With all the speed she could muster (without crashing into things) The Operator dashed back to her office, grabbing a linen napkin from the dining table along the way. As she grabbed the phone, The Operator heard the man still speaking.

Unfortunately, for her, he was asking "are you still there?"

"I'm right here baby."

"You were so quiet, I thought you'd put down the phone or something."

'Oh shit' thought The Operator, 'I need to get him off this topic.'

"Oh, baby, I was just listening to you" she lied, "and touching myself."

There was a gratifying hiss from the other end of the line and The Operator knew she was home free.

"I was just thinking of how my whole torso sort of twitches when I sneeze" she told him as she ground some pepper into the palm of her hand and sniffed it.

"I thought it might feel kind of good to sneeze while I was... while I.... ppffftCHSSSSH!"

The caller moaned loudly in response to an unmistakably genuine sneeze.

The caller spent the next few minutes in orgasmic delight as The Operator repeatedly sniffed, snuffled, snorted, sneezed, and blew her nose into the linen napkin. When at last it was over, he murmured sleepy sweet nothings to his new playmate, promising to call again often.

From the day forward, the little pepper mill proudly took his place between the lotion and the toothbrush, where he lived happily ever after.

To Everything There Is A Twisted Season

2005-07-19T17:25:00.000-07:00

Beleive it or not, I've not always been the aural sex expert you see before you today.

I used to have a *real* job. {{{gasp..shudder..swoon}}}

I've been a cocktail waitress, a voice actress (commercials and radio), an office manager , and a corporate trainer specializing in customer service call centers. Throughout much of my twenties, I did two or more of these jobs at any given time.

Normally, the only thime I miss being in a traditional job, is the rare occasion I see my grandmother and feel compelled to lie about my job or risk giving her a stroke.

Fortunately for me, there are plenty of people around who remind me of what I'm not missing. They are fabulously funny people talking about their conventional jobs and I highly recommend checking out their Blogs.

Waiter: has brilliantly witty stories which can be appreciated by anyone whether they've worked in the service industry or not.

Madman: works with a truly disgusting girl whose saga has become an addiction for many.

PeanutButterFilthy: has all the pretty girls flirting with him because he has a funny Blog, and I suspect, because they don't realize it's actually Sid Vicious in his icon and not him. But we won't tell. I'm sure he's every bit the hottie Sid was twenty odd years ago.

Anonymous Me: lives in the ninth circle of hell where takes consumer complaints for a government agency. Poor bastard: funny Blog.

I hope you visit them and enjoy.

Remember When TV Was Where You Went To Escape Reality For Few Hours A Week?

2005-07-18T22:23:00.000-07:00

The Learning Channel aired a show called 101 Things Removed From The Human Body. Some jokes just don't need a punch line do they?

Oh, but how could I resist...

I hear VH1 is doing a similar show called Top 100 Wildest Celebrity Insertions.. I don't want to spoil it for you, but I think number one is a gerbil.

Just another Manic Mon.. er, Fetish Friday

2005-07-15T16:43:00.000-07:00

Ok, here we go...

Plushies.

Not to be confused with Furries. Plushies, or Plushophiles, are people who love and lust after stuffed animals.

Sigh..

I'm trying to be open minded here people.

Look, it's not you, it's me. I just have a headache today. After all, it's no weirder than having a thing for Tony the Tiger is it? And I made it through the Friday about Furries ok, didn't I?

Did you know there's stuffed animal porn on the internet? There are pictures out there of spunk covered Teddy bears posted

Maybe I could see it, you're sleeping with the Teddy bear anyway, you're in bed, it's in bed... I've had a couple opf sleep-overs that when that way. But some days buddy... it's really hard not to laugh *at* you instead of with you.

Other People's Secrets

2005-07-13T09:46:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, oral sex was kinky. Well, in the past few hundred years anyway.

But since it's always been around, there was always someone on the block who knew about it. So our grandfathers and great-grandfathers heard about this lovely little notion of oral exploration and many undoubtedly thought it sounded like a wonderful idea. The problem was, it's just not polite to ask a nice girl to do anything so ... unsanitary.

Of course, in present days, few men have trouble indicating a desire for a little mouth action, and most women are willing to do it (although, despite what she may say, surveys show only about 30% of women actually enjoy doing it, sorry fellas).

Well, aside from a little disillusionment, that all worked out fine didn't it? But now we've evolved and we have a new secret that no one knows that everyone wants, The Rusty Trombone.

What? You've never heard of The Rusty Trombone? Well, it starts with a bit of fellatio, and while the gal or guy is down there, they slide a wet finger into their partners rectum. The pressure against the prostate provides a more intense orgasm.

And you thougth you hadn't heard of it.

As you can imagine, most men who've heard of this move have been interested in trying it out. How do I know most men want it? Heh.. silly skeptic. Of the calls I get, and those to the thousands of operators I've monitored, easily 90% end up with the gentleman caller either literally, or in fantasy, having his bottom played with. That's no coincidence. Though I will admit, guys who call phone sex lines may not be a representative sample of the population at large. But I'll tell ya, they aren't far from it.

OK, if we accept as fact that it's normal for guys to desire a little anal, along with their oral pleasure, why is it most guys aren't actually getting it? Simple, as with our grandfathers, it's just not polite to ask a girl to do anything so ... unsanitary.

Let me help you out a little here guy. Once we've taken your penis in our mouths, once you've asked us to ingest your bodily discharges, once we've had our noses a scant two inches from the spot, slipping a digit up your bum is really small potatoes. And while we're at it, anything that helps you finish before my jaw aches is a blessing. Capiche?

What did I say?

2005-07-11T09:29:00.000-07:00

Me: So baby, tell me, what's your hottest fantasy? What really trips your trigger?

Him: I dunno, anything.

Me: Anything? Really?

Him: yeah, sure.

Me: I know a twelve inch strap-on that says you're lying.

**click**

Oh how perfect!

2005-07-08T15:17:00.000-07:00

I won't do this often, but I had to share,

If I were a crayon I'd be:

What Rejected Crayon Are You?

A Fetish Friday ago, in galaxy far far away....

2005-07-08T10:37:00.000-07:00

Words can be such wonderfully morphemic things. They grow and evolve over the years until their spelling, their pronunciation, sometimes even their meanings adapt to their environment.

"Furry" is one of those words that has morphed in recent years. No longer simply an adjective describing the tactile surface of a creature or material, Furry is now a noun in the fetish world.

Furries are people who are attracted to and like to imagine themselves as animals who exhibit human features and traits. This can mean anything from cartoon animals with the ability to speak and walk upright to the mascot at your favorite ball game or even the half-man half-beast creatures from Greek mythology. All are prime targets of Furry fascination.

To show what a truly diverse group I'm talking about here, a Furry need not actually be furry. Some fly, some swim, some hop, some are furry, some are not. Some Furries have fins, feathers or scales. Mermaids for example, or Hawk men, or the dolphin from Seaquest DSV.

Furries tend to be big fans of science fiction and fantasy shows and books. Like others in such fandoms, the most diehard fans sometimes get together for conventions where they mingle and on occasion, dress as their favorite furry creature.

I've not spoken with many Furries and I'm not entirely sure what attracts them to the fetish. Perhaps it's the way the fantasy creatures often blend only the best of human intelligence and animal power. Perhaps its the mingling of the wild and the civilized. Or maybe it just began with a crush on Peter Criss that got out of hand. I dunno.

I do know I once thought the dancer who played Mungojerrie in Cats must be really cute under all that make-up... but I don't think that quite qualifies me as a Furry.

One question does pop into mind though. If your thinking about a man who's half horse, does that make it half-beastiality?

Hypocrisies In The Mirror May Be Closer Than They Appear

2005-07-06T22:12:00.000-07:00

Surprising as it may seem to the uninitiated, the world of phone sex operators tend to be divided into two distinct categories. The "Do"s and the "Do-not"s.

Now the "Do"s do just about anything. Or rather, they talk about just about everything. While the "Do-not"s, do not. Which is not to say that the "Do-not"s do not do anything, it is only to say that the "Do-not"s do not do everything. I mean, they do not *talk* about everything. But they do about some things. Talk, I mean.

While most “Do”s and “Do not”s live side by side in harmony, there can be some contention between some of them based simply on their different tolerance levels.

Th “Do-not"s don't feel comfortable talking about certain taboo subjects, such as pedophilia, beastiality, incest, or rape. The "Do"s don't mind so much. The "Do"s usually have the attitude that if the "Do Not"s don't want to talk about everything, they, the "Do"s will, and they'll make good money doing it while the “Do not”s are normally happy to let the “Do”s take the calls they don’t want to think about much less hear.

The "Do"s rationalize correctly that fantasy is a healthy thing, and that most people fantasize about things they would never actually do, or even want to do in real life. For instance, some of the most common fantasies are of homosexual encounters. The majority of people have thought about it at one time or another. Does this make the majority of people homosexual? Of course not.

So it is, that a man who has a fantasy of taking a woman by force is no more inclined to act out the fantasy than the woman who masturbates while imagining herself being dragged into a dark alley.

One fallacious rationalization some "Do"s come up with is the theory that "if the callers are talking about it, they're not doing it. After all, they gave their names and credit card numbers when they called so they wouldn't confess to any crimes if they were real."

This is a nice theory, and for the most part, it's true. But, it's not to say that *no* men ever call phone sex lines to fantasize before commiting a crimes. As far as I know, the link between phone sex and sex crimes has never been studied, but it stands to reason if people can be so bold as to post pictures of their victims online, or try to pick up preteens in chat rooms, then talking about it on the phone might just be small potatoes for these guys.

For the most part though, the "Do"s are reasonable people who are able to accept the incredibly unlikely chance that they might, one day, talk to a truly sick individual who commits atrocities. They realize they are far more likely to be stuck by a car and continue to work, just as they continue to cross the street every day.

While most "Do"s and "Do Not"s get along, realizing that there's no shame in having different tolerance levels, some very vocal "Do not"s and very defensive "Do"s can get into some truly ugly shit flinging.

The crusading "Do not"s can become accusatory about what they perceive as "sick" callers and the operators who talk to them, thus condoning their perverted fantasies. Certain "Do"s get defensive and call them naive or over sensitive and tell them they're in the wrong business.

Since defending children, animals, and innocent victims is such passionate work, sometimes the "Do not"s can get carried away, accusing the "Do"s of contributing to the victimization of children and being no better than child molesters themselves.

This is where it's no longer just a matter of personal tolerance and becomes an example of extreme intolerance.

While I myself don't feel comfortable listening to fantasies of abuse, I also feel uncomfortable seeing people who should be sticking together turning on each other with a sense of moral superiority that is, quite frankly, utterly undeserved.

Whether they realize it or not, there are very few of us who have the fortune to live in a prosperous country who haven’t unwittingly been a party to child victimization by buying products made, mined, or harvested by children who were abused physically, emotionally, and sexually.

If they’ve worn clothes, owned jewelry, talked on a cell phone, bought an oriental rug, eaten produced harvested by migrant workers, or purchased just about anything from a discount department store with a sticker on it that said "Made in (insert your favorite impoverished country with a corrupt government)", they are living in a glass house.

I realize some of you reading this little blog of mine may actually be one of the “Do not”s I’m referring to. This is not intended as a slam. It is an appeal to those of you who seem sensitive to a cause.

If you really want to help abate the victimization of children, you need not worry so much about the fantasies other people talk about and focus on what you yourself do to make actual child abuse profitable.

Information is a wonderful thing, please familiarize yourself with how you can help by boycotting products made with child labor. http://www.stopchildlabor.org/

****steps down from soapbox and folds up to put away until next time***

Fetish Concerto in Fri. No. VI

2005-06-30T13:42:00.000-07:00

For today, I thought I'd play with what at first I saw as a variation on a freaky f***ing theme.

Todays fetish takes us into the realm of uncontrolled growth, a type of size morphing.

Unlike macrophilia, another size morphing fantasy, where the man has an attraction to giants or giantesses and often fantasizes himself shrinking to become the play thing of his fantasy lover, with growth fantasies, the caller fantasizes about enhanced virility and control through the growth of his penis.

A trait typical of all size morphing fantasies a detail that is perhaps signifigant, that the men almost always seem to put themselves in the roll of the person changing. They place themselves in the role of changling as opposed to having their lust interests change in shape or size.

There may be multiple reasons for this. For one thing, size is perceived in relative terms. Whetever attracts a caller to giantesses may conceivably be enhanced whent his surroundings, as well as his lady, are all larger than normal. As he puts his lover in the role of demi-goddess, he is also literally lessening himself as opposed to turning the lover into an abnormal creature.

In the case of the man who wants his penis to grow to an unnatural size, again, perspective is everything, and a large penis against a normal size body could seem even bigger. In addition, he may want the focus to remain on the size of his penis, by shrunkinig his partner, the focus would be transferred to her small size. Shrinking his partner may also bring unwanted images of pedophilia. This man doesn't want to dominate children with his virility, he wants to be larger than life, able to leap tall blondes with a single jerk.

As an operator, the problems with this type of fantasy can be the narrow focus od it all. With a macrophilac, there us usually a whole set up and scenario leading up to his capture and torment. There is a story arc with a beginning, a middle, and an end.

With the morphing penises, it's usually just "oh, my gosh, it's getting bigger." What is normally just the beginning of the fantasy, an engorged and growing penis, is now turned into the goal and the journey all rolled into one.

In their own way, these calls become even more ridiculous than the giantess calls. You start off with a penis getting bigger, then it gets bigger, and finally, it gets bigger. If the guy as been drinking and is having a bit of trouble acheiving his *ahem* goal, the penis has to get bigger still. It's not unheard of for these calls to continue until the caller has a schlong as long as his leg and the woman is being stretched to bursting. Here I can't help but point out the contrast from the macrophilacs, in that the violent end comes not to himself but to the woman. Where the macrophiliac seems to desire become a part of all things feminine, the man with the morphing penis wants to become little more than the essence of masculine virility.

On a personal note, all I can say is, thank goodness most companie have time limits on calls so that he caller is eventually cut off, otherwise, there could be no end to the fantasy for a man who has a buzz on.

Think of it, first, he just has to walk with a limp until the schmeckle hits the floor, then he has to wear platform shoes. If it keeps groing, he has to dress it up in order to go out. He has to buy two seats at the movie theater. Left unchecked, he'll have to move in a loft apartment just to let it have room to dangle.

Was That An Orgasm Or Do You Just Have A Weak Heart

2005-06-27T09:46:00.000-07:00

I was seventeen, fresh out of school and still relatively innocent. He was a British photographer, too old to date jailbait, but too reckless to care. It was late and we were on the phone together, watching TV.

Star 80 was airing. If you're unfamiliar, it's about a Playboy centerfold who was killed by her estranged husband. As the film told her life story, we watched her as a young woman, about my age. Her future husband was taking the pictures which would start her career as a nude model. It was a titillating scene as the actress smiled, blushes, and began to strip.

My boyfriend and I lay in our respective beds, watching with nearly silent phones pressed to our ears. The parallel between the film couple and ourselves seemed evident, and I couldn't help but imagine myself being seduced into baring my young body for his camera. No doubt, he was thinking the same.

His voice was soft and husky when he spoke. "Are you randy?"

I blinked. "Um... no, I'm Dani." We'd been dating for three weeks! How could he not know my name?

"No, no, no. I know your name. I mean... Well, are you.. excited?"

"Excited?" I repeated dumbly.

"The movie," he explained, clearly reconsidering the likelihood of my seduction, "is the movie making you feel sexy."

There was the faint sound of a penny dropping.

"Ooooooh, I get it. You want to know if I'm horny!"

"Horny? What an awful word for it! Horny. What kind of word is that to describe it?"

"Don't ask me, I didn't make it up. But at least you can see where it might have come from. Who was Randy and why the hell did he get a state of being named after him?"

"Oh, never mind."

We fell back into silence as the movie continued. Sometime before the distinctly un-sexy murder/suicide ending, things turned steamy again. And again, my boyfriend tried to initiate a pointed conversation.

"So, what do you think of the movie so far?"

"Well, it's not exactly Casablanca, but it's ok,"

"Perhaps not, but Casablanca didn't have sex scenes."

"No, a great kiss though."

"So do you like them?"

"Who?"

"The sex scenes."
"Oh."

"Aren't they getting to you at all?"

As dense as I'd been to this point, I understood by his tone that there were distinctly right and wrong answers to this question. I answered weakly, but correctly.

"I suppose."

"What are you going to do about it?"

TA-DAH!!! Danielle, welcome to your first phone sex call!

The next twenty minutes were spent with me talking as little as possible, not knowing what to say. I listened, not quite believing my dignified, mature boyfriend was actually doing all the things he described in such explicit detail. But as his breath became harder and his creaky bedsprings became audible, I began to believe. I listened in a fascinated state of arousal and discomfort.

Suddenly, and seemingly without warning, there was a loud, sharp gasp. Then a snort and grunt followed by a sort of squeak and another snort. At last, there was complete and frightening stillness.

I waited a few seconds, desperate to hear breathing.

Nothing.

'Oh my G-d,' I thought, 'he's had a heart attack!' My mind raced with panic. 'I have to call the police! I have to call an ambulance! Oh shit, I DON'T KNOW HIS ADDRESS!'

I quickly formulated a plan. I would have to put the phone down without hanging it up and race to the nearest pay phone. If I called the police, they could trace the call to his address.

My eyes widened as I pictured the police breaking down his door hours later only to find him in his bedroom, dead and already stiffening, one hand on the phone, the other on his penis.

I held the phone tight to my ear, gaping in horror. My mother was gonna know what I'd been talking about!

I looked at the phone’s cradle, weighing my options. If I hung up, there was always the possibility his roommate would get home in time to revive him.

'Oh, G-d' I thought, 'I'm going to Hell.' I'm Jewish, we don't even believe in Hell, but I was willing to bet I was on my way anyway.

Finally, after seemingly endless seconds wavering between humiliation and damnation, my redemption came in the form of a weak and happy voice floating up from the receiver.

"Dan? Did you cum?”

T.G.I. Fetish Friday

2005-06-24T08:43:00.000-07:00

Panties, knickers, drawers, undies, smalls, dainties, panties, PANTIES, PANTIES!!!

You might be surprised to hear (or, you might be if you weren't so worldly and experienced, you dashing young sophisticate you) that some of the most common calls I get are from men who have pilfered their girlfriend's underpants and are ready to play.

Some men and women just love em. Mostly men. They love to see them, they love to feel them, they love to smell them and on occasion, the love to wear them. From Butch-boys to Nancy-men, the panties hold special fascination.

I used to know some guys in Special Forces who would cut out the crotch of their girlfriends' or wives' panties and tuck them into the hem of their caps for use on those long lonely nights out in the field. Every time they came home and left again, they'd take with them a freshly soiled panty crotch in their hats.

I've quizzed countless men on what attracts them to ladies' delicates. After all, women don't exactly hold men's dirty underpants in the same regard do they? I could be wrong, I do tend to talk more often with men so my survey is no doubt as skewed as Kinsey's original data. (Have I mentioned, I think Kinsey was an ass?) But I do believe the idea of inhaling a little "Eau de Tighty-whitey" is more likely to evoke a gag than a flush of lust from a woman.

Most of the time, the response to my questioning is little more than incoherent moaning. But on occasion, I've been enlightened. One of the more eloquent answers went something along the lines of "I love women. I worship them. I want to envelope myself in all things feminine." Bravo, Mr. Pany-Man! Bravo!

I found a fascinating Blog by a guy who is less inclined to wear women's underwear himself, but is obsessed with them on their owners. His "Panty Story"seems at times to be just that, a story. But whether the story is a fantasy, a true recollection, or a little of both, it certainly lends some insight into what goes through the mind of a man who wants nothing more than to see a girl flash her briefs.

It all comes back to those childhood impressions. How boring. Every Friday it boils down to the same old thing, childhood imprinting. I wish, just for a change, some guy would go through life without a single kink and then WHAM! Suddenly he's a freak for golden showers. Now I bet THAT would be an interesting story. Of course, by now, I wouldn't believe any man who told me he only *just* started thinking of latex in an erotic way. Oh well.

As for the panty-men, I just can't I stop thinking of Buck Henry on those original SNL sketches where he played the old perv who would get young girls in short dresses to "play horsey" and then sneak behind them to take pictures of their panties. Oh the life lessons that were to be learned from the Not Ready For Prime-Time Players, if only I'd known to pay attention at the time. My hat, and panties, off you you ladies and gentlemen.

It's a Small, Smutty World

2005-06-23T15:48:00.000-07:00

I love the internet. How else could a virtual hermit in Oregon not only work from home, but meet and network with a self-described smut-aholic, a Canadian porn director, and a chubbychaser from the midwest.

I've been to the midwest, that's a good place to find 'em.

I love my job!

If You're Gonna Be Original, You Can Count On Being Copied

2005-06-21T20:29:00.000-07:00

Those there are some wise words from the label of my Mike's Hard Lemonade bottle.

I like Mike's Hard Lemonade. It's not quite a Shandy but it can be bought by the six pack in American grocery stores. Can't say that about shandy. I suppose I could mix my own beer and lemonade, but that's a little too close to cooking for my tastes.

Anyway, let's see, where was I? Oh yeah, being copied.

I've recently become aware, that among the many men and women who are out there trolling away online, through websites and chat rooms, there are a few unsavory and unscrupulous operators who will steal website content from other operators. Sometimes, they steal not only the content, but bandwidth as well by simply hyperlinking to another operator's pictures instead of actually hosting the images on their own site. Sometimes they copy the entire site, in an attempt to impersonate a successful operator and steal their regular callers.

It's a hard job those women do, going out and promoting themselves, flirting endlessly with guys who only tell them "how about you call me directly?" They put money and time into buying pictures and thinking up content for their sites. And they work hard to build a client base. It's pretty ugly for other operators, who know the deal, to hone in on someone else's action.

I drunkenly blow a razzberry at all who stoop to such pilfering. Pfffffft :p

Sorry about the spit.

Bicent... Bicent...um, I Suppose The Word I'm Looking For Would Be Bicent-hitial.

2005-06-21T14:28:00.000-07:00

I'm celebrating the 200th hit to my blog. Woo hoo! (It takes so little to make me happy.)

I'm especially excited, cause 200 page views can't all be from me.

Return of Fetish Friday

2005-06-17T14:31:00.000-07:00

Sssssssmokin!

That's right. Smoking is this Friday's Fetish of the Week. Cigarette smoking, cigar smoking, pipe smoking, even bong smoking. If you smoke it, they will come.

After years of being told about cancer and bad breath, smokers are finding their place in the hazy sun. Sites like Kandy's Smoking Fetish are popping up all over the place to celebrate sexy smokers.

What would cause a person to take pleasure from the sight of someone inhaling carcinogens like a cowardly suicide? Probably the same things that lure people into smoking to begin with. The impression that smokers are cool and popular. The youthful idea that people seem more mature with a cigarette dangling from the fingertips or lips. A notion that a cigar adds an element of masculinity or a that pipe lends sophistication to it's smoker.

True, the reality would be laughable in it's irony if the consequences weren't so serious. There's nothing mature about trading your health for an image, there's nothing masculine about a man with a constant wheeze, and there's no sophistication in nicotine stained hair and teeth.

Please don't misunderstand. I don't mean to bash smokers. I still consider myself to be one, though I haven't lit up in seven years. Even now I am known to occasionally stand downwind of another smoker, breathing deeply the tainted air as if to enjoy the nicotine without the cancer. So no, I'm not implying smokers are inherently foolish. But let's face it. It wasn't the smartest thing we did when we took that first drag.

In our defense, and by way of further explanation, we did have some powerful early images directing our perceptions. Our first heroes and heroines of cool have often been associated with cigarettes, from Humphrey Boggart to James Dean and from Bette Davis to Madonna, the cigarette has been an important prop to convey a worldly persona. In Grease, sweet, virginal Sandy's transformation into the hot little vixen who "would" is made complete with the flick of a cigarette. How better could I emphasize the correlation between sex and cigarettes.

It can hardly be surprising to find some men and women might have been hardwired to associate smoke and sex appeal. And let's not forget, we have a very phallic symbol being brought to the lips in mock fellatio. It wouldn't take Freud to figure this one out.

So to those of you who still light up after dinner (at home), or skip the coffee for a smoke break (outside the building), enjoy it while you can and take pictures while you're still young and beautiful enough to sell them. There's a market out there for you baby!

I don't normally have an addictive personality but...

2005-06-16T21:42:00.000-07:00

Well, OK, maybe I do a little bit.

I can drink coffee until the cows come home and bedtime becomes a nonproductive, eight hour, twitch-fest. I can knit all day to finish a three scarf ruana that should have taken another week to do, knitting and purling until my wrist aches and still continuing after that. I can shop until my savings are a distant memory and my house is full of crap I don't need and will never use.

I know, I know, this isn't necessarily addiction, it's just stupidly overdoing things. I'd agree with you (um.. me actually, since really, I'm the one who posed the argument. Does that make me schizophrenic as well as addictive?) but I do these things regularly. I don't learn from my mistakes and I'm not deterred by the caffeine headaches, aching wrists, and days of eating naught but pasta as I stare at my vast collection of shiny crap like a jealous magpie. Isn't that slightly addictive?

Hmmm, I'm going to have to rethink the title of this post.

Anyway, I've now found a new obsession. It could seem I can sit in front of a computer for the whole of my day off, eating in front of the monitor, knitting in front of the monitor, drinking coffee in front of the monitor. "Porn?" you ask. (well, I think you ask). No, that would be too easy. It's Blogs I've discovered, Darling. Blogs!

Ironic as it is to post in a Blog, I only recently began reading them. I had no clue how to find the ones I'd be interested in and no patience to sift through all the discarded, forgotten, and plain old boring Blogs out there in the hopes of finding a gem.

Well, as I imagine *you* already know, there are search engines just for Blogs. I've been cruising Blogarama, Popdex, Bloggernity and Blog Search Engine and finding all sorts of relevant posts. So, my ass was stuck in an office chair for my entire day off. I excused it by telling myself it was raining and I couldn't go out anyway. But I'm having trouble justifying the laundry which first began to grow musty in the washing machine, and then, got wrinkled while waiting for me in the dryer.

I hear you asking, "what the hell does this have to do with phone sex, fool? You promised the real world of phone sex." (That was you asking wasn't it? I'd be worried if it was those voices again.)

Well, here's what it has to do with phone sex. You see, I've been reading Blogs and chatting with other Phone Sex Operators. It's a pleasant and unusual circumstance for people who work from home as I do, to be able to network and share the challenges and rewards of their job. Your beloved Operator15 has been making friends in the industry, Dear. Aren't you glad?

I've been introduced to the virtual water cooler and I'm loving it.

So, I'm talking to a guy with three testicles:

2005-06-15T22:29:00.000-07:00

And I'm all like "dude, you got an extra ball."

And he's all like "yeah, I know."

And I'm like "seriously?"

And he's all "do people often lie to you about the number of testicles they have?"

And so I'm like "well, I'm pretty sure a lot of them add inches to the the length."

And he's like "I think that's a little different."

And he was right. It is.

Michael Jackson is found Not Guilty?

2005-06-13T14:40:00.000-07:00

And I thought I was clever for smiling my way out of a few tickets.

I am SUCH an amateur!

Fetish Friday III: Son of Fetish

2005-06-10T12:07:00.000-07:00

Psychology Today writes " Psychoanalysts theorize that an individual with a paraphilia is repeating or reverting to a sexual habit that arose early in life. " Perhaps that explains this Friday's fetish.

Virophilia: A sexual attraction to Super-heroes.

OK, so, to the best of my knowledge, it wasn't really a word before now. I just made it up. But it should have been a word. It's a good word. It has flair.

Super-hero attraction is an actual fetish though, and it falls under the psychological heading of Paraphilias Not Otherwise Specified.

There are a LOT of unspecified paraphilias. In fact, most of them are unspecified. For the most part, the only *specified* paraphilias are the ones that are either criminal or harmful to oneself. Oh, and transvestitism.

Some people have debated whether generally harmless fetishes deserve to be considered paraphilias. The argument is that people with innocuous fetishes, such as an attraction to foreigners (xenophilia), shouldn't be lumped into the same category as rapists (biastophilia).

The problem is, it's impossible to altogether avoid being categorized in a way which associates you with someone or something you don't like. For instance, I don't wish to be categorized with my ex-husband. So instead of calling him human, shall I re-categorize him as homo-assholian? I'd like to, but then we'd both still be primates anyway. Words by themselves are neutral things. It's only how you use them that make them good or bad. Kind of like The Force. Though admittedly, some words are mighty difficult to use in a pleasant context. The word ex-husband, for instance.

So, breaking the word down to it's purest form: para, meaning "other" and philia meaning "love," paraphilia refers simply to the love of something other. Other than what? Well, the inference is, other than the norm. And when it all comes down to it, a fetish for a man in a cape may be harmless and even understandable when we're talking Christopher Reeve, but it's not exactly the norm. And in a society that prides itself on it's sense of freedom and individuality, that is a blessed, blessed thing.

So here's to all you lovers of capes, spandex, enormous breasts, and the American Way. I hope you have a really lovely Saturday morning stroke-fest tomorrow.

Me: Him:

2005-06-08T10:59:00.000-07:00

Me: Hi, this is Suzie. What's you're name?

Him: Just suck it

Me: ...

Him: Did you hear me? I said "just suck it."

Me: Your mother named you Justsuckit?

click

You think my job is hot? You should try being a milkman.

2005-06-05T13:08:00.000-07:00

Salary.com has released the results of a poll they did to determine the sexiest job. Firefighter won with 16% of the 5,000 votes, followed by Flight Attendant with 13%.

The results for the top ten sexiest jobs were as follows:
1. Firefighter
2. Flight attendant
3. CEO
4. Reporter
5. Interior designer
6. Event planner
7. Nurse
8. Teacher
9. Doctor
10. Lawyer

Write in votes included "parcel deliverers, CPAs, electrical line workers, radiological technologists...and of course, the proverbial 'milkman.'"

OK, that's it, next time a guy asks me what I do for a day job, I'm telling him I'm a milkman.

Fetish Friday: Parte Deux

2005-06-03T12:46:00.000-07:00

Macrophilia: sexual attraction to giants or giantesses.

Many men with macrophiliac tendencies develop surprisingly similar fantasies to explain how they come to be in the presence of a giantess. Despite what you might think, I've yet to come across a Jack and the Beanstalk type scenario.

Almost without fail, men will set out the fantasy to play as such:

They are on a date. The woman brings them back to her home for a nightcap. As they chat and flirt, she speaks seductively, with a knowing gleam in her eye. At this point, she either slips a potion or drug in his drink, or she speaks soothingly to him, hypnotizing him. He begins to notice he's shrinking.

As he shrinks, his voice gets smaller and higher. The woman laughs and begins to play with him like a cat with a mouse. She lets him run for a bit, only to catch him easily in her giant, manicured hands. She may put him in a cage, or she may just pick him up, letting him dangle helplessly from her fingertips. He is powerless to fight her.

Sometimes, but by no means always, he is used as a sex toy. Forced to burrow into her womanly cavern like a hamster through a well known actor's rectum.

As unorthodox as this all is, the disturbing part of these scenarios is the often violent end. Whether the man is lost forever, suffocating as a human benwa ball, or swallowed, or whether he is stomped beneath a story tall stiletto heel, it's disturbing to know someone might envision their own death as part of a sexual fantasy.

Once again, I find myself wondering what circumstances led to this type of fantasy. Did The Attack Of The Fifty Foot Woman really spark their starters? Was their first crush very tall? Did they want to be Stuaat Little when they were kids?

The prevailing aspects of the fantasies are the man's diminutive size and relative helplessness. Could this be somehow reminiscent of childhood? If so, you might expect to find an element of nurturing and protection coming from the character of the giantess. While the protection can certainly be illustrated by his utter dependence on her for his very life, the murderous end would seem to cancel that theory out.

With the fantasies of being swallowed, or otherwise being taken internally, there could be a desire to of become a literal part of the woman.

He's clearly turning his entire body into a Phallus, maybe he's just been equated to one so many times he's taken it to heart? Or maybe he's just trying to imagine his whole body feeling as good as his penis does during orgasm.

I have to admit, I'm completely stumped on this one. Any armchair therapists want to try explaining this one? I'd love to read your comments.

So There I Was, Knitting A Three Scarf Ruana In A Lovely Shade Of Winter Wheat

2005-06-02T07:48:00.000-07:00

The phone rings.

Before I'm connected to the caller, a recording tells me he called for a transsexual. He wants a walk on the wild side, the best of both words, a he-she, a chick with a di... uh, ahem . Well, you know what I'm talking about right? That special body part only guys have? It tends to stick out on men, where women are smooth? That's right, an Adam's apple.

Anyway, I raise my voice a bit to say "Hello." You might think I'd lower it to sound masculine, but no. If I did that, I'd just end up sounding like a woman with a faux-masculine voice. Conversely though, most men who try to sound like women don't usually pull it off completely either. They often sound a bit too high pitched or too feminine. Even transsexuals, who generally take hormones to feminize their features, including their voices, may speak with an idealized version of a female voice. So, to portray a transvestite or a transsexual, I become more feminine. I raise my voice and soften it. I sound just slightly unreal, just enough to make the caller think, 'she sounds too good to be true. She *must* be a man.'

Back to our story.

I'm connected to the pleasant voice of a man in mid to late twenties. The personality behind the voice however, seems to have never left it's teens.

"Hi, my name's Chrissy. Who’s this?"

"Uh, (giggle) Hi Chrissy, my name's Mike. Wow, are you really a dude?"

"Hi there Mike. To answer your question, I'm a lady, Mike. I'm just a lady with a little more to offer then your average gal. About six and a half inches more."

The giggling continues.

"I take it you've never spoken to a girl like me before. Is that right Mike? Am I your first, darling?"

"Yeah, so far as I know. Man, you sound great. Really? You're a dude?"

"Mike, if you keep asking me that, I'm afraid we're going to miss out on some much more interesting conversation. Why don't you tell me what you're up to today."

"Well, I'm just hanging out here at my friend's shop. You sound pretty hot for a dude. I'm already sportin wood."

"I'm flattered, Mike. But you didn't call me from your friend's phone without his permission did you? That wouldn’t be very nice."

"No, nothing like that, I'm on my cell. But listen, I want you to say 'hi' to him ok? Only don't tell him you're a dude. Ok?"

"I assure you Mike, I never tell anyone I'm a dude."

Mike hesitates and seems unsure of my promise. He guesses I'm teasing him about his repeated use of the word dude, and he's right. He also wonders if I'm going to spell out his little prank to his friend. Here he's wrong. I'm being paid to play a part. I knew my mission and I accepted it. I am now honor bound to lie.

Mike, like the dear friend that he is, passes the phone over to Ike, saying there's someone on the line he'd like him to meet. Within moments, I'm on the phone with Ike, making small talk and getting to know him.

"No, I haven't known Mike long," I tell him truthfully. " He seemed eager for us to meet though," I continue, inwardly applauding myself for finding a way to be candid while simultaneously perpetuating a bald faced lie. Somewhere in the background, I hear Mike tell Ike that I am, in fact, a phone sex operator. He neglects to mention that he called for an transsexual operator. I pretend not to hear his 'wink, wink, nudge, nudge' comments in the background

"So, Mike says he's at your store. What do you sell?"

"I own a comic shop."

Alone in my office, I smile, knowing I've just found the path to Ike’s heart. With five little words, I win him over.

"What titles do you read?"

The next half hour is spent discussing the merits of Marvel vs DC, the politics of comic distribution, and reliving the details of a lovely afternoon I once spent with Stan Lee, the creator of Spider-man. We talk about my ex, who managed a comic shop and his ex, who hated comics.

The call automatically disconnects in mid-conversation. Ike calls back from his own phone.

During the conversation I learn that Mike has slipped out of Ike's office to allow us some privacy, no doubt assuming the conversation will be getting steamy but Ike remains a perfect gentleman. He will not be pressured into objectifying a woman he's taken an interest in. Pretty impressive for a guy who surrounds himself with images of unnaturally proportioned super-women in skin tight spandex.

Ike digs me. Ike digs me a lot.

Contrary to the stereotype of a comics reading geek, Ike seems pretty down to earth. He is charming and intelligent. In spite of my truly moderate interest in comics, I find him witty and observant enough to be interesting. Every once in a while, I flirt more pointedly, offering an opportunity to take advantage of the mature possibilities for the call, but I get the distinct impression that Ike prefers simply talking to a woman about all things comic related. He says as much more than once.

"I can't believe there's actually a woman out there who's into comics like this. Of course you'd have to be halfway across the country. How can I tempt you to visit me?"

"I'm enjoying your company as well, Ike. But I'm sure you know I can't agree to meet you. There must be *some* women in your area who like comics. Don't they come into your shop?"

"Yeah, but they all come in with their husbands or boyfriends. I know we can't meet, but I thought I'd at least try. It figures I'd meet a hot girl who likes comics and there's no way I can meet you."

"Now Ike, for all you know, I could be a hideous specimen. I could be acne scarred, morbidly obese, smelly and with one very buck tooth. I could be a man for all you know."

"If you were a man or had one tooth, I don't believe you'd sound as hot as you do. Beyond that, I can handle anything but smelly. Are you smelly?"

"Um, no."

"Ok then, we're good to go."

By now, another half hour had past and we're about to be disconnected again. There's no mistaking the sound of Mike re-entering the room.

"Dude! You've been talking to a dude!" He sounds enormously pleased with his deception. "You're getting into a man, Ike!"

Mike doesn't seem to believe him. "You're so full of it. Now go away, I’m trying to talk to Chrissy."

I can almost hear the penny drop as Ike realizes the unisex nature of the name I've given myself. I can hear him thinking about the part of the conversation where I pointed out I could be a man. At the same time, Mike is trying to convince him of my true identity. He explains that he'd called a number to speak to a transsexual and makes disparaging comments about Ike's virility. He seems to think it’s all good natured fun, but I'm sure the last thing I hear him say before being cut off are the words 'closet case'.

I feel rather sorry when the dial tone sounds in my ear.

The phone rings again and it isn't Ike. Same thing with the next call. I resign myself to talking with men who aren't as charming as Ike, nor seemingly, as intelligent. Not that I normally see men at their best when I take these calls.

Two hours later, I'm about to quit working for the night when the phone rings one last time. Following the formula of only the best Harlequin Romances, it had to be Ike.

"Mike's gone. I had to call back. I could be naive, but I don't believe you're a transsexual."

"I won't try to convince you. I will say this though. Whatever my gender, it wouldn't affect my tastes or my sensibilities. And I genuinely like you. I'm glad you called back. Though I'm sorry you took such a ribbing from Mike."

"Yeah, well, thanks. I'm sorry too. You didn't need to hear that. Sometimes that's just the way he is, but he doesn't mean to be so...."

"Homophobic?"

"Well, yeah. I suppose. I'm sorry if he offended you."

"He truly didn't. But I'll tell you one thing. Next time he calls you a closet case, remind him how he told me he was sportin wood, even though he believes I'm a man."

"He said that?"

"Verbatim. And I'll tell you something else. I don't know where he got the number from, but I *do* know where we advertise. Ask him if he's ever heard of a magazine call Hot Tranny."

I spoke to Ike for the duration of one more call and when our time was up, we said goodbye properly. I never heard from him again.

That was years ago. He’s not the only guy who just wanted to talk or the only one who was ever charming and intelligent. He’s not even the only one I liked or who stood apart from the others in my mind. He’s just one of my favorites.

The moral to this story is simple. You can never judge a book by it's cover. What at first may seem a humorous and titillating anecdote, may turn out to be, nothing more than a rambling and boring blogger’s reminiscence.

In The Interest of Science

2005-05-29T21:09:00.000-07:00

Based on a scientific survey of 25 callers tonight, I have determined that approximately 88.47% of American men have penises larger than eight inches, 7.69% have penises larger than ten inches, and 3.84% have wee little winkies and want me to laugh at them.

Phone Sex Operator Gets Settlement For Masturbation Related Injuries.

2005-05-28T00:05:00.000-07:00

A Florida phone sex operator has won a workers' compensation settlement claiming she was injured after regularly masturbating at work, her lawyer said.

The lawyer told Reuters he was not sure whether the Fort Lauderdale woman's claim was the first of its kind, but it certainly was out of the ordinary.

He said his client agreed to a "minimal settlement" earlier this month. He declined to disclose the amount.

During the course of her claim for workers' compensation benefits, the now 40-year-old employee of Fort Lauderdale's CFP Enterprises, Inc. said she developed carpal tunnel syndrome -- also known as repetitive motion injury -- in both hands from masturbating as many as seven times a day while speaking with callers, said the attorney, who spoke about the case this week on the condition that his client's name not be revealed.

"She was told to do whatever it takes to keep the person on the phone as long as possible," he said.

The woman used one hand to answer the telephone and the other to note customer's names and fetishes and to give herself an orgasm during the verbal exchanges. The calls usually lasted about 15 minutes, although callers who asked for the woman by name were given 30 minutes of talk time, Slootsky said. In her petition for workers' compensation benefits, filed with Florida's Department of Labor and Employment Security in April, the woman claimed she received her injury from "repetitive use of the phone." She claimed weekly benefits of $267 a week -- based on an annual weekly wage of $400 -- and also asked to be reimbursed for $30,000 in medical bills after a neurosurgeon operated on her hands to relieve her pain. Slootsky said his client was too embarrassed to tell her doctor the real cause of her injury and the lack of disclosure led a mediator to advise her that she would have difficult case to prove at trial.
*****

OK, so this isn't exactly news. The earliest version of this story I can find seems to come from back in November of 1999. But I didn't have a Blog back then did I now? And besides, I think this bears repeating. The woman won a settlement over masturbating for crying out loud! And here I've been faking it all along, like a sucker.

Fetish Friday

2005-05-27T07:10:00.000-07:00

Sotophilia: sexual arousal by the sight of certain foods. As in, "he asked me to describe the sight of him putting his penis in the potato salad. "

Potato salad! How did it come to be potato salad? What sort of deranged picnics has he been to?

I mean, without personally finding a practice appealing, I can understand how some fetishes form. As unsanitary as it seems to me, a paraphilia for golden showers is wholly understandable. Those original sexual images from childhood can leave us with a powerful imprint. When a child first begins to notice the differences between genders, they are likely be titillated without quite being sure why. If they haven't yet been taught the basic principles of intercourse, the only use they know of for genitalia is urination. Given this, it's not surprising that the fondest wish of many little boys is simply to see a little girl pee. When a desire is set so firmly in childhood, it can easily last through to maturity. What's more, warm liquid sluicing down the body feels damned good. Put it all together, and a fetish is born.

Keeping this in mind though, and putting all judgments aside in the name of scientific query.. what twisted series of events had to come together, what freakish planets had to align, what perverted karma had to accumulate, for me to find myself discussing the merits of German versus Classic potato salad for lubrication, texture and plain old fashioned sex appeal?

It's been twenty minutes,

2005-05-26T20:11:00.000-07:00

It's been twenty minutes, where are all my responses?

Man, the guys never take this long on the phone.

Truism of the day

2005-05-26T19:52:00.000-07:00

A man with his hand on his penis does NOT bring up subjects that turn him off. If he asks a yes or no question, he probably wants to hear a yes.

"Do you have big breasts?"

"Yeah, they're a nice full 36 DD"

"Do you shave?"

"Oh yes, nice and neat baby"

"Do you ever get kinky?"

"Yeah baby, I love it wild"

"Have you ever watched your father in the shower?"

"NO NO NO!!! In the name of all things decent NO!!!"