What's up buttercup? Operator15's FAQ

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

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 County Slut Is Online! The Country Slut Is Online!

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.

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

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.

My Own Oddest Jobs List

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.

Phone Bonding, Not To Be Confused With Phone Bondage

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!

50 Things About Me No One Needs To Know

Like the man behind the curtain of the Great and Powerful Oz, I hide behind my voices and pick up lines. Because I like you, I'm going tell you a few things about me that are actually true. I wouldn't expect too much enlightenment though, I wouldn't want to tell any truths that would stick.


1. I'm tall.
   
2. Really tall.
   
3. I've only ever seen two or three women taller.
   
4. I'm adopted.
   
5. It was obvious, my parents were short.
   
6. I met my birth mother when I was 28.
   
7. I was shocked to learn that she's kind of short too.
   
8. I thought she had the wrong person until she told me my father
   was 6'7".
   
9. I was the youngest of six siblings.
   
10. Until I was 28, when I learned I had a younger blood brother.
    
11. Now I never know which part applies to me when I see articles about
    the affect of birth order on one's personality.
    
12. I'm clumsy and accident prone.
    
13. I've been injured in car, motorcycle, dirt bike, bicycle,
    skateboard, rollerblading, and horseback riding accidents.
14. Oh, and I fell of a pogo stick once
    
15. I once had amnesia and short term memory loss for two days
    following a fall from my horse.
    
16. It was great, everything I owned was new to me.
    
17. I was very excited to learn I had a horse.
    
18. Because of the short term memory loss, I was excited to learn I
    had a horse about every ten minutes.
    
19. Given my proclivity for accidents, my paralyzing fear of flying
    seems sensible.
    
20. I didn't lose my virginity until a few years after high school.
    
21. But I graduated pretty early.
    
22. I've had sex when I didn't feel like it, just to burn the
    calories.
    
23. I've had sex when I didn't feel like it, just to end a boring date sooner.
    
24. When I was fifteen, I secretly listened to Culture Club.
    
25. I think these lists are shallow exercises in narcissism.
    
26. I like to think I'm self-aware.
    
27. I'm aware of my latent narcissistic tendencies.
    
28. I have a daughter who's everything I wanted to be as a child.
    
29. I have a son who's everything I actually was.
    
30. Sometimes, I hate Karma.
    
31. Considering I was an orphan until I was five, I think Karma
    fucking owes me.
    
32. I have a small, strawberry birthmark on the inside of my right
    forearm.
    
33. I consider any other identifying marks to be strictly classified
    information.
    
34. I've been on television and in the news a number of times.
    
35. I will never admit to where, when, or why.
    
36. I've been known to say some stupid shit when a camera was pointed
    at me.
    
37. I've never done a tenth of the things I've talked about at work.
38. But I as I've talked about things that aren't physically possible, that's not saying much.
    
39. Until I was trying to conceive, I always practiced safe sex.
40. Which is best, because, by my own standards, I was a slut.
    
41. But I still slept with fewer men than my best friend.
42. But I think Madonna's probably slept with fewer men than my best friend.
    
43. I think that last one wasn't actually about me.
    
44. I don't care.
    
45. I'm getting desperate for things to say.
    
46. I'm this--> <--close to making things up.
47. In my spare time I'm a test pilot for NASA and the world's first
    hare-lipped supermodel.
    
48. I just thought of something else about me.
    
49. I often start things and don't finish them.
    
50. 
    
    

Wanna Lick?

I'm sucking a popsickle right now.

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

To Everything There Is A Twisted Season

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.

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

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?”