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The recorded message shouts, “This is a foot fetish call! He wants to worship your feet! He wants to give your feet a tongue bath!”

I gross out and take the call. Feet are so gross! Foot fetish calls are easy enough though, as long as I don’t think about it too much.

Ryan dispenses with the small talk and gets right to the point, “I want you to be submissive. You’re going to be my little whore.”

“Ok!” Which is odd, usually guys who want to tongue bathe my feet are the subs. Maybe he called the wrong line, whatever.

“Choke on my cock, whore!”

“Yes, Sir!”

Yay, good fun. Ryan’s idea of dom and sub is degradation, I play the meek girl, thanking her master for allowing her to choke on his dick. This doesn’t require a whole lot of effort, it’s basically cooing something whenever he stops talking, so I go back to StumbleUpon.

He tells me a line, and I repeat it. Unfortunately, he’s not very creative, and it’s just whorebitchslutwhorebitchslut on a continuous loop. After a dozen times, it’s hard to say, “Oh yes, I’m a dirty fucking whore” with conviction anymore. Especially when you stumble upon cute cat pictures.

“I’m going to lay you on your back and fuck you! I’m going to suck your fucking toes while I do it!” He says with a growl.

“Oh, yes! Do you like my little toes?”

“I do, such cute little toes! Press your foot against my cock, your foot’s even smaller than my dick!”

“Oh, such a big dick!”

We go back and forth for a while about how big his dick is. He doesn’t sound like a big mean dom anymore, or maybe I’m just projecting. I mean, really, once you tell a girl your dick is 10 inches long, why do you need her to keep verifying that for you? But more than that, it was the breathless little whimper he gave when I described my hot pink toenail polish. I could hear him shudder when I tickled his balls with my toes. So I get a little less submissive and start giving orders.

Gently of course, “Let me feel your tongue in between my toes! That’s right, slide that tongue up and down the arch of my foot!”

I feel him start to give, and I’m wondering how far I can push him, “You wanna fuck those feet, don’t you?”

“Oh yes…”

“Want me to press them together. . .let you fuck that little arch?” I whisper.

“Yes…”

“You like those little feet wrapped around that dick, don’t you?”

Then, suddenly snaps to.”Call me Daddy, now!”

Damn, I was just starting to have fun.

I’m back to the meek little girl now, not so much submissive as innocent. “Oh Daddy, your dick is so big!”

There’s a lot of fake gagging and more repeating what he tells me to say. He’s basically talking to himself, describing what we’re doing, and I moan accordingly. Then I check back out of the conversation and back to stumbling. I’m a terrible phone whore. I remember the days when callers got my undivided attention.

I’m in the middle of making my own kaleidescope when I notice he said something about black skin and his white dick. I’m black in this conversation? My default description is white, and I try to remember if we described ourselves in the beginning of the call. Well, it barely matters, since my voice is the same no matter where Charlotte is from, so I now talk about his big, white dick.

“You’re a dirty whore, aren’t you?” He says, rushed. It sounds like he’s getting ready to cum, and thank goodness. I’m ready to be done with this call because I can’t watch YouTube videos while I’m on my internet phone.

“Oh yes, I’m a dirty whore!”

“Tell me you want me to fuck your black ass with my big white dick!”

So, I did.

“Say, ‘I’m a dirty whore!’”

So, I did.

“Say, ‘Fuck my nigger ass with that white cock!’”

“Fuck my ass with that white cock!” Fuck him. I feel like I should hang up, but I’d rather fuck with him.

“Say, ‘fuck my nigger ass!’”

“Oh, fuck my ass!”

“You fucking bitch, say it, say, ‘fuck my nigger ass!’”

“Fuck my ass!”

He growls low and deep, “Tell me you want my big white dick in your nigger ass!”

“I want your white dick in my ass!!” It’s difficult not to laugh at his frustration.

“You stupid fucking whore piece of shit!” He’s spitting in the phone he’s so mad, but he still sounds aroused, “Say it! Or are you a really nigger? You are, aren’t you? You’re a fucking nigger whore for real aren’t you? SAY IT!!!!”

“No.” I say calmly, “I’m not going to say it.”

There’s an extended moment of silence and I wait for him to hang up.

“You fucking bitch!” He’s so mad he’s stammering, “I would fuck you so hard!”

Now, I actually laugh at him, “You would?”

“Yea, I would.”

“With that big white dick,” I say, dripping with sarcasm.

“It is big!”

“So you say.”

“You bitch, I would fuck you so hard with this big dick!” He groans.

“Really? Is it big?” I say in baby talk. Then, “You wouldn’t know what to do with a black woman in your bed,” I say with a nice heap of disgust added to the sarcasm.

I can hear him fapping furiously, and I’m surprised. Although, I guess I shouldn’t be.

“Oh, I wish you were here right now so I could show you what I could do to you,” he says, gasping.

I laugh again, “With that big white dick, huh? You think you would know how to fuck this black girl the right way?”

He doesn’t say anything, he seems like he’s trying to, but he can’t. He screams his orgasm, and unlike most of the callers at this company, he doesn’t hang up right away. I sit expectantly, saying nothing. He makes a couple of false starts then finally hangs up. I log out and play Retris. Stupid asshole.

One night, I was talking to a guy who told me he was a 20 year old college student living in the dorms. His voice obviously put him in the mid 50s range, but I played along. I asked him what he was up to, and he said, “Oh nothin’. Just coolin’ out.”

It took all I had not to piss my pants laughing. Because “coolin out” is what all the kids say.

***

I was talking to a guy who told me he was 24, even though I questioned he was even 18. I asked him to describe himself and he told me he was 5 foot 12. Nice. I had to hang up when he couldn’t tell me what year he was born.

***

A 19 year old from California told me I was special, and that he really wanted to get to know me. He said that I didn’t seem like the other phone girls who were only trying to get his money. I point out that this is a job, after all, and he says he knows. But, he also knows I’m different, and he can tell I’m really into the sound of his voice, and I’m really getting turned on. Meantime, I’m actually IMing Dennis about how stupid this kid is.

The kid gives me his number and asks if I’ll ever call him. I tell him maybe. He says we should talk, since he can tell we’d be good together, and I should come out to California to visit him.

I tell him that’s kind of weird, since I don’t know him. He says he wants to know me, and that we have a connection. I’m not like the other phone girls, after all, and he just wants to meet someone special. I tell him that perhaps a phone sex line isn’t the best place to meet a nice girl. He says you never can tell where you’ll meet that special someone. He gives me his phone number and asks if I’ll call him. I tell him maybe.

He goes on to say he knows I like him since he’s not desperate like the other guys who call me. Then he asks me if I’m going to call him or not. I tell him maybe.

The guy tells me he knows I’m all aroused and playing with myself since his voice is so sexy. He says he knows I like him since he’s confident unlike the guys who normally call me. I laugh and ask him how he can tell I’m playing with myself while I write a quick email to my friend. He can tell just by my voice! He asks if I’ll call him. I say maybe.

He says he knows it turns me on that he can read me so well. “I’m already in your head, aren’t I?” Of course you are! He tells me how he’s not a loser like the guys that normally call me. He asks if I’ll call him later. I tell him maybe. He says, “If my mom answers, just tell her you’re one of my friends.”

***

I ask a caller to describe himself to me. He tells me he’s tall with a really big dick.

“Oh yea?” I say.

“Oh yea, it’s really big! It’s huge!!”

“Ooooo,” I coo, “I like a big dick! How big is it?”

“Six inches baby!”

***

I ask a guy what he would do with me if I were laying in his bed with him. He told me he really liked to cuddle.

…

***

Then there was the guy whose fantasy was to be the most popular guy in his high school that every girl wanted to fuck. He was the talk of the school and every girl knew he was an amazing lover with an enormous dick, so none of them could resist him, including me, the Principal. Even though I was 48 to his 18, I wanted him badly, because I knew he had much to teach me in the pleasures of the flesh. So much so, that I built him an office in the girls’ locker room that only he and I knew about. From therein, he had a computer linked so that he could watch the girls throughout the school using the hidden cameras we installed. Of course we made love there when he was supposed to have been in class.

He informs me, “My cock is the size of a baseball bat and my balls are like two cantaloupes!”

When we have sex, he likes to yell commands.

“Tell me I’m a stud!”

“Tell me I’m an amazing stud!”

“Tell me I’m the ultimate stud!”

“Tell me I’m a good lover.”

“Tell me I’m an amazing lover!”

“Tell me I’m the ultimate lover!”

“Tell me I’m a stallion.”

“Tell me I’m the ultimate stallion!”

“Tell me to ride you like the stallion that I am!”

Now, at this point, I’m annoyed and confused. I’ve left out numerous adjectives I was to call him, progressing from regular to ultimate stages. So, I say, “What?!”

“Tell me to ride you like the stallion that I am!”

I’m confused. How does a man ride a woman? Since when do horses ride anything? I think maybe I’m missing something, then I remember he has balls the size of grapefruits and wants me to install a secret office for him in the girls’ locker room.

So, I decide to fuck with him.

“Let me ride you like the stallion you are!” I yell, enthusiastically.

“No, you’re supposed to tell me to ride you like the stallion that I am…”

“You’re such a stallion! I wanna ride you like the stallion you are!”

“No! Tell me to ride you like the stallion I am!!” Now he’s angry and confused. Good. “I’m riding you right now, later on, you can ride me.”

I laugh in my head. I’m turning into a horrible phone sex operator.

“Oh, OK. Ride me like the stallion you are!” I yell.

“Tell me you want me to move in with you.”

“What?!”

“Tell me that because I’m such a good lover, you want me to move in with you and marry you.”

So, I do, and thus begins a conversation about whether he should move his stuff in or if he should just bring clothes. If he should move in that day after school, or wait until the next day, or even that weekend.

Finally, he thanks me and asks me if I enjoyed the call. I lie and say I had fun, and he asked me if I had any favorite parts about the conversation.

“Well, you’re such a good lover, I learned something new, even though I’m much older than you!”

“You did? What did you learn?” He asks.

“I never knew that men could ride women!”

I really don’t know what’s wrong with me anymore.

I used to have a regular caller named George. For him, I was a 25 year old, blonde housewife. He usually called on Sundays and liked talking about group sex. Therefore, my husband and I were swingers, and often participated in group sex with our friends.

More often than not, George would tell me he was with someone while we were talking. Usually it was a girl or two, but sometimes men were there, too. Of course, I never heard any of these other people, but I’d ask him to describe the situation and I’d give him directions on what to do to the woman (or man) he was with. Sometimes I’d pretend my husband or some strapping young black fellow was with me.

In my mind, George was in his 50s, tall and balding and slightly overweight. He’s fussy about his clothes, and wears slacks and a jacket often. His hair is short and graying, and he’s always smiling. I liked him, and had fun talking to him, so I didn’t mind the Sunday afternoon chit chats.

One Wednesday night, I’m surprised to hear George’s voice on the other end of the line. He sounded particularly horny, so I asked what he was doing. He told me he was there with a female friend, Lisa, and she was busy sucking his dick. I laughed to myself, because “Lisa” is Charlotte’s best friend and often shows up in stories when an extra girl is needed. I figured that George forgot that when creating his Lisa, so I played along.

I asked him what Lisa looked like, and he described her as red-headed and wild in the sack. Then asked if I wanted to talk to her. I said sure and was stunned speechless when an actual woman said “hi” to me.

We exchanged some highly awkward small talk while I tried to wrap my head around George actually literally having a woman there.

In my head, Lisa, too is in her 50s and thick. Not a big fatty lady, but well-built, I guess. She’s got long, wavy auburn hair, with a bit more frizz than wave. She’s one of those older ladies who wears purple jackets with big, colorful, asymmetric designs on them, and clunky necklaces made out of wood and rock.

Then I had the dubious honor of listening to them fuck for the next half hour. They’d pass the phone back and forth and describe what the other was doing on occasion. Mostly, I listened to thick wet slaps and incoherent groans. I could hear him sucking, licking, slurping, as she tried disjointedly to describe how he was eating her out.

I IM’d Dennis, “I’m listening to two people fuck right now.”

“Really?!” he shot back, “that seems like it would be hot.”

“It’s not. At all.”

It was disgusting. I’d see where you’d think it’d be hot. Everyone has that voyeuristic streak that chuckles when you hear your neighbors doin’ it. Porn is lame when there’s no sound, right? I actively tried to change the image of the two of them in my head, so it wouldn’t be so gross, but they sounded like two older adults fucking. It’s like watching those Real Sex shows on HBO. They tell you that we’re going to this beautiful island to watch a bunch of horndogs have orgies. Which, in theory, would be hot. But in reality, the horndogs are always weird old hippies.

Lisa tried to carry on a conversation with me. In coarse grunts and groans, she asked me to describe a time I had sex with a black guy. She said she wanted a black dick so bad. Which is weird to say when you’re getting fucked by a white guy, in my opinion.

I started describing a situation, and I could hear the fat wet slaps getting faster and faster. I stopped talking but she breathed for me to keep going. I tried, and she interrupted me by screaming, “My man is fucking my pussy!” Loud enough for me to take the phone from my ear and squeeze my eyes shut. I do that a lot, squeeze my eyes shut on the phone, I don’t know why since it doesn’t seem to prevent me from hearing!

Then she had what sounded like a pretty good orgasm, during which she dropped the phone and George picked it up, and just panted in my ear for a while.

“She sounds kinda hot when she cums, though,” I typed to Dennis. Sometimes you have to laugh to keep from crying.

Eventually he came loudly in my ear. They thanked me, and I hung up, feeling thoroughly grossed out.

I hadn’t thought about George in months, until I got a call from Rodney.

Rodney, I’m sorry to say, sounded like a hick, so, in my mind, Rodney was very skinny, probably sporting a greasy blonde mullet and wearing a wife beater. I try not to be prejudicial, so I really actively tried to alter his image in my head, but his voice wouldn’t let me.

He said he liked to call up with his wife, and told me she was lying there next to him. I asked him to describe her and he said, “She’s curvay. And, she gots blond herr and blue eyes and great big ol’ titties.”

He told me he was going to give his wife the phone and I was to tell her what I’d do to her. Once again, I was shocked when a woman picked up.

She sounded fat, so I didn’t feel quite as bad having imagined her as pale and flabby, lying on a king sized bed with messy blue sheets.

Shock turned to laughter, though, when she hollered, in the perfect redneck accent, “Suck mah tittays!!”

Then I was subjected to the soundtrack to Jack Spratt fucking his fat wife with her vibrator. She told me it was a Rabbit. I could hear the whirrs and clicks get louder, get smothered into silence, then get loud again, over and over in time to her cigarette induced wheezes.

I think it’s nice that these couples are experimenting with sex together. It’s kind of sweet in a way. It’s just very very gross for me, as an unwitting participant.

It’s mostly my fault, I think. I don’t know how or why people I talk to show up so clearly in my mind, even without them describing themselves. I guess it helps me make their fantasies real when I can see it in my head, but it’s a double edged sword. I know you understand the torment of having seen something that you can never un-see, like goatse. But, when the thing you can’t un-see is something you made yourself? That’s a special kind of hell, let me tell you.

I didn’t want Rodney and his bride to not have fun, so I tried very hard to play along, telling her what naughty things I’d do to her. The call was obviously mostly for her, since if she did give hubby the phone, he’d barely speak before handing it back. I just told a tale of the married couple having sexy sex with a young bisexual girl. She enjoyed it well enough, interrupting with Lamaze breathing and the occasional reference to her husband’s dick.

Mercifully, she came, and also dropped the phone. Rodney picked up, told me thank you very much and hung up.

I’m glad men calling with their women doesn’t happen more often. It’s awkward and confusing. You know how in threesome porn, with one man and two women, there’s always that “extra” girl who isn’t quite participating? I feel the way she looks. They’re always just off to the side, shifting on their heels, not quite sure what the fuck is happening. “Hmm, I’ll just rub her thigh a little bit. Moan some. Oh, I should toss my hair. Then I’ll squeeze his ass, that’ll be hot. . . God, when is this over?”

“Hi, this is Charlotte, who’s this?”

“My name is William,” he sounds distracted, I figure he’s already stroking so this call should be over pretty quickly.

“Hi, William. How are you tonight?”

“I am fine. How are you?” He talks very slowly, I’m pretty sure he’s mildly mentally handicapped. He sounds like a less retarded Cuba Gooding, Jr. That’s how I picture him in my mind, sitting on the edge of his car-bed, whispering into his Garfield phone.

“I’m doing great!” I realize I’m speaking baby talk to him, and I stop myself before I ask “what’s him doin’?!”

“Where do you live?” He asks abruptly.

“I live in Minnesota!” Again with the baby talk.

I love the troubles I have with my job. I feel bad making fun of tiny penises. I don’t get nearly enough calls where I get to be a tranny. I suck at being a dominatrix (I am improving, though). I often forget to bring out a pussy simulator when I start my shift and have to squish my fingers in canned food in my cats’ dish. And I cannot stop myself from babytalking to retards.

“Oh. . .” he hesitates, “Do you live in an apartment? Or like a house or a dorm?”

“I live in an apartment,” I can feel he’s just going to ask more questions. The way he fires them at me is more job interview than conversation style.

“How long have you lived in your apartment in Minnesota?”

For some reason, he’s starting to creep me out. Maybe it’s the deep monotone of his voice coupled with his thick-tongued slow speech. He looks less like Radio in my mind now and more like John Coffey.

“A couple of years,” the baby talk is gone while I remind myself there’s no way this dude knows where I live so he can’t come kill me. I hope.

I’m worrying more and more now about my callers finding out who I am. I’m not so sure where this new fear comes from, even. At my last company, I had a guy who called several times a week, Thomas, and we’d talk for hours. It was annoying, because he wanted me to cum over and over and over. For hours! I had a pretty clear picture of him in my head and his voice was very distinctive. Before I wised up and started lying about where I was from, I told him what city I live in. Lo and behold, he lives there, too.

One day I was running down the stairs of a friend’s building and I heard his voice coming up the stairs. I flipped the fuck out! I froze in place, listening to him talk on his cell phone, wondering what to do. Sweaty, heart pounding in my chest, I realized he had no idea what I looked like. Thomas thinks I’m a blonde, slightly overweight housewife in her 40s. I laughed at myself and continued on down the stairs, but I still couldn’t make eye contact. Even though I don’t even know what he really looks like. What a mess!

Anyway.

“What does your bathroom look like?” William asks me after a long pause. I’m so taken aback, it takes me a moment to reply. I’ve never been asked what my bathroom looks like, so I’m not even sure if I heard him correctly.

“My bathroom?”

“Yes, your bathroom. How is it decorated? Is it big or small?”

It seems like he’s breathing faster now, so I figure the bathroom better be crystal clear in its description. I’m too confused by this strange turn of events, so I describe it to him in my regular phone whore voice. I’m not sure where this bathroom comes from, but it’s certainly not mine:

“It’s pretty big, lots of room in there. It has a nice sized window over the toilet. It has black tile, you know, it looks like fake marble? And I have those poofy rugs in there. The kind that are like shag carpeting, they’re red. And my sink is a tall pedestal sink, with a big oval mirror surrounded by lightbulbs, like an old vanity. The walls are plain white, but I decorated with some black and white paintings. And my shower curtain is one of those clear ones, but it has black dice over it in certain spots.”

Wow, ok. I can see the bathroom so clearly in my head. Sometimes it feels like “Charlotte” has begun her own life in some section of my mind. When I first started, I’d feel bad for callers if they seemed to like me too much. My friend Daniel had to remind me that these men aren’t talking to me, and I needed to separate me from her. I worked on sectioning her off. There are moments like this, where I come up with these random scenes on the fly, and I wonder if I’ve done too good a job sectioning her off.

But I digress.

“How long have you had those red poofy carpets?” He asks me.

“Oh, I bought them a year ago or so,” I’m not afraid anymore. Usually, anytime a guy is all about my bathroom, he wants someone to get licked clean after they poo. I’m guessing he wants to lick me clean. Or perhaps lick my bathroom floor for me. We’ll see.

“What color is your toilet?”

Do they sell colorful toilets? Should my toilet be colorful? Nah.

“It’s just plain old white porcelain.”

“OK. And, what does your toilet paper look like?”

“My toilet paper?” I said it out loud before I could stop myself, what the fuck? “It’s the white quilted stuff, it’s got pink flowers on it.” Do they still make toilet paper with stuff printed on? Yikes.

“Where do you buy your toilet paper?”

“From the grocery store. . .”

“Do you always buy your toilet paper from that store?”

Now I’m creeped out again, up till now, he’s sounded remotely aroused, but now he sounds like he’s acutely paying attention. His breath is sharp in my ear.

“Yes. . .usually.”

“Have you been buying that same kind of toilet paper the whole time you’ve lived in your apartment in Minnesota?”

“Um. Yes.”

“I have a fantasy, do you know what it is?” He asks me, quietly.

“I’m guessing whatever it is, you want to do it in the bathroom. . .”

“I want to be your toilet paper,” he said, voice husky and thick.

I fucking knew it!

“Oh, you want to be on your hands and knees in my bathroom? You’ll clean me up after I go?” I’m using my teasing phone sex voice now, since I feel like now I can just describe using the toilet and make him clean me up. Simple.

“No. I want to be actual toilet paper,” he clarifies, only confusing me anew, “You know, be changed into toilet paper somehow and be in your bathroom.”

Wow! Ok. . .

“You want to be rolled up,” gone is phone whore voice, gone is mama voice. All I am is confused Charlotte, “You’re like on the roll, and the holder? Attached to my wall?”

“Yes ma’am, that’s what I would like.”

“And I can tear sheets off of you when I poo?”

“Yes, what would I look like on your toilet paper roll?” He’s all wound up, and I try my best to play along.

Since he’s black in my head, I figure he’d be black as toilet paper, too. Well, brown anyway, “You’d be a light brown roll. Very thick and very soft.”

“Oh yes, and would I unroll over or under?”

“You’d unroll under, along the wall.”

“After you wiped with me, would you flush me?”

“Oh yes, I’d flush you.”

He moans.

The rest of the call was a barrage of questions, which included:

What’s in the garbage can in your bathroom?
Do you fold or wad the toilet paper?
How many times do you wipe after you poo?
What does it look like in your toilet after you poo and wipe?
What does your poo look like?
What kind of stuff do you flush?
What else do you flush?
Do you flush anything else?
Do you flush it after you blow your nose?
Do you like to flush stuff?
Would you flush me?
Do you ever have to flush twice?
How does it look when you flush?

After the third time he asks me to talk about what I flushed, I remember there is scoopable cat litter you can flush. We talk about the cat box and their poo for a while. Then I remember you flush used tampons. We talk about that for a good long time, too.

Eventually, there is silence. I really didn’t know what I was supposed to say to him at this point. I search for something I flushed, or a toilet paper related story. I can hear him beating furiously away, panting wetly in my ear, and I draw a blank. Eventually he hangs up.

I hope he enjoyed it. I’m just confused.

The only indication I have of what my caller wants to talk about is the recording before I connect. Tonight it tells me I have a 15 minute credit card call, which is probably the most useless message next to the 15 minute talk line call. What’s worse, is that the calls don’t cut off after 15 minutes. The credit card ones disconnect automatically after 29 minutes, the talk line after 23.

I connect to my 15 minute credit card call somewhat warily. Who knows what’s waiting for me on the other side? I say hello and am greeted by the loud, slightly distorted wailing of an electric guitar. I say hello a couple more times to no reply, so I sit and I wait. He had to have been active in order to connect to me, so it’s not like his cell phone accidentally dialed me. Hell, it’s an easy way for me to make a few bucks, so I go back to my Tetris game while I wait for the song I can’t identify to end.

Finally, the last strains of the guitar die out, and I hear a man, also distant and distorted say, “You don’t have to talk or anything, I want company to listen to music. I’m here until about midnight, so we’re going to listen to some more tunes.”

Until midnight? It’s only 6…

“Ok,” I reply, uncertainly. “Was that you playing the guitar?” I’m aware it was a recording, but I really don’t know what else to say.

“Well, you see, I suffer from retrograde amnesia and loss of dexterity in both hands. While I look like Ace Frehley, I am not him, in fact. They tell me that it’s the year 2008 AD and I am 46 year years old plus several weeks and a few hours. I thought perhaps I’d written this song, but even though our hair is the same, I’m slightly taller than Ace Frehley.”

“Ok…”

“Now, let’s hear this.”

He puts on another song. This one has vocals, and I know now it’s another Kiss tune,  but I have no idea what song we’re listening to. It’s a live album, I know that much. I stop myself from cursing as I mis-stack one of those stupid z-shaped Tetris pieces, even though I don’t figure my friend would hear me even if I did curse out loud.

“What do we do when we run out of time?” I ask him as the song fades.

“I’m not telling you to be quiet, but I do not have the phone up to my ear. We’re going to listen to 22 now. Anyone can patch into this, I’m here ’till midnight. All you do is contact your electrical company, they can easily install the PPL and we can continue to listen.”

“Ok. . .what’s your name?” Even though he more or less told me to keep my mouth shut, I fell like I should say something.

“If you let it go too long, the animals may come and eat it. But, really, what the hell? If they want to come eat it, let them have it. I’ll still be here until around midnight.”

What the fuck is happening?!“I understand.” Yea, I understand that I’m more confused than I’ve ever been. I feel slightly bad for the guy as well.

“You know, in Philadelphia you can’t have sex with 14 year olds anymore. They outlawed it in about 1974 I believe. However, you cannot go back in time. You cannot go back to the time when you could have sex with 14 year olds…”

“Right. . .”

“Because, for instance, in an attempt to clarify what it is I mean, I was already 19 years old when they changed the drinking age from 18 to 21. One day, it was ok for you to be 18 and drink, but the next day, you had to be 21. I didn’t have to stop drinking even though the law changed because it had something to do with the constitution. I’m not saying it was in the constitution, but it pertains to legality. Now, one day, you could have sex with 14 year olds, then one day, they had to be 18. You couldn’t go back and have sex with the 14 year old the next day, even though yesterday it was legal. You cannot go back through time. And that’s why Allentown, Pennsylvania is the porn capital of the world.”

Holy shit!

“I didn’t know that. . .” I say, very mystified. “So, what do. . .” Because, obviously this dude has a job.

“Well, I’m not going to tell you to be quiet, because the phone isn’t on my ear. We’re going to do 22 now. . .Anyone can do it if they contact their electrical company. However, if it’s what you want to do, you should not wait. You should contact your electrical company immediately, they can patch you through. Let’s see what is happening around the world at this moment.”

“What should. . .” I’m interrupted by the sound of flipping through television channels. I try to continue speaking but he turns the volume up. Well all right, then.

He settles on the news. I get up to date on what Barack, Hillary and Mitt are up to. The TV is so loud, and I give up on trying to talk to him anymore. I just continue to play Tetris until we’re disconnected.

And here I was worried that the calls at my new company wouldn’t be as fucked up as they were at Mindy’s.

Another 15 minute credit card call comes through. I’m at the point where I barely listen to these stupid recordings since they don’t help me at all.

I’m connected with Louis. He’s in his 40s and soft spoken. He asks if it’s OK with me that he’s so much older than me, since I’m only 21. I tell him I love older men and that guys my age don’t care about making me feel good. They’re only interested in making sure they get off, it doesn’t matter if I do or not.

He likes that answer and tells me how he loves making a woman cum. He says that’s his favorite thing to do. Especially making them cum with his tongue.

I coo over this, and tell him to show me how he uses his tongue. We have a pretty standard cunnilingus chat. He talks a lot so I don’t really have to say much, which is nice.

After my “orgasm,” he goes on and on about how I made him feel so good, and kind of tingly. He asks me if I’m a sorceress or a wizard and if I put a spell on him.

At this point, I figure he’s just laying the compliments on thick, so I giggle and tell him he’s silly.

“No, really, I think your cum has some power. I think you put a spell on me, Charlotte.”

“I did? What are you feeling, Louis?”

“Well, I’m tingly all over, and I think I’m…yes, I am! I’m shrinking, Charlotte! You are a sorceress!”

“…”

“Your wonderful juices are causing me to shrink, I’m only about two inches tall, Charlotte!”

“Oh my! Your magical tongue must have unleashed powers I didn’t know I had,” I exclaim.

“You’ve never done this to a man before?”

“No, Louis! I haven’t! Look at you, you’re so cute and little!”

“Yes, I’d like to walk inside your pussy, Charlotte! Can I climb inside you?”

“Oh yes! Let me feel you walking around inside my pussy.”

“It’s so warm and soft Charlotte! It’s amazing inside of you, and you smell so good!”

“…”

“Can you feel me jumping up and down?”

I laugh. “I can, it tickles!”

“I’m climbing out of your pussy now, and up on to your clit. I’m giving your clit kisses and hugging it with my body.”

“That’s so nice, soft little kisses! I pick you up and kiss you. I can kiss your whole body at once!”

“I’m climbing back inside your pussy now…do you feel me running,” he asks. There’s no indication that he’s masturbating, or even aroused. “I think I see your button, Charlotte. Can I rub it and make you come for me?”

“I’d really like that, Louis. Press my button.”

“I’m pressing it!”

“Oh, but won’t you get forced out when I come?”

“I’ll hang on, Charlotte. I want to feel you squeeze me out!”

I fake an orgasm.

“Oh, Charlotte! It feels so good when you squeeze me with your pussy,” he says. “I’m going to climb inside your asshole now, can I do that?”

“Oh yes, Louis, I think I’d like that.”

“I’m inside your asshole now, Charlotte. It’s so warm and snug, can you feel me?”

“I can feel you! I feel all filled up!” What a fantasy!

“Even your ass smells sweet. How do you do that, how do you smell so sweet?”

“…”

“I’m going to climb back inside your pussy,” he says suddenly. “I want to live inside your pussy forever.”

“I’d like that, Louis! You can be mine forever, and curl up inside my pussy to sleep at night.”

“Yes, and you can take me to class with you!”

“But, you can’t be naughty and push that button, you’ll distract me!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t ask me to.”

We ended up stretching this conversation over two calls, since we’d run out of time during the first one.

We talk about me walking around with him inside me, and how warm it is for him. We discuss whether or not I’d share him with my best friend. He said he’d only want to be regular size every once in a while so we could make love, but mostly, he’d want to drink my magical cum so he can remain small and live inside my vagina.

He asked me to give him a nickname, and all I could think about was the Pillow Pants scene in Clerks II. I suck at naming things, so I hemmed and hawed for a bit. I couldn’t for the life of me remember the pussy troll in the movie was named Pillow Pants, though, otherwise, that’s what I’d have called him.

“What’s wrong with Louis?” I ask.

“I just thought you’d want to make up a special name for me.”
“Well, I kind of like Louis My Pussy Gnome.”

“Oh, well, gnomes are kind of ugly, aren’t they?” He sounds dejected. I wonder why he didn’t just tell me what he wanted his stupid nickname to be if he was going to poop all over my suggestions.

“I think gnomes are very cute, Louis.”

“Well, then that’s ok,” he says, brightening. “I’ll be your Pussy Gnome.”

“Good. You’ll be Louis My Pussy Gnome forever!”

He thanks me happily, and tells me he’ll call again soon.

Yippee.

I introduce myself to my caller, and he tells me he’d rather call me Charlie than Charlotte. He says it’ll be his nickname for me. I can’t do anything but agree. He tells me his name is Mason. I don’t care enough to give him a nickname.

We have a pleasant little chat, giving descriptions and all that good stuff. He seems like a nice enough guy, in his 40s and very jovial. He tells me that he’s got a fantasy he’d like to play out with me, but he doesn’t want me to be uncomfortable. He makes me promise that if at anytime I feel awkward or uncomfortable with his fantasy, I’ll tell him, and we can stop. He tells me that if I’m able to play along, he’ll return the favor and do something wonderful for me. I’m skeptical that he can do anything wonderful for me, and a little afraid of what his fantasy might be. He reiterates over and over that we’ll stop if I don’t feel right, and I can’t imagine what he wants me to do.

“It’s OK, Mason, I’m up for anything!” I assure him.

“Well, I have a little bit of a tickling fetish. I’d like to tickle you until you beg me to stop,” he says, a little hesitantly.

I laugh to myself, is that all?!

“That kinda sounds like fun,” I tell him, reassuringly.

“Really? It won’t make you uncomfortable?”

“Not at all,” I say in all honesty, “Tell me about your fantasy.”

“OK, here’s the scene. You’re a spy, actually one of the top spies in the world, and it’s been my mission to capture you, since you’re rumored to be beyond capture. It’s become a personal thing for me, you see, to catch the greatest spy in the world.”

“Right…”

“So, you’ve broken into my organization’s headquarters with another spy and stolen some diskettes. Even though you’re good at what you do, you set off the alarm. You run out, but not before burying the diskettes just outside the building. My men catch you and your partner, another female spy.”

“OK.”

“Now, you’re both back at my compound and you’re both naked and bound to wooden chairs, but you’re not speaking. My interrogators are trying to get you to talk, but you won’t, so they tell you their bringing me in. I’m good at interrogating spies, and you’ve heard of me, but you’re not afraid, are you?”

“No, not at all.”

“Good. So, I separate you from your partner, and bring you into an empty room. You’re bound to a chair, with your wrists tied together above your head, and you legs stretched out with your feet in wooden stocks.”

“OK…”

“I’m going to ask you questions, but you refuse to answer.”

“OK.”

“Tell me where the diskettes are, Charlie. It’s no use being uncooperative, just tell us where you hid them and we’ll spare you.” He’s in character now, so he’s trying to sound very stern and serious.

“Never!” I’m in character, too. I’m defiant and cocky.

“You must know my reputation,” he says, “I won’t stop until I break you.”

I laugh, “And you know my reputation. You’ll never break me.”

“You’re a tough one to crack aren’t you? I’m tougher than you, though. You will tell me what I want to know.”

“I’ll never talk. You’ll just have to kill me.” Gritted teeth and everything! I’m such a good telephone actress.

“Silly girl! Don’t you know your partner already broke, she talked, so you might as well give it up.” He says, mockingly.

“Do I look stupid to you?” I laugh, condescendingly, “I know she didn’t talk, I’m not falling for your silly little cop games!”

“Oh, that was good!” He says, happily, breaking character, “You’re good at this…Ok, so now I bring in my assistant, Helga. She’s a big German girl and now you’re a little afraid. You ask me what she’s doing here.”

“Wha…what’s she doing here? What are you guys going to do to me?!” I try to sound bewildered and nervous.

“Oh, Charlie, I have something special planned for you. I will break you,” he says, “Helga takes a stool and sits next to your feet…You said your partner would never speak, but you were so wrong Charlotte. She gave you up! She told me you were very very ticklish.”

“That bitch!”

“Oh yes. Helga takes a long ostrich feather and slides it up the bottom of your foot very slowly, and you laugh and laugh.”

I laugh, it’s pretty genuine laughter, too, this whole situation is silly.

“Oh, that’s good! You have a wonderful laugh,” he says, excitedly, “So, while you laugh, I want you to yell ‘no, no, please stop!’”

I do.

“Helga sits up by your armpits, and she tickles you there while I work your feet. You can barely breathe you’re laughing so hard.”

I laugh and beg him to stop. I gasp and tell him I can’t breathe, “Please sir, make her stop tickling me!”

“Helga starts tickling up your thighs to your pussy, and you still laugh, but now it feels good, too.”

I try to laugh and moan at the same time.

“I order Helga to leave the room, and now you’re afraid and want to know where she’s going.”

“Wait, what’s happening? No, don’t leave! Don’t leave me alone with him!!”

“I noticed you liked when Helga tickled your little pussy,” he says, quietly, “I sit in her place, and begin caressing your pussy gently, you start to give in to me, and I slip my fingers inside you, while I tickle your feet again. You’re cumming and laughing, and begging me to stop…”

“Please stop, sir! Please, I can’t take it anymore, I’ll tell you anything you want to know!!”

“Tell me where the diskettes are!”

“They’re about 15 paces outside the back door, buried to the left in that patch of grass there,” I say gasping as though I’m out of breath.

“Good girl,” he says, then he laughs, “But, you know, we already have the diskettes, Charlie.”

“What?!” I say, confused and angry.

“Yes, we found them shortly after you were captured.”

“So, what the fuck?! What was all this about, all this tickling with Helga?!” I’m outraged!

“No one’s been able to capture you, Charlie. No one’s been able to break you. I wanted to be the guy who got Charlie to talk.”

“You bastard,” I whisper. I love when my calls mimic horrible action flicks.

“Now you’re mine, Charlie. For the next month, I’m going to try out all my fantastic tickle devices on you!”

“Noooooooooooooo!!!”

He laughs again, and says, “That was really good, Charlie! You are so good at this.”

“Thank you,” I say, “that was fun.”

We’ve run out of time by now, but he calls me right back.

“I promised I’d pay you back,” he says, “So, since you made me feel so good, I’ll make you feel good now.”

“Sounds good to me!” I say, enthusiastically.

He instructs me to lay back on my bed and touch myself while he describes making love to me. I click Stumble! while he describes making love to me, of course making the appropriate moaning sounds. And, of course, there’s more tickling.

“I pull out a contraption of my own making to show to you. It’s a motorized wheel, with ostrich feathers that go all the way around. It’ll slide across from one foot to the other, just under your toes. It stops for about two seconds before reversing direction and going back the way it came. Back and forth like that, allowing you just enough time to catch your breath. I turn it on and let me hear you scream and laugh while you cum.”

It’s difficult faking an orgasm while you laugh, but I’m pretty sure I pull it off as he compliments me again.

We lapse into conversation and he tells me how tickling was a legitimate torture method for women since it left no marks.

He tells me he wants me to tickle one of my friends and tell him about it the next time he calls. I tell him I will. He says that he’ll show me how wonderfully ticklish electric toothbrushes can be, and he’s show me next time.

“Electric toothbrushes?!” I exclaim, “They’re ticklish?”

“Oh yes, the back of it against your toes, they’re wonderful tickling tools. Coochie coochie coo!”

I laugh, “I have an electric toothbrush, I need to check this out!” I can’t imagine it’d be ticklish, so I really do go grab mine.

His laughter subsides when he hears me switch my toothbrush on, “You’re going to do this for me,” he asks.

“Yes, I want to see if it’s ticklish.”

“Rest it lightly against your big toe,” he says, voice thick in anticipation.

I do.

“It is ticklish!” I exclaim, laughing my ass off.

“Oh my, Charlie, you’re going to make me cum.”

“Good! Cum for me, Mason!” I shout in between giggles. I only touched my toe ever so briefly, but I leave the toothbrush on and continue laughing for his benefit.

Soon enough, I hear the unmistakable sounds of Mason shooting his load. I stop laughing, and he thanks me. He tells me I have an amazing laugh and that he’ll be calling me again.

I’ve been complimented on my laugh a lot. People always tell me it’s contagious, and when I worked an office job, I’d have coworkers joining in with me, even if they didn’t know what I was laughing about. Former coworkers usually tell me that my laughter is what they miss around the office. And that’s sorta nice. But, my laugh has never made anyone cum before. I’m not sure how I feel about that…

When I first started this job, I would wake up 30-60 minutes before my morning shift started. I’d do what most people do before they go to work: shower, have breakfast, get dressed. Now, I don’t even get out of bed when I log in.

This morning, I get up to make myself breakfast as soon as I log in. It’s been slow in the mornings lately, so I figure I’ll have time to cook and eat before the first call. I am almost right, I get halfway through my bowl of Cream of Wheat before my phone rings.

Mindy informs me that Ralph wants to talk to a hard core Dom for half an hour and that he’s into brown and golden showers. Whoopie, what a great start to my day!

Once we’re connected, I tell Ralph to tell me about himself in my sternest voice. He answers in the falsely weak voice of a meek little sub. I’m cranky about this being my first call of the day, and that my oatmeal will get cold, plus his voice annoys me, so I figure I’ll enjoy punishing stupid Ralph.

“What do you want to do today, Ralph?” I ask in a disinterested voice that’s only slightly an affectation.

“I like to be made to go to the bathroom, Mistress,” he says quietly.

Fucking awesome.

“You do? You want to piss and shit while I watch you?”

“Yes, Ma’am. And you can make me throw up, too.”

Yip-fucking-ee.

“You’re a dirty little boy, aren’t you?” I don’t know what else there is to say.

“Yes Ma’am. Would you pee on me, too?”

I laugh, “No.”

“Why not, Mistress?”

“You don’t get to make requests, you do what I say. You don’t deserve my piss. ”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good. Did you eat today?” I have no idea what I’m supposed to do here, so I’m stalling for time.

“Yes I did, Mistress.” He already has that slightly breathless quality to his voice. I wonder how I can make him pee if he’s got a half-chub. I’m not even sure if that’s possible.

“What did you eat?”

“I ate a bowl of cereal, Mistress. Do you want me to go to the bathroom? Will you make me vomit, too?”

I ignore his questions.

“Just cereal? How is that going to fill you up enough for you to shit for me?”

“I don’t know, Mistress. Please don’t make me vomit!”

That’s false pleading. He so wants to puke for me. I so don’t want him to.

“Let me hear you piss,”

“Right now, Mistress?”

“YES RIGHT NOW!”

“Yes ma’am.”

I hear the unmistakable sound of piss in a toilet and I giggle quietly.

As the tinkles fade away I say, “Good boy.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“Now shit.”

“Are you going to make me vomit, Mistress?” He says this pleadingly. He’s not even trying to disguise the fact that its what he really wants. I ignore him.

“I said ’shit.’” I say this calmly, matter of factly, while I shove a spoonful of Cream of Wheat in my mouth.

We’re both silent. I’m not sure what I’m even supposed to say, but this mostly silent routine seems to be working just fine.

I stifle another giggle as I hear him grunt, and when the first plop hits, I roll my eyes. Why the hell did I think a job as a phone sex operator was a good idea?!

I sit silently as he grunts and plops. I eye my bowl of hot cereal and wonder if there’s something wrong with me that I can eat while listening to some dude take a shit.

“I’m finished, Mistress,” he says as he flushes. “Are you going to make me throw up in the toilet now?”

“Not in the toilet. Strip naked.”

“Mistress?”

“Strip. DO IT NOW!” I yell into the phone.

“Yes ma’am.” There’s a brief pause. “I’m naked now, Mistress.”

“Good. Get into your bathtub.”

“In the tub, Mistress?”

“Yes. Get in the fucking tub! Now. I want to hear you throw up all over yourself like the vile little pervert you are.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He sounds uncertain, but excited., “I’m in the tub now.”

“Shove your finger or your toothbrush down your throat. Let me hear you gag and choke.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

The sound of him retching and heaving turns my stomach and I angle the phone away from my ear. I can’t take it completely away and I can’t really stop listening, but I squeeze my eyes shut as though that would make it quieter. I am completely grossed out.

After a few minutes of fruitless heaving, he tells me he can’t vomit. I remember the Milk Chug contest from Jackass and ask him if he’s got milk left from his cereal. He tells me he has nearly a gallon, so I tell him to go chug it until he’s nauseous.

I sit idly stirring my cold Cream of Wheat while I listen to him swallow. I can’t quite understand how this could be a turn-on, but that seems to be the case for the majority of my callers.

“Ok, Mistress, I think I’m ready.”

He sounds green around the gills. I giggle to myself.

“Good. Get back in the tub and puke all over yourself like a good little dirty boy.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

I hear him retch a couple times, then comes the unmistakable sound of violent vomiting. I squeeze my eyes shut and take the phone away, suppressing my own urge to heave. Over and over I hear him gushing forth with milk that’s probably still cold.

When it finally stops, he says, “I think I’m done, Mistress.” He’s very quiet, tired and out of breath.

“Good boy. You did a good job for me today.” I actually feel bad for him. He sounds miserable.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“So good, in fact, that I think I will piss on you after all.”

“Really Mistress?!” He sounds ridiculously happy. “My dick is hard, Mistress.”

“Good. Make yourself cum while I piss on you. Use your vomit to lube up your cock.”

He groans, and I know that he is.

“Good boy. I wanna see you covered in filth. I stand over you, letting my piss leak out slowly all over you. It’s nice and warm isn’t it?”

“Oh yes, Mistress! Thank you, Mistress.”

“You’re welcome, ” I say graciously. “Now, let me see you covered in filth. I like my dirty little boy covered vomit, cum and my piss.”

“Oh yes, Mistress!” He yells out as he cums. After a beat, he catches his breath and thanks me.

“You’re welcome….” It still makes me smile when they thank me. I can hang up knowing it was a job well done. I’m aware that I’m fucked up because of this.

“Have a good day, Mistress!”

“You, too, Ralph!”

“I will now!”

Thankfully, he hangs up. I can’t imagine having to make idle chit chat with a dude who just threw up for me. At least his day is off to a good start. Unlike mine, I think as I dump out the rest of my cereal.

I call Mindy and tell her about Ralph. I figure that some girls have weaker stomachs than mine and they should be warned this guy wants to puke.

Mindy thanks me, and says she’ll add it to his profile for the next time he calls. She commiserates for a bit, telling me about another caller who likes to hear girls gag. He always calls one girl in particular for an hour at a time. He makes her gag herself over and over the entire call. For an hour!! Afterwards, her throat is so sore she can barely talk. That sounds a helluva lot worse than listening to someone vomit on himself. I thank the gods for small favors.

It was suggested that I post some excerpts from the infestation of work emails I’ve received. I’ve posted the best parts from a few of them.

This is from the “Tips” email. For whatever reason, the majority of this email is highlighted in blue, with a bit of yellow highlighting at the end. The smilie waving hello is a nice touch, though.

Sound Effects:
What can give off good sounds
for sucking: ( lollie pop, ring pop, candy canes , your finger)

Acting: Sound of your voice , breathing in an out ,acting out your charactor , pharses you use, wording, giggles>if acting 18-20

If they want to hear how wet u are: ( put your finger in lotion , gel or use your thum in the mouth pushing it back and forth with the tongue to make sloshing sounds .Baby oil on your fingers as you wiggle a finger or two in and out of a clenched fist will give the same effect

Background noise like have a prono on ( so they can hear) get them interested descibe whats happening get them going. ( Don’ t Have it up loud unless later they ask you to an want to hear)

I’ve never heard of this “prono.” I’ll have to look into that…

OVER SEA CALLERS:
Maybe act like you LOVE their accent, and like you have never talked to any one from there before. Act like you love to hear more about their country an how you love to visit sometime there ( play them , Not meaning for real ) ( IF they say I ‘ll pay your way ect….. filling your head they just may be telling you a story as you are acting with them . Say Oh I love to but not right now I must get to know you much better before I just run off ,call me again & I just might )
Alot of all those think they are sooo great, learned how to play on that, feed their BIG ‘ole egos lol .
They also like orgies.
They love SMART woman….( the guys in England)

It’s interesting to me that they say men overseas think they’re soooo great. Because American men don’t, right? Then they go on to say that they like orgies and smart women. British dudes are weird!

This sample conversation cracked me up:

“Yes, Yes, Yes!! (Moan LOUD) Fill my @#%$ WITH YOUR HUGE PULSING DICK!!” Ohhhh yeah harder, pull my hair! Ohhhh yeah, shove your big hard dick up my ass! Ooohh yeah @#%$ me in my tight ass, @#%$ it harder, ahhhooooaahhh yeah!!! Shove your big giant @#%$ in me! Oooh make me cum…… Oooooh yeah make me cum! (MOAN LOUDER) Ohhh yeah! I want you to cum for me! Cum for me please! Ooooh yeah cum on my face all over my face! I want you to shoot your hot sticky cum down my throat like a maniac! Shot it yeah ooooh yeah I’m cumming! Oooooohhh ohhh god oooooohhhhhh GOD I’m CUMMING!!!! Aaaaahhhhhhouuggghhhhhhhuuumm!

Why are the bad words “bleeped out” in the conversation, but not in the rest of the email?!

Then there’s this:

PLEASE - Please do not hesitate to drop us an e-mail, we are here to help you do your best. [removed] This is the usual protocol for the most frequently asked questions. If you are logged in and have questions regarding calls, please contact the DISPATCH CENTER. If you need pointers or tips on how to improve your calls, please call either your RECRUITER or the DISPATCH CENTER. ALL other questions please direct them to us via e-mail; please try your best to keep it short! You will definitely receive a response from us within 48 hours, either by e-mail or telephone.

The emoticon really speaks to the sincerity of the message, don’t you think?

This lady is in every email from them:

It’s a good thing they got a 5 year phone whore vet explain some of the more rare fetishes for me:

** Bisexual **
The customer wants to fantasize that the performer is having sex with another woman.

** Transvestite **
This is a customer who cross-dresses - likes to put on women’s clothes (usually lingerie). Sometimes he dresses up while I watch and admire him (’You’re so cute and sexy.’), sometimes I order him to dress up.

She also explains the types of callers:

Many callers won’t be comfortable with themselves, and are really wanting to hear that they’re OK for wanting whatever it is they want.
Phone sex is one of the few branches of the sex work industry where the age and appearance of the performer doesn’t matter.
“moderate to high-energy types - direct, clear about what they want, and easy to satisfy; the other half [were] difficult in some way.” For example, with “dominant” calls, she would directly ask the caller what kinds of things he wanted. With moderate to high-energy callers, this would have good results. For low-energy calls, the caller would indeed have specific things in mind but would instead lead with “I’ll do anything you want,” and hope the performer would somehow drag out their desires or happen to stumble on them.

** The Lonely, Bored, or Curious Caller **
These are callers who aren’t really interested in doing phone sex at all. The curious ones may hang up quickly, but the bored or lonely callers were often quite aggravating and draining (in Ms. Rhys’ opinion) because they put out no energy or feedback and often don’t even want to talk about sex at all.

Good thing they highlighted it to make it easy to read! And they left me with this bit of helpful advice:

they love sounds an noise .
always make up act sounds or let them hear u licking your fingers

Just relax and get little hints as to what the caller wants, listen very carefully, and act accordingly. Remember you are bringing his fantasy to life and if you do a great job, he will come again…and again…and again….THey have no idea who or where you are ……………..

Thank you and Good Luck

They’re so helpful!

Happy New Year, my fellow pervert lovers!!

I’m sorry for the lack of update this week.

I quit the company I worked for. Mostly, it was due to the fact that I made shit for money and thought I could make more elsewhere.

Then, I just was lazy and didn’t work anywhere and instead celebrated the holidays and avoided sex talk as much as possible.

I started at a new company today, which seems promising. We’ll see.

This place seems to be mostly automated, so there will be no fun conversations with receptionists. That sucks.

Just so you know, Mindy was a composite of all the receptionists I worked with. It’s not like that matters, really, I just thought you should know.

In any case, I have one last story from my time with Mindy’s company. It’ll be posted…soon.

This new place has way more rules. No talk of anything illegal. No drugs, rape, necrophilia, child porn, sex with minors or incest–including in-laws or people related to me by marriage. The only thing my other company outlawed was anything involving minors. I’ve talked about every one of the other things listed. Well, I never fucked a dead person, but I did kill a guy with a rock while I fucked him, and me and another guy hung his girlfriend. I can’t tell you how many guys called me and told me they were on coke and actually snorted lines while we chatted. And yes, I have described fucking animals. The fucked up thing is, when I read the rules, I was disappointed at all the things outlawed. I thought, well, that’s not very fun. No, I’m not fucked up at all…

They’ve sent me literally 15 emails, with all sorts of rules, tips and suggestions. It’s sorta nice seeing as how my last company just threw me out there after 30 minutes of very general training consisting of telling me to just wing it. The email advice is stuff I’ve already learned, so the vast assortment of emails is annoying instead of informational. Plus, the emails look like a retarded 15 year old wrote them, complete with “u” instead of “you” and unnecessary colors and graphics. This makes me regret leaving Mindy.

They also advised me to not talk about my nipples. Even on the big breast line, they say to not describe them when describing my boobs. I don’t get it. Dennis says it’s in case the dude has a specific nipple preference, they don’t want me to ruin it. Whatever, it’s stupid. I am glad this isn’t the first company I worked for.

I don’t have prescribed characters, either. I pick my name and my description.

I’m Charlotte and I have long black hair and blue eyes (only because I think black hair and blue eyes is ridiculously hot) and I’m always ready for a good time!