Frequently Asked Question

I knew I had to make one more entry before 2010 is up. I just couldn’t leave my first year as a Strumpet with no final entry.

But what would it be about? I have one client I’ve been wanting to mention lately, but he’s not worthy of a final entry. The fact that he refers to my vagina as a honeybun is amusing, but not year-end worthy.

Strumpet resolutions for the new year? Tempting. But on considering this, I realized that they had more to do with new computer games and various ways to get away with eating while talking. Not titillating material by any stretch.

A year-end summary of the types of calls I got all year? Could be interesting. But my client cards runneth over, and I don’t particularly feel like running down all the different types for you, with reminders or explanations about the type of caller.

Then I realized that I had an untouched idea. My clients ask mostly the same questions every call. In some cases, I roll my eyes and have to suppress a long sigh when getting asked the same questions over again, because I answer the same way each time.

For the most part, I have my Strumpet persona built. I’m the same person for each call, with variants added based upon the clients requests. Appearance, kinks, it’s all there to be picked from my brain and spat through the phone.

So, for my year-end entry, we’re going to play Get to Know Your Strumpet.

Strumpet Thanksgiving

This strumpet takes holidays off. Not the fake holidays, like Labor Day, or Good Friday. But the big ones, I actually do have a family, and friends outside the internet world, and activities have been planned.

I have much to be thankful for this year, not least of which is the amazing opportunity to talk to some of the oddest human beings in North America. Hoping to expand my clientele to include other countries, but as of right now, I'm stuck with Americans and Canadians.

Every year, I really enjoy making a list of everything I am thankful for. For years, it's helped get me through horrendous family bonding. So, for the first Thanksgiving as a Phone Strumpet, may I present the Top 10 Things I Am Thankful For: Strumpet Edition.

Like sands through the hourglass

Work has been crazy slow lately. My wonderful regulars, blessed crackheads, and loyal Mommy fuckers all seem to be saving their pennies. Damn economy.

So let’s take some time out to talk about the guys who seem to make up the majority of my clientele lately. It’s not about their kinks, or their nasty little fantasies. It’s about every woman’s favorite turn-on, the stamina.

Now, for my readers who deal with a real life vagina on a regular basis (no, sweetie, not that one), stamina is key. It’s not about size, width, girth, cut, uncut, lean to the left, lean to the right, crooked, chicken skin, whatever. It's about how long you last. It’s not the motion in the ocean, it’s how long you’re rowing.

Women do not need a man who can pound away for four hours straight. Don’t get me wrong, that’s quite enjoyable once in awhile. But seriously, there are just too many negatives in this scenario. Ignoring leg cramps and carpet burn, that does start to chafe after awhile. But if you are a Little Squirt, might I recommend you look into getting assistance? Because if you’re already rolling off before she’s agreed emphatically even once, you’re not going to get much action later.

Now, I do not expect my clients to strap on the cock ring for our conversations. I understand that it is not about me, it’s about you and that gorgeous steady you call Lefty. But please understand, you want to leave your Strumpet satisfied. Find a good Strumpet that sounds genuinely pleased when you get her on the phone, and you have a Voice for life. Or the length of her employment.

I’m not expecting every call to last for hours and hours. Not every client is going to be like John Mart, who chose to use his time most recently watching a movie with me. The Illusionist is excellent, incidentally. Honestly, if you can last me two minutes, thirty seconds, I’ll be perfectly content.

I can usually tell when a LS is coming up, because my dispatchers are hauling ass to get the call to me. These guys are so ramped up, just hearing my ladies say, “And the name on the card you’ll be using?” has them clenching. These guys get me on the phone, and before I can say, “Hi, my name is Strumpet,” they’re telling me to blow them. The record is 56 seconds, but I’m quite positive someone will beat that.

Then there’s the Oopsers. We all know these guys. “Oh, my gosh, you are sooooo good. I never come this fast!” I have a little tip for you guys. There are notes about each and every one of you. The Strumpet keeps her own records, plus there are just the notes that are kept for the new girls to warn them what’s coming up. When I hang up the phone, and tell Prima that John Smith lasted “one goddamn minute and 14 goddamn seconds”, she laughs and informs me that may be a record for him.

We always know. Don’t try to cover it up, sweetie. I’m going to laugh at you when I hang up the phone anyway, don’t exacerbate it. Own your little problem, and call your doctor about Cialis before you try to pick up that 70 year old you’ve been panting over at the supermarket.

Keep your Strumpet happy, gentleman. Slap me, spank me, order me around, but for the love of all that is cordless, stay on my phone. Because if I look at my records and see you’re a Little Squirt, I am not even going to try.

Oh. This entry is done. Damn. I never finish this early. I…you guys just got me so excited to talk to you, and…damn. I…um, yeah, I gotta go bye.

Please don’t

Getting the October update in just under the wire, aren’t I? Bad strumpet. No spanking for you.

Before we discuss Plot A of my entry, I’d like to take a second to talk about the Dispatching Strumpets. For those of you who haven’t called into a Strumpet before (YOU LIE), let me give you a tiny bit of info.

When you call in, you’re directed to a real life human. This human takes your information, runs your credit card, finds out what your kink is, then directs you to a girl. This is your standard Dispatching Strumpet. She is a Regulation Strumpet herself, and I’m fairly certain all of our dispatchers keep the good calls for themselves. But I can’t hate, because I want to be a dispatcher myself. Pay isn’t as good, but they have their schemes and favorites, and I want that power, too.

Mmmmm. Power.

Power is this Phone Strumpet’s turn on. Little bit of personal information for you, there.

My dispatchers are a real kick. I have a favorite, who shall remain nameless. We’ll just refer to her as Dispatcher Prima. Of all the dispatchers I talk to, she’s my favorite. When I get customers that have me choking on my own vomit, she is the one who understands because she’s talked to them before.

And when I’m ready to strangle an idiot customer, she’s the one I can scream to about WHY WON’T THEY JUST HANG UP. Most other dispatchers remind me that if they hang up, I don’t get as much money. Prima is my favorite.

But all my dispatchers are amazing. Even the bitchy one who told me the reason I sound mature is because I should quit smoking. Dammit.

So here’s a peek into the Strumpet life. More accurately, mine. I don’t know if other Strumpets experience this problem. I could ask, but I like feeling special. The problem is Idea Planting.

There are times when I become Instructor to these clients. They’ll never admit they’ve never been with a woman, and I’m not going to call them out on it¹. When a client tells me I’m a wild woman for climbing on top, I can’t help but facepalm, hit mute, giggle, and keep it moving.

When a man has a specific kink, that’s where things get slightly trickier. Some kinks are simple. Oh, you love thigh highs? Well, have we discussed garter belts? Shoe kink? Have you seen Electrique Boutique? (I highly endorse this site and the sex-ass shoes. And if they’re reading this, site owners, hi, free shoes? Please? I direct a hell of a lot of Closet Cases to you.)

But then we get to the truly horrendous calls. The ones that are so bad, they can’t be discussed in this blog. Maybe one day I’ll drink heavily and we can discuss John Mart, or John Scout, or one of the other clients that makes me deaden myself inside so I can keep them on the line and calling back to request me. But stone cold sober, it’s just not happening.

The danger with these clients is IDEAS. It’s one thing for me to take their fucked up fantasies, spin them in my own words, and get them off. But I cannot in any way shape or form insert any of my own ideas, for fear that it’s something they never considered, and that they’ll want to practice in real life.

I had a client call in. I don’t have a clever little name for him, because I’ve talked to him twice, and promptly forgot about him the first time. If it weren’t for his little tidbit, I would’ve forgotten about him this time. Mr. No Name has an old lady + dog kink. Amongst many other things, to be fair.

I do not recall what was said during the original call. If the second call is any indication, I did not actually do any work other than letting him speak. So, when he reintroduced himself, I was rather blah about it. Until he said the sentence that has haunted my brain ever since.

“Yeah, we’ve talked before. You gave me some REALLY great ideas.”

Loud record scratching noise.

“Oh, did I now?”

Some dog is out there in the world right now, angry with me even though it doesn’t know it. Again with the facepalming.

This is never a positive sentence to say to your Strumpet. Unless you’re discussing that hot wife you swear you have, please do not EVER tell your Strumpet she’s given you ideas.

Here’s what I picture. Someday, I’m going to get a knock on my door. FBI agents are going to stand there, in their suits (according to some TV shows) or their shirt and tie (according to other shows) or their jeans and T-shirts (other TV shows), and they’re going to ask if I’m Ms. Strumpet. Hello, Ms. Strumpet. Do you know a John Mart?

Well, let me show you pictures of what Mr. Mart did. And from what we can determine from his 37-hour interrogation, written confession, and phone records, he got the idea from several conversations with you. Do you understand that YOU are responsible for what happened to the person in this picture?

Maybe I watch too much Law and Order: SVU. In fact, if I knew how to get a script to those people, I’d write this shit. Because believe me, it should be an episode.

I don’t want to plant ideas. I just want to scream and moan, get these guys off, shower heavily, and go to sleep, only to get up and do it all again tomorrow.

Is that so much to ask?

1 While they’re on the phone.

^{^}

Hey, baby.

It would appear I’m down to one blog entry a month. This isn’t intentional, I’m still Strumpeting it up. Most of the really good tidbits about the job occur on Twitter, simply because some of the things I’m experiencing are  best summed up in 140 characters or less.

Examples:

“WTF? Really dude? How many fingers?”

“Is that even biologically possible?”

“OMG SHUT UP I AM SO SICK OF YOUR VOICE.”

But anyway.

Neil Gaiman has a quote in his book Neverwhere about events being cowards. They don’t occur one at a time, but instead “run in packs and leap out at [one] all at once.” This is remarkably similar to the life of a Phone Strumpet. You can go days getting your average, run-of-the-mill “Suck it, bitch” calls. They’re so simple, I barely have to look up from my game of Ranch Rush. I could do those calls in my sleep. It’s possible I do actually do them in my sleep, considering how boring they tend to get.

Then slam. I get a call so strange my eyes go wide and I think, “This person needs help beyond Dr. Strumpet.” And I think, “There can’t possibly be more than one of you in the world.”

Oh, you sweet, naive little dirty whore.

The event that started the pile-on was a client we’ll call John B. Young. Living in the south, I know you can’t judge someone based solely on the state they live in. However, if I judged Mr. B. Young solely on the state he lived in, I’d have a pretty good idea what religion he believes in. And it would very much explain his style.

He’s been my client twice now. The first time, I just shook my head, because he really didn’t know what he was doing. The way he said “bitch” (bee-itch) told me he never curses, and his responses to my suggestions were just comical. But we got through it, and I ended the call in a pretty good mood. Humor calls always leave me smiling.

The second time was a little different. He remembered me, as most of them do (barring inebriation). We had a bit of conversation along the way. I was reminded more and more that he’s probably never had sex, nor masturbated without the aid of some heathen woman who won’t tell his brethren he touched himself in the dirty place.

My favorite example is our discussion of porn. He asked, “Do you like porn?” I get this question a lot. Of course. I love porn. Porn’s my favoritest thing ever, I own hundreds of DVDs, and spend all of my time watching it. Cock starved nympho, remember? So, I reply in the affirmative, and he said, “I watched a porn the other day.”

Of course you did. They all do. I wait for him to elaborate and tell me what kind he watched. There’s nothing forthcoming.

You know how, around the age of 5, a little boy will want a little girl to be his girlfriend? So he’ll say things such as, “Ya like bread? I have bread!” Or, to an older girl because he’s a pimp, “You like cars? My daddy has a car!”

Yeah. Poor Mr. B. Young.

So, then the kicker. We’re discussing how so very sad it is that I don’t live closer to him. I’m exactly the kind of girl he needs in his life. No one like me up there. We could have such a great life together. He’d work, I’d stay home, and when he got home, I’d attack him with kisses and blowjobs at the door. With an offer like that, how could I refuse? Where do I buy my plane ticket?

“And I could get you pregnant!”

Insert loud, cartoonesque record scratch here.

“Oh! Um. Yes. Absolutely.”

“Well, you want to get pregnant, don’t you?”

1) No.

2) Hell no.

3) Have you lost your everloving mind? I would claw out my one remaining ovary with my own fingernails before I would let you inseminate me.

We ended the call, with me clutching my stomach to coax my shriveled ovary out from somewhere behind my esophagus, and shaking my head at how strange my clients are.

And thus began the trend.

Suddenly, everyone wanted to impregnate me. I can’t say I blame them. I’ve heard the description I hand out, I’d want to breed with that version of me, too. But seriously, guys? You want to procreate with a “cumslut”? No wonder you’ve never been married.

The real kicker, though, was a gentleman I’ll refer to as John Vert. I’m hoping to never refer to him again, as by the time we were around 3/4 through the call, I was literally answering all of his sentences with clipped ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers, because I desperately wanted to kick him off the phone.

Mr. Vert asked for a pre-inseminated woman. He wanted a nice round belly on her, with at least one other child. I had anticipated this type of call already, I know there’s a kink for it. But this guy took it to a level I could not even believe. When I get clients who request that I have children, I age them. I refuse to have a child below the age of 15, just for my own mental sanity. And believe me, I have had guys test that mental sanity over and over again. I also never have daughters.

So, it started out normal enough. He’s oh so turned on by pregnant women, everywhere he goes. He just wants to ravage them where they stand. He asks how much I love being pregnant. If he was my husband, he would never let me not be pregnant. As soon as the baby came out. I’m talking, the doctors wouldn’t even have the chance to clean up the afterbirth, he’d be diving right in there.

Pleasant, right? Yeah, welcome to my work life.

Not only that! Oh, no. It wouldn’t just be him to impregnate me! What a waste! After all, I have a son who could do the job just as well! What’s a little cross-eyed derp derp baby between family members?

I was sitting in a chair with my face between my legs for most of this conversation. Going, “Mm hmm.” And “Uh uh”.

I’m hoping the one I had today will be the last for awhile. Because if ever there was a call that took every ounce of strength I have, it was this guy. We’ll call him John W. Mart. I’ve had him once before. He’s an unlimited time caller, which means if he likes me, he’ll stay on the phone for hours on end. Nice, right? First time I talked to him, that’s all it was was talk. Two hours pay for no emphatic agreement. Perfect. My dispatcher told me what he normally requests, and I regurgitated a bit.

Got to experience it about four hours ago. The strange part was that he asked for Tranny Strumpet instead of Regulation Strumpet.

I will not give you details, because while there are some things I make other people suffer through because I had to deal with it, this type of call is not one of them. I desperately hope that I’m suffering through it so that the person in question is not. It’s the Strumpet credo, so to speak. If they’re taking it out on us, they’re not doing it in real life.

But suffice to say, Tranny Strumpet was needed to impregnate a member of Mr. W. Mart’s family.

What is WITH you guys? Don’t you get your pets fixed? It’s the same thing with humans. We do not need more children running around, taking up our precious oxygen. I realize you have some sort of biological caveman instinct to spread your seed. Spread it over your hand, roll over, and go to bed.

Isn’t it rather dark in there?

There are many words I use in every day life that are sexual. I don’t mean just in my role as Phone Strumpet. On a regular basis, I will say things like, “Don’t be such a pussy.” “He totally cock blocked me.” Or “God, she’s such a fucking cunt.” That’s a personal favorite of mine.

But when it comes down to sex, I don’t actually use these words. I don’t like the word pussy when referring to a vagina. In fact, I don’t really refer to it at all. I think “vagina” is a very strange word. I dislike the word va-jay-jay as well. I have my own terminology for sex, which really has no relevance here. But if my personal sex tape ever came out, you would never hear me telling the guy to stick his cock in my pussy. If I attempted to say it to be sexy, I would laugh so hard it might potentially turn off the mood.

But these are things I have to say on a regular basis. And if the noises I hear on the other side are any indication, they’re definitely doing something for them. But it’s just so damn weird to say them. “Balls” is another one. It doesn’t sound realistically sexy to my ears when I talk about their balls, but it seems to work for them. I hear a weird inflection in my voice.

But that’s only part of the issue with this specific topic. There’s another word I have to use, fairly regularly. It’s a word I don’t use in any form in real life, and it’s a word I despise. So it takes a lot of working myself up to bring myself to say it.

Now, I have two Strumpet personalities. There’s Regular Strumpet, and then there’s Transvestite Strumpet. Two separate names and everything. I would expect to get the closet gays as Tranny Strumpet. Strangely enough, those guys are seemingly completely comfortable with their sexuality. Chick? Good. Dude? Good. Chick with dick? GOOD.

But as your normal everyday, run-of-the-mill Strumpet, I get a lot of closeted gay men. Why they want to talk to a female about this is especially confusing to me. This isn’t even a Dr. Strumpet situation, where they just want to discuss their proclivities.

A portion of these calls, they want me to “make them” be gay. An example would be, they’re my boyfriend and I want them to have sex with a gay man. I also get an awful lot of guys who want to be forced to eat their own come. It’s so strange. You’re there, alone in theory. No one’s watching. Why do you need someone else to tell you to do that?

But the ones that are the most off putting to me are the humiliation calls. Often times, they’ll inform the dispatcher that they’re looking for this, so I can start psyching myself up right away.

Normal humiliation calls are getting easier for me. Essentially, I just need to be myself. They want to be told they’re pathetic. And, well, they are. So I just have to say whatever it is I’m thinking. They’re probably my easiest calls. It’s just a matter of keeping them on the line long enough to earn money off their pathetic little asses.

But closet men, they want to be called fags. And I really hate that word. It makes my skin crawl just hearing it. And I have to say it over and over and over again during these calls. I have to emphasize that they are freaks because they are fans of the penii. Little fagboy, cocksucker. Had one guy who kept calling himself a fudgepacker.

It’s just…very disturbing. And again, why do you need a woman to do this? If I had studied psychology more, maybe I’d have some deep meaningful thoughts about mommy issues and the like. As it is, it’s just…really sad.

Sad, sad little boys.

Alright, class, pay attention

Alright boys, we need to talk.

And by boys, I mean men. And by men, I mean clients. And by clients, I mean “People who call the Phone Strumpet line because they’re really not going to be getting any from a warm human body anytime soon.”

I’m not entirely certain what you think the experience of calling a Phone Strumpet line is all about. I don’t know if you’ve heard a buddy talking about it, or you’ve watched porn and heard the women talking dirty and thought, “Damn. Why can’t I have a girl tell me to stick my hot steaming rod in her tight wet snatch?”

But let me tell you. You guys need assistance in the fine art of talking to a Phone Strumpet. Probably more than I can provide, but it’s okay, we’ll do this a few steps at a time. I don’t want to overwhelm your sweet, gently used minds.

Let’s start simple.

When speaking to your phone strumpet, you are required to participate.

You cannot get on the phone with your phone strumpet, and then say, “I don’t know" or “Whatever you want” to her inquiries. You may see this as giving her the reins and letting her go crazy on your hot sexy body. This is ideal for you, because, as you know, all PSs are cock starved nymphomaniacs who just cannot get enough of being called a dirty whore.

However, your dirty whore? Needs a little inspiration. Please understand, she talks to MANY, MANY different clients throughout the day (naturally, you’re the biggest, sexiest, and she’s only turned on while talking to you), and they all have different kinks. Now, while Client #1 wants a handy and a titty fuck, Client #3 wants to teabag her and fist her ass. Everyone wants something different. If you don’t tell your strumpet exactly what it is you’re looking for? You’re going to end up with a sparkly pink dildo up your ass and a 240 pound woman sitting on your face. Is that what you wanted? Then you should’ve spoken up. 

I know, I know. Thinking is hard. I recommend a couple of aspirins on the beside table, right next to the Lubriderm and the tissues.  

Lesson 2.

If you are going to call while under the influence of medication or libations, please make sure to hold your phone correctly.

I judge no one for their isms. You want to take a hit off the pipe while you’re talking to me? Absolutely, go for it. You just had 18 Red Bulls with Vodka, and you’re seeing dancing pink elephants? That’s freaking amazing, describe them in detail.

But for god’s sake, speak into the receiver. Don’t whisper. Don’t set the phone down and keep talking. Don’t hold the phone with the mouth piece to your ear. Your strumpet loves you, and wants to hear your slurry dulcet tones. There’s only so many times she can say, “What was that, sweetheart?” before an edge comes to her voice. And you don’t want that, right?

Also, I understand the cops are casing your home because they know you were kidnapped by aliens and that’s why your pupils are dilated. You take however much time you need to look out your windows. I’ll wait.

Lesson 3.

If you want to know, you need to share first.

Every guy wants to believe his cock is the biggest cock Mother Nature ever endowed a man with. (Well, no, that’s not true, some men get off on the exact opposite. But that’s an entirely different blog entry.) Your cock is enormous. Your cock is the size of a coke can. Your cock could knock an apple off the head of Shaquille O’Neal while you were both standing up arm’s length apart.

If you truly want to believe this is so, DO NOT ask the strumpet the biggest size she’s been with. Some strumpets will downsize to make the man feel big and mighty. I try my damndest for truth in advertising. Considering the kinds of things I have to lie about with these clients (Why, yes, I lost my right leg in the war. But I personally prefer the stump….makes me feel sexy…), I like to throw in a few real facts. Not only does it make me feel less like a prostitute, it makes it easier to remember the lesser details later.

I am not going to tell you the biggest cock I’ve been with is 4 inches to make you feel better about your 5 1/2. If you preface early on that you’re sporting a vanilla tootsie roll pop, I am more than willing to downsize for you. But do not expect me to make myself sound like the least sexually satisfied woman in the world just to pet your ego.

We’ll have more lessons another day. Now go home and do your homework.

Mother May I

As it turns out, having two jobs is not just a time suck, it's also a serious brain suck. I haven't been able to get my brain to function long enough to sit down and write a proper entry for any of my blogs. Even my Tweets are losing steam from lack of sleep.

However, I got laid off on Thursday. Which means that I am depressed, taking a lot more calls, and have SO much more time off. So, I have time to blog in-between birthing tiny rabbits and kittens.

As I have already stated, the line I work for is a No Taboo line. Guys can request anything their sick little hearts desire, and I do not have the option of saying, “Okay, ew? What the hell is wrong with you?”

When I learned I would be working a No Taboo line, my first thought was that I was going to get a lot of calls for guys who want children. I was not in any way prepared for this, but I figured I would handle that when it came along.

Lo and behold, the fantasy I get the most requests for are the complete opposite ends of the spectrum. At least five calls out of 10 are for guys who want to have sex with their mothers.

I’m not a mother. I’ve never had children, nor did I have any brothers. So I may not be the best person to ask this question, but what exactly are these moms doing to their sons to cause them to have such VIVID fantasies about mating with them?

I’m not necessarily judging. Everyone has odd kinks. But the fact that this kink is so common is more than a little disturbing to me. What’s even more disturbing is that many of these callers claim to actually have had sexual encounters with their mothers. Now, I realize that as a phone strumpet, I’m going to be lied to a great deal. It’s not as if I’m totally honest. I say as I tuck my 42DDD breasts into my waistband. But some of the clients are so utterly and completely convinced that they’ve had a sexual relationship with their mother that I can’t help but wonder if they’re not bullshitting me.

There is a difference between a Mother call and a Mommy call. Mother calls, the guys speak clearly and explain that they have this fantasy, and want me to act it out for them. Occasionally they offer examples of what they’ve done with their mother, or opportunities they had to be with their mother that they didn’t act upon. Mostly because these opportunities occurred when they were pre-pubescent. I can handle that. They set me up, I call them little motherfuckers, and the call gets done.

But as I mentioned in the research post, I am not prepared for the Mommy calls. It doesn’t matter how many I get, it’s almost impossible to prepare myself for it. I am not prepared to google “Mommy porn”, mostly because I get the feeling there are grown men in diapers involved. These guys want “Mommy”. They don’t start out telling me what they want, they start out with “Hi, Mommy” and I am supposed to take the lead from there. I really do wish someone would would write a Phone Strumpet for Dummies manual for moments like this.

I have so much fodder in the barely two months I’ve been taking calls. I need to get on the ball and get all my thoughts in here. It’s insane.

Until next time.

An Acting Lesson

An acting lesson from your friendly neighborhood Phone Strumpet.

I'm pretty open minded when it comes to sex. With a few notable exceptions, I'm willing to try anything once. Twice if I think I did it wrong the first time.

But even I can be surprised by people's kinks. Yet, I'm not allowed to be surprised. When the dispatcher rings me, and says, "We have John Doe, and he wants you to fuck him up the ass with a lightbulb" (haven't gotten that yet, but I'm waiting for it), I have to sound like I genuinely believe it is the sexiest thing in the world and I have just been WAITING for his phone call, because nothing could possibly turn me on more.

It's easy enough to do when they want your average dirty talk. I have called myself a dirty whore more in the last week than I have in my entire life. This is a situation where it's a really good thing I'm not trying to do this face to face, because I can't say it with a straight face. Go figure.

But I have a gentleman who is testing my ability to not laugh on the phone. In fact, I did laugh, but luckily, it was mid-emphatic agreement, and I managed to work it in there.

Shoe/foot fetish. It's not my thing, and I have never been with someone who has had one. I myself have a shoe fetish, but it's of the "I Must Own Every Pair Ever Made and In Every Color" variety. I don't actually get off from seeing shoes. However, heels are very sexy. I think every woman looks sexy in a good pair of shoes, the higher the better. Stripper shoes, kitten heel, slingback, stilleto. They're all good. (Oh, exception. Ballerina flats? Not sexy)

So, when my client, who will be referred to as John Singer (he is a frequent flier, so he might be referred to in future entries), mentioned shoes, I figured, "Mmmkay. Shoe/foot fetish."

The first call lasted a little over 20 minutes. I hung up the phone, and fell over, laughing so hard I snorted. In the process, I drove the boot I'd been using as a prop into my side, both hurting me and making me laugh harder.

Mr Singer has a specific person he's fantasizing about. This is common, so I've found. The only rape fantasy I've gotten so far (1 minute 20 seconds) was quite obviously done with someone in mind. But Mr. Singer had the details ready, down to the type of reading glasses his lady was wearing.

I learned to improvise quickly with this one. He would reference something that I am obviously not going to know (Hi! You're not actually talking to your fantasy woman), and I had to figure out a sexy way to say, "Uh. What? Ohhh, so that's why my shoes were damp when I came back in the office. Fabulous. Oh, that thing hidden in my desk drawer? What thing would that be? Oh, that thing. Sure, I'll strap that on for you."

But see, all of that I can handle. It was what he wanted me to do with my heels that is a little weird for me.

I have accidentally knocked guys in the balls before. I may not have them, but I've seen the pain, and the tears. I'm quite certain it's a horribly unpleasant experience. So why exactly would one want a woman to stand on their balls in a pair of high heels? That just seems TERRIBLY unpleasant.

The first time he called, he wanted to hear the heels clacking on the floor. I'd been trying on a pair of boots at the time, so I clip-clopped them on the floor, forcing back the laughter the entire time.

This time, he caught on that I wasn't actually wearing them. So I put them on, and started walking back and forth in my living room. And, of course, I had to slam my foot down repeatedly, to simulate the noise of his balls being trampled underneath my heel. I'm scuffing my floors all to hell.

I could go into more detail, but I think you get the general idea of the acting skills required here.

One last thing. The real tried and true test of my ability not to laugh? The farther into the call we get, he actually starts to sing/rap about what it is he's wanking off to. Using my name. Over and over again. The first time he did it, I yanked the microphone on my headset up and away, and covered my mouth to try to muffle the noise.

And then he actually got my name wrong, and started singing to some random phone strumpet. And that was when I slipped.

Ain't that a kick in the rubber parts?

I haven't decided what the format of this blog is going to be. I mean, in the two days I've worked as an Official Phone Strumpet, I've taken 17 calls from 15 different men, and there is enough fodder to make a complete Doctor Phil book.

So how should I do this? I mean, am I going to make an entry per Client (as they will be referred to)? An entry summing up the night's requests? A weekly round-up?

I guess I will play it by ear. Same way I'm doing it with the job itself.

I think I have a pretty active sexual imagination. I can daydream some really intense sex scenes. And yes, I have read and watched porn. Hell, I used to read an awful lot of bad fanfiction. I would swear a few of these guys are quoting directly from the dialogue in those.

But even I can learn things. So, this entry is going to be about learning experiences, and things I need to learn more about.

Everything I Need to Know About Sex I Learned From Being A Strumpet

1) There is porn for men who enjoy getting kicked in the balls, and/or seeing other men get kicked in the balls.
2) There is porn for men who enjoy having sex (including all foreplay) completely underwater. Also, air hoses and masks are for wimps.
3) There is a "man thong" called The Maximizer that doesn't actually cover anything, but rather, holds the package (mostly) in place.
4) Licking semen from a patent leather shoe (or the equivalent, just not fluffy) has the same texture as giving a blowjob. I don't plan on researching this for my records.

Research: How not to be silent for 10 minutes after hearing what a Client wants

1) When a Client wants you to be his Mommy, are you supposed to be a kind Mommy? Are you a strict Mommy? Does he actually want you to tell him he doesn't have to wear the ruffly panties?

Is there a kink for a woman eating food? Because I tend to take bites just as the damn phone rings, and it's inconvenient to have to swallow that quickly.

Speaking of which. The first person to say "That's what she said" in my comments gets my heel in their ass. I'm learning how to do that, too. In this blog, "That's what she said" is replaced by "Just like our Lord Jesus". It is the only appropriate replacement.

I was hired to be a woman in her 40's. Apparently cigarettes and concert going has aged my voice almost 20 years. This is a good thing, as young voices tend to get the calls I'm least looking forward to.

First call of the job was the ball kicker. Last call of that day was the funnest client I think I may ever have, and I was enjoying our conversation (yes, actual conversation) so much I felt bad that he was paying for it.

This is definitely going to be a bumpy ride.

How difficult can this be?

Have you ever googled the term, "Phone sex diary"?

Because I don't recommend doing it.

EVER.

Unless that's your type of thing. At which point, this isn't the blog for you. I will not provide links for you to enjoy that kind, but I assure you, there are many. As my poor internet history can attest.

This is not a porn blog. I will not talk dirty to you. What this blog is for is to share with whoever chooses to read it my adventures in being a PSO, aka Phone Sex Operator.

I don't know if this will be a job I'm good at. But I have a mind that's perpetually in the gutter, and have had a fairly eventful sex life in my almost 28 years. So I'm just as good a candidate as those girls I just found via google. o_O

The phone sex company I work for is a No Taboo line. The men can request and talk about anything they like. That includes sex with children, which is the only thing I'm actively worried about. But I will cross that bridge when it comes through my phone line.

I won't be using real names for my clients, to respect their privacy and mine. Nor will I use my actual "Fantasy Name" here.

So, welcome to the blog. Enjoy the ride.