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.