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. ^
