The Dangers of Being a Strumpet

A dear Strumpet friend of mine, who we’ll refer to as J, posted a link to my Facebook page today.

Suing for Too Much Sex: A woman in Florida has sued her employers for developing carpal tunnel syndrome – also known as repetitive motion injury – in both hands. She got it from too much masturbating.

Now, the heading and opening paragraph were enough to grab my attention. Is this woman claiming to actually masturbate during every phone call she gets?

She is a phone sex operator and apparently is required to masturbate up to 7 times a day for her clients. She would use one hand on the phone and the other on herself to get an orgasm.

Cue cherry coke all over my computer keyboard. Seven times a day? Really? You’re diddling yourself seven times a day, and the only thing that hurts are your wrists? Connect me with your lube guy.

Now, I’ve mentioned before that Strumpeting is not the most lucrative career choice. It’s a lovely supplement to a boring day job, but I’m not tapping Louboutins on the floor for my shoe fuckers. Plus, it’s not predictable work. When you get paid on a per minute basis, you have no guarantee how much you will earn on a day to day basis. Sure, on a full moon you can rack up the crazies, but some days, the clients are going to church, or AA, or just haven’t paid their credit card bill, and you can end up with one 5 minute call to report.

So, how much can she really going to get for her troubles?

She filed for worker’s compensation and claimed weekly benefits of $267 and also wants to be reimbursed $30,000 for medical bills, after a neurosurgeon operated on her hand.

I’m working for the wrong Strumpet company.

Naturally, I wanted to know the outcome of this case, so I did some Google Fu. The date of the article is 2007, but it appears this case actually happened in November of 1999. I was 17 at the time, and just beginning to be told by random strangers that I had “a lovely voice”.

It took a bit of digging, but as it turns out, my Strumpeting ancestor won her case, for a “minimal amount because ‘mediator Joseph Hand, a retired workers' comp judge, told her she'd have a tough time’ winning. (Source)

Let’s all take a moment to titter at Mr. Hand’s unfortunate association with this case.

Now, I’m a handsy gal. And not in the Strumpet way. I’m a knitter. I type 120 words a minute. I’m Italian, and as with most of my over gesticulating breed, if I were to sit on my hands, I would be unable to speak. I do regular wrist exercises to ensure I don’t get carpal tunnel.

Carpal tunnel from masturbating actually sounds legit. I have cracked many a joke to people of both sexes who were experiencing wrist pain, that a significant other would drastically reduce such inconveniences.

But carpal tunnel from masturbating minimally seven times a day, because it is “required” for your job as a phone sex operator?

For one thing, you must have a libido of steel. The douchebag on the phone who is calling you “his little cunt” and telling you to “take it up your booty hole” is really inspiring you to double click your mouse? You don’t dry up immediately when your client says, “Daddy’s good girl”?

The only way a phone strumpet could potentially masturbate to each and every call that comes in would be if she (or he, though to be fair, I’ve yet to meet a male strumpet. Call me) were a nymphomaniac. From what I understand about this disorder, it’s not about being turned on. It’s no different than an alcoholic who doesn’t much care what the alcohol tastes like, they just want the feeling of drinking. In this situation, the strumpet very well could rub herself raw all day every day.

To you, oh ground breaking Strumpet Sister, I call the highest form of bullshit.

Shake it Up

When people first find out what it is I do for part of my meager living, there are the inevitable questions.

“Wait…does strumpeting mean what I think it means?

”No way! Do you make a lot money?”

”Do you ever get off?

Yes, it does. No, I don’t. And are you insane?

Here’s the thing about being a Phone Strumpet. It’s not sexy. Sure, it sounds wickedly titillating. Curled up in bed, writhing with glee as you enact a nasty little fantasy you wouldn’t even share with your best friend.

Which is all well and good. Until the person on the other end of the phone wants you to pee on them.

When folks, in general, think of phone sex, they think of one of two things. One:

Quickie: Featuring Hartbeat

A video to enjoy while waiting for the next blog entry.

I’ve just found the wonders of this lovely lady. Do yourself a favor, look up some more of her videos, most especially the one involving Watermelon.

Better the second time around

 

I generally like to find post-appropriate pictures to use for my blog entries. This is not always easy, and I’ve had to google some very colorful word salad before. However, in the time spent not Strumpeting, I discovered Pinterest, and really came to realize that Ecards, on the whole, express my thoughts much more clearly than I ever could. I cannot guarantee I won’t use them for every post from now on. I’ll try to control myself.

It has been a month (and eight days) since my return to Strumpeting. And it has been quite a surprising month, at that. The clients have managed to throw me for a loop time and time again, much to the enjoyment of my friends and coworkers from the boring job. There are so many good stories, and so many things I want to tell you, I barely know where to start.

One of the best things since I’ve been back is how many amusing calls there have been. Now, for the most part, phone strumpeting is a laugh riot. It’s impossible to do this job without laughing at at least one fantasy a week. And that’s a gross underestimate. These fantasies, the "sexy talk” from the clients, the noises they make when they come. Oh, god, the noises. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times, I love you, mute button.

Shockingly, I have not had a lot of Mommy Fuckers. I know, I’m as shocked as you are. I anticipated my first call back to start off with my usual greeting of, “Hi, Mommy.” Wonders never cease, I think I’ve only gotten three or four in this entire month. Now, the flip side of that is, I get the even odder callers. Odder than someone who takes the term “motherfucker” literally? But how can this be, you may ask?

Let’s talk about Vomit Guy. Vomit Guy doesn’t get a cutesy John name, like all the other clients. He doesn’t actually need one. He is Vomit Guy. There is no other. Well, I’m positive there are others out there, please don’t give them my phone number. As you might have guessed, Vomit Guy has a certain fetish. He really, really enjoys it when his lover is sick. And not just, “Oh, swoon, I have the vapors.”

No, no. Darling VG’s (and he really is darling, he’s a very nice client) needs are far more basic. Give him your flu strains, your food poisoned, your hungover. He loves you all equally. He wants to hear the dulcet tones of you regurgitating all over him. And afterwards, he wants you to turn around and kiss him. He used the word “chunky” once.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever made yourself throw up. That’s a personal choice between you and your stylist. But if you’ve ever heard someone throw up, you know that this is potentially the worst sound a human being can make. For a lot of us, simply hearing the sound of someone dry heaving can send us running for the bathroom.

I don’t think the noises I make actually sound like vomiting. It sounds more like I’m drowning, actually. I have yet to find a sure fire way to mimic the noise, for one main reason: Making noises that sound like you’re vomiting can actually lead to vomiting.

I’ve scratched my floors to shreds stomping down my heels for clients, slapped my hands together until the skin was raw to simulate spanking myself, and “screamed” like I was being anally raped with a maglite, but I draw the line at actually going full on bulimic for my clients.

Not getting mommy fuckers means I got Vomit Guy twice in two days. Made me feel special.

Also, another reverse of the mommy fuckers is the Big Babies. And I don’t mean babies like, they cry about their small penis. I mean, where’s my binky and I think I need a fresh diaper.

These guys are beyond my strumpet skills. I still cannot figure out exactly what is the turn on in this scenario. I try, I really try, to understand my clients’ fetishes. We all have weird kinks. I’m hoping desperately for a furry one day. I’ll dress up as a giant squirrel, let’s yiff. Come to think of it, next time a client says, “I don’t know, what do you want to do?”, I may try this. I’ll report back my findings.

But where is the turn on in being diapered? They don’t even ask that I remove the diaper and perform naughty baby sexual I can’t even finish this sentence. It’s just, change me. Powder me. Put me in a pretty floral bonnet and send me on my way.

And they don’t call me mommy. I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.

A woman of loose morals

(STRUM•pit)
Noun:
-A female prostitute or a promiscuous woman.
-A woman of loose morals

Other words in the same vein include: harlot, trollop, streetwalker, moll, trull, gammerstang, a butter'd bun, concubine, hussy, bedswerver, tramp, slut and so on.

See also: Mollynogging (source)

I may change my name to Phone Bedswerver.

Oh, what a wild month it’s been. I have so many blog entries written in my mind, and never any time. Until then, enjoy the graphic.