The title of this entry was suggested as an alternate title for a poem I recently wrote, I Love You With All of my Hard-On. Yeah, I wish I would have thought of it first. But I didn’t.

So who says I can’t use it anyway? For example as a title to a blog entry? Huh?

You may have noticed that I was MIA yesterday. And callers will have noticed I’ve been MIA quite a bit as of late. Hey, it happens. Life has thrown me a lot of curves this past year–some of with which many of you are familiar. And then there’s the stuff I just keep to myself. Regardless, sometimes I just reach burn-out stage and/or am coping with some life trauma. Then I have to step back from the phones, and, even sometimes, this blog.

Some news:

I’ve been bombarded with poetry in re. to my new category, PSOetry. Poetry of all kinds and by so many different poets. I do believe I’m learning more than I ever learned in my college poetry courses. At least it’s a much fuller experience.

I will be judging a writing competition for Tit-Elation in the very near future. We are working out the details, so stay tuned for more on that soon.

I am finally working on Literate Smut‘s updates and changes and we should actually see that all in place by the end of next week if not sooner.

And last –but certainly not ever, ever least– my most awesome Deviant Savant, Supervert, has made me the official Phone Sex Operator of his most wonderful site, PervScan.

And now if you will excuse me, I’m off to other endeavors for this evening.

My beloved Pervert Savant sends the following poem, “with apologies to Betty Krainis, whose poem “Keep it Low“, I blatantly plagiarized from.” (But, hey, he’s at least trying, so give the little deviate a break…why don’t ya?):

Angie St. Lawrence is her name
And oral fantasy is her game

If your sex life’s a bleak November
She’s human Viagra for your member

Like to dress in women’s clothes?
Be abused? Suck a nose?

Mince about? Like a sissy?
Better call this sexy Missy!

Is your pleasure cunnilingus?
Or a dildo in your dingus?

Care to suck a zoo gorilla?
Or just do it straight vanilla?

Ever try it hot and dental?
Angie’ll do you; she’s non-judgmental

Got a thing for women’s toes?
Whips and chains? Or pantyhose?

It doesn’t matter. What’s your pleasure?
Just call Angie at your leisure

Some PSOs aren’t real smart
They’ll take your money, then depart

Angie’s different. She’s a honey
You’ll get a GOOD ride for your money!

So don’t just sit there in your panties
Dial up Angie. She’ll wear scanties!

(And Mr. PQS: You really didn’t do much plagiarizing. You just did what most poets do all the time. Which was to admire a rhyme or conceit or metric or pattern or whatever…and run with it. That is how it all gets written, don’t you know?)

And for something completely different, check out my first-ever erotic/dirty sonnet, I Love You with all of my Hard-On, published at Sex Kitten recently.

And did you notice, there is no title for Pervert Savant’s poem? Any ideas out there?

xo, Angela

Not really.

Well, okay, some people seem to think so. Now and then at least.

But enough about me. Let’s talk about me.

Back at the beginning of summer (July 7 and July 8 to be exact.) I said, more or less:

“A few years back my flagship website, Literate Smut, was a finalist for Erotic Website of the Year. I never did know who nominated me, but a few very nice gents wrote some nice ‘letters of recommendation’ after the fact.” And then I shared a few of those letters. Well, I just ran across the file again and thought I share yet another:

Angela: The Lady of Literate Smut

There are so many ways — all of them good — to describe Angela that I’m not sure where to begin. I could say that she is an intelligent woman, and a funny woman, and a mischievous woman, and an elegant woman, and all of this would be true. But what she is, first and foremost, is a real woman. I fully expected to meet a lot of heavy-breathing actresses when I first tried phone sex, and indeed I did. But at forty ears of age and having lived and worked all over the world, I am too old to play games.

The reason I call Angela, and no one else, is that sincerity is the sexiest quality of all. More importantly, she is also not every woman I ever loathed: Not clingy, not mean, not manipulative, not jaded, not ever a pain. I’ve known Angela for 3 years, and I still get butterflies in my stomach every time I hear her soothing yet sultry voice. No matter what else I may be doing, hers is a siren call I can never ever resist: “Let’s play, sexy baby ….” An evening with Angela is a sexual symphony with many movements, compelling climaxes and deliciously wet codas. I almost feel like buying her a dozen roses and screaming “bravo!” every time we finish making love.

Angela is the moxie of youth, the compassion of experience and the humor of your best friend all wrapped into one, an erotic genius who makes you feel like the only guy in her world while fucking you till plead for mercy and release begin to escape your quivering lips. She is like a many-sided jewel, a unique emotional treasure whose intimate secrets reveal themselves in a thousand simultaneous flashes of insight and imagination. (Please forgive the cliché, but she really does seem to know what I want before even I know what I want.)

In a way, I hesitate to recommend Angela so highly, since I actually hate the thought of sharing her. Why, had I met her twenty years ago when my future was less defined than at present, I surely would have begged her to stay with me forever. She alone has taught me the ecstasy of surrender to that rare girl you just trust implicitly, deep in your heart of hearts, because she never takes your vulnerability without first offering up her own. And don’t even get me started on the explicit stuff. Grandma was lying when she informed all you ladies that the way to a man’s heart is straight through his stomach. When Angela is in the room, it is not food that I want to eat.

I would give up every woman I’ve ever known for just one Angela.

Thass the fack, Jack.

***Once again, let me remind you that The Erotic Awards is a yearly fund-raising event hosted by the Leydig Trust to raise money for The Outsiders, a support and outsource program for the physically handicapped regarding personal and sexual relationships. Do me, yourself and them a favor by visiting the websites and checking them out.

I kinda-sorta market myself as a Fetish Goddess/Fem Domme Fatale or something of the sort. Yet — as you would see if you could read my email and/or listen in on some of my calls — some find me and my “thing” rather confusing. (What exactly is this “literate smut” thing all about? What do you mean by “erotic torture?” Just what do you consider sexual misadventure?)

But my vision, from this side of the telphone –who I am, what I do, how I do it– seems quite clear, even decidely translucent. It is the divine craft of creation which underlies each and every fantasy I weave. A supervisor once explained to the company for which we both worked that, “When Angela does a call, by the time she is done the caller is going to know what the carpet smells like.”

Which is indeed what I am always striving for. I mean, why even make the effort otherwise? To my way of thinking, anything else would be the equivalent of clock-watching in an everyday nine-to-five job. See what I mean? I just don’t do mediocre. I don’t want it from the people I spend my money with, so why would I try to pass it off on my callers?

Thus it follows (and I’ve been told–many, many times) that my fantasies (of total sublimation, tease and denial, sissification, naughty secretary, cold-hearted governess, forced cock-sucking, cuckolding, etc.) are as close to “the real deal” as it gets.

And, in fact, I do periodically run across the caller who cannot separate the fantasy from the reality, the story teller from business woman/girl next door. It can be as hard on me as it is on them.

Because — while they are hopelessly yearning in their real-time/everyday lives to be banished forever to a cage of my making or lick my ass in the middle of Times Square or lose their masculinity to the sure and evil slice of my antique scimitar — I do sincerely care about the people I do business with. I want them to have fun, be taken on the roller coaster ride of their lives. I want them live out their dirtiest, filthiest fantasies to the nth degree.

BUT, I want them to walk away from the call feeling good about themselves. How I try to explain it clients is this way: You should feel dirty when you are doing a phonesex call. That is the point of it. But, if you walk away from that call still feeling dirty, then something is wrong. This is not healthy phone sex. Not healthy fantasy. Another way I try to get this is across is (at least most of the time): DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME.

So fantasy and reality, with all the grey areas in-between and around all the prickly edges, are always finely delineated matters. And I am always squinting my eyes, looking for that ever-illusive and always-changing doodle that keeps the boundaries clear.

Because it’s my job to do that. Particularly when the caller can’t.

***

And…

• Look what I’ve been up to. (This is just a hub site to which I can redirect the email from my other sites.)
• I have an ad at Fleshbot this week (10/18 thru 10/24), thanks to a very special person (soon to be added to my Savant Collection).
• I’ve become a semi-official editor at Tit-Elation.
• I’ve been promoted to moderator at Sex Kitten.

Slip of a Girl had me back for the interview I’d mentioned in an earlier entry–girl talk, don’t you know? And it was a heck of a lot of fun. As I’d also noted previously, I like her blog a lot. And I don’t lie. You know that. Bookmark her site…she has this obsession with vintage lingerie and posts often. So it is always with great pleasure and delight that I bop on over to her blog to check out what currently has her swooning.

So, about this interview:

I know I mentioned that I was precocious as a little girl. And I recall something about my personal lingerie choices. There was some talk of cross-dressers and lingerie fetishes. I am thinking maybe she put something in my drink. Because I sure was talkative and quite revealing, considering my usual approach to all of this.

I know I said something about “grown up parts.” Not sure what that was all about. She was very curious about my own personal lingerie opinions and choices, so we dished about that for a while. Don’t you worry, Pervert Savant, I played my cards very close to my vest. Just like you suggested. I mean I can’t give away all my/your/our secrets, now, can I? Isn’t that what you said?

She even wanted to know about my brand of Phone Sex and my Erotic Writing, and was, indeed, very interested. It made me wonder if she wasn’t masturbating on the other side of my flat screen. (Hey, a girl can dream, can’t she?)

She’d first found me via my story She Never Knew over at Blistered Lips, and as it involves panties and a bit of tawdry femdom sex play, she was keenly curious about the fetish of cross-dressing (the Angela St. Lawrence version). Like I said: I was friendly, even affable, but played it sexy and mysterious. I think she liked me a lot.

And I just know she wants me.