The Elephant in the Closet: 

Of Mixed Metaphors, Phone Sex Snafus & FemDom Interludes

or

Is That Your Fat Uncle in Your Panties Behind the Hangers?

Sometimes things change.  That’s the way it goes, and — I don’t know about you, but — I’m not very good at change.  When my favorite seafood restaurant lost its lease and moved to another location, I could hardly stand it and even stopped frequenting that same restaurant until I got to jonesing for their most awesome crab legs and one-of-a-kind steak salads.  Ah, the bend and the sway of real life with  all it’s complex detours.

As you may or may not know, I take my Phone Sex calls through the NiteFlirt platform.  When I decided to get back into the Business of Talking Dirty, I considered a variety of options.  Working for a Phone Sex Company was one possibility.  And I did give it a shot.  Briefly.  Very briefly.  Let’s just say that things weren’t quite what they seemed and I left rather abruptly, sacrificing the $1,000 plus they owed me.  I knew I’d never get the cash, but at that point I felt I had to put my callers’ well-being before my personal monetary considerations.  It was the right move.  I learned a lot and I’ve never regretted it.

I also made a very good friend while working for that company who urged me to go back to my original plan of starting my own one-woman service.   She was right.  From the beginning, my main concern was that — which ever way I did business — my callers had a superior and safe experience.  It’s the Internet, after all; trust and security are big deals.  I wanted to take care of my callers in the way I would want to be taken care of as a “customer.”

I seriously thought about going with my own merchant account, which would have given me oodles of control over the “customer experience,”  except I absolutely detest talking money with PhoneSex Callers.  Kinda-sorta ruins the mood, dontcha think?  I looked at Pay Per Call services (too impersonal and a bit cumbersome for my taste).  I checked out more than a few Phone Sex Platforms and Phone Sex Billing Services — they all had their positives and negatives.  In a word, I was doing my homework.   And don’t get me wrong — there are a lot of legit, very good options out there.  I just was looking for, I dunno, something with that certain je ne sais quoi.

And I found that certain something which I could not define with NiteFlirt.   For those of you who are not familiar with the site, let me break it down.  A very good way to look at NiteFlirt is to see it as a “PHONE SEX MALL,” where Independent Phone Sex Operators lease space from which to run their Phone Sex Business.  This is good for the Phone Sex Shopper, because he can peruse and compare at his own pace and discretion.  A handy menu (Anything Goes, Phone with Cam, BDSM, Role Play, Fetish, etc.) makes it easy to find exactly what you are looking for.

There’s some other pretty awesome benefits:

• You are anonymous!  You can create a “member name” and be completely confident that NiteFlirt will keep your personal info safe and secure.
• There’s a Satisfaction Guarantee which is practically unheard of in the Phone Sex Industry.
• New callers receive Three Free Minutes for their first call through the system.
• NiteFlirt enforces a rigid Anti-Spam Policy — Can I hear an AMEN!
• You have several payment options including ATM Cards, Debit Cards or Check Cards

Additionally, the NIteFlirt system is very flexible — responsive to individual preferences.  Callers are not required to commit to a minimum call time or to purchasing bulk minutes which must be used right then and there.  Instead, you “pay as you go.”  You might opt to keep the call brief (with deposited monies rolling over for later calls) or might want to even add as you go and continue the call.

You can call every day or once a year.  You can call one girl exclusively or just slut yourself out all over the site.  You can even create different accounts if you want to keep your “submissive self” separate from you “dominant self.”  It’s totally about  you and what you prefer. Not a bad deal, eh?

So now you know why I do business with YOU through the NiteFlirt platform.  Aren’t you a lucky boy?  (Let me hear it:  Yes, Mistress, I am a lucky boy.  I am a very lucky boy.)

But recently NiteFlirt has undergone some changes and — up until now — I’ve chosen NOT to address those changes here at this blog.  I really didn’t want to.  I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to — that everything would be all hunky-dory by now.  But it isn’t.  It isn’t … but it IS getting there.  The NiteFlirt platform is basically undergoing a total overhaul and it’s taking more time than expected.  And it can be trying.

So we need to talk about it.  I need to talk to YOU about it.

First, let me assure you that all the perks and goodies I listed above are still strong and still in place.  A quality “Customer Experience” is still the numero uno focus of NiteFlirt.  And, as you know, it is always and forever my goal.  But, quite frankly, we (callers and PSOs alike) are experiencing a few technical difficulties.

Beginning from almost-scratch to re-build what is a very sophisticated system is proving taxing for the techs; they’ve run into a multitude of glitches and issues they didn’t foresee.  But they are working day and night to get it right.   Behind the scenes, NiteFlirt is in continuous dialogue with Flirts, noses to the grindstone, indefatigable in their quest to identify, isolate and repair mechanical irregularities.  Pretty impressive, actually.

Like I said:  ALL THE GOOD STUFF IS WORKING JUST FINE

Which means that, as a customer, most of the technical stuff shouldn’t affect you too much.  It might be irksome — for example, if the connection is suddenly lost — but certainly not earth-shattering.  And anything you might run into is easily-remedied by either calling right back (in most cases that will do it) or filling out a Customer Support Form which you can find by clicking the “help” tab at the top of your account page.  The two callers of mine who actually filled out the Support Form were very impressed and pleased with how their situation was handled.

International Access is currently unavailable, and it might be a while until this issue is resolved.  But don’t let that stop you.  Download VoIP software, like Skype (an eBay company) in the meantime.  Last night, an Australian caller using Skype (Hi, Mr. G!) was able to forward the call from Skype to his regular phone and we had an absolutely smashing time.  And a kinky one, for that matter.  And don’t you even dare ask, because that’s between me and Mr. G.!

A few other tips:

• If you call a girl you really like, save her to your favorites so you can quickly find her the next time.
• Send thank you Emails so SHE can keep track of YOU.
• Write down the extension/s of your favorite PSO/s.  Just in case.
• If you can, place your call from the website.  Calling over the phone is still a little glitchy and you might not be able to find a fav gal.
• If you need an issue addressed STAT, call the number on your credit card statement and leave a message.  Someone will be in touch!

Lastly, don’t you forget for a moment that NiteFlirt is THE premium Phone Sex Site on the web.  They’ve got your back!  They always have and always will go the extra mile for customers.  So keep the faith and stick with us through this little bit of turbulence.  It’s really all about the future.  It’s about making NiteFlirt an even better place for you to visit and the customer experience uber superior.  I have the inside scoop, my lovelies, and there are many fabulous features to be added down the road.

Just you wait and see.  And be prepared to be amazed.

xo, Angela

(And if you’re a sniveling little runt of a slave boy, count your blessings, get on your fucking knees and crawl to the phone.  NOW.)

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Happy Howl-O-Ween

  EAT, DRINK & BE SCARY!

♦♦♦♦

Broomstick Rides Available:  Click Here

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Little Orphan Annie

by James Whitcomb Riley

Little Orphan Annie’s come to our house to stay,
And wash the cups and saucers up, and brush the crumbs away,
And shoo the chickens off the porch and dust the hearth and sweep,
And make the fire, and bake the bread, and earn her board and keep;
And all us other children, when the supper things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire and has the mostest fun
A-listeniin’ to the witch tales that Annie tells about,
And the Gobble-uns that gits you if you don’t watch out!

Once they was a little boy who wouldn’t say his prayers–
And when he went to bed at night, away upstairs,
His mammy heard him holler and his daddy heard him bawl,
And when they turned the kivvers down, he wasn’t there at all!
And they seeked him in the rafter room, and cubby hole and press,
And seeked him up the chimney flue, and everywheres, I guess;
But all they ever found was just his pants and round about!
And the Gobble-uns’ll git you if you don’t watch out!

And one time a little girl would always laugh and grin,
And make fun of everyone, and all her blood and kin;
And once when they was company and old folks was there,
She mocked them and shocked them and said she didn’t care!
And just as she kicked her heels, and turnt to run and hide,
They was two great big Black Things a-standin’by her side,
And they snatched her through the ceiling
‘fore she knowed what she’s about!
And the Gobble-uns’ll git you if you don’t watch out!

And little Orphan Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
And the lampwick sputters, and the wind goes woo-oo!
And you hear the crickets quit and the moon is gray,
And the lightning bugs in dew is all squenched away–
You better mind your parents, and your teachers fond and dear,
And cherish them that loves you, and dry the orphan’s tear,
And help the poor and needy one that cluster all about,
Or the Gobble-uns’ll git you if you don’t watch out!

___________________________________________________

Believe me, it’s very scary when PQS reads this aloud to you!  That man has a way with him.  Oh yes he does.

The poet’s website:  Click Here   Wikipedia Page:  Click Here

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And did you hear about the Twitter "Tweance" wherein a psychic contacted Michael Jackson, Kurt Cobain and River Phoenix?  Sadly, Avon Bard, Shakespeare was apparently rather tired and chose not to participate.  You can "see" the Seance HERE.  And read about it HERE.

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Before you go …

… shall we Dance? 

Dance the Monster Mash?  Click Here

America, you’re a fat, sweaty bastard. For your sake, and for all of our sakes really, you need to embrace pornography.

You’re The Great Satan. You’re a canker sore in the mouths of countless people around the world. For every good thing you do, there are a dozen bad decisions you make, another hairy, beady-eyed war criminal painting his ugly visage on the yellow and orange slums of whatever Third World country you decided to rape this year. There are thoughtful, intelligent, decent people within your borders who embody the true meaning of the American Spirit…most of whom are crudely silenced by their overweight, dimwitted American counterparts.

You’re secretive. You love to lie. When you make a mistake, it takes you years to admit it. Basically, you’re the international equivalent of a terrible, cheating girlfriend. Except when the girlfriend makes mistakes, it results in a drunken argument at 3 am. When you, the USA, makes a mistake, it results in smart bombs blowing the turbans off numerous brown-skinned peoples.

People in the Third World hate you so much that they follow badly dressed psychopaths masquerading as heads of state. They hate you so much that they’ll blame you for anything; if the people of Venezuela are stricken with a nationwide case of hemorrhoids, Venezuelans will no doubt blame their predicament on CIA administered poison toilet paper. My friend, they hate you so much they’re willing to strap pretty much anything flammable to their chests and run screaming into your embassies. Hell man, some crazy bastards hated you so much they even crashed fuckin airplanes into buildings. And it wasn’t even an accident.

Now now, don’t get defensive. Millions of your citizens would jump to your defense, scream that America is an innocent and god-fearing nation, then proceed to slit our throats and burn Liberating Porn to the ground for uttering such unspeakable insults about their country, all in defense of the freedom of speech. You need to stop listening to your yes-men: the piss poor hicks, the capitalists raping the planet, the assbackward, football coach generals, the captains of the booming lapel flag industry. These people are sucking on your huge, glistening, red, white, and blue nipples. You need to listen to the citizens who love you, but don’t hesitate to call you out on your mistakes. These are the dissenters, the true and honest patriots of all stripes, the intellectuals, the generous middle class, the free thinking working class, poor, and disenfranchised. Or, as your most ardent supporters refer to them, ‘terrorists’.

There’s a reason why people hate you. Though you present yourself as a benevolent force for good, more often than not you act like a sniveling corporate douchebag. You’re in it for the money. You broker backdoor deals with thugs and gangsters from countries with unpronounceable names. And you cover it up. You’re a no good stinking liar. You sweep all your dirt under the couch, then kill the maid.

Sure, we could advocate nationwide revolution. Americans certainly have the weaponry to do this; compared to the average citizens of Camden, New Jersey, the resistance in Iraq looks like a squad of poor kids playing with Soviet Nerf guns. Having a handgun in Philadelphia is laughable; even the most peaceful, law abiding civilians are armed to the teeth with automatic weapons. Let’s not forget the bat-shit insane white people in the Midwest, more than a few of whom belong to paramilitary groups who are right now crawling through shrubbery, acting out their favorite scenes from Red Dawn.

No, instigating armed revolution is not our goal. Instead we suggest that you, America, embrace pornography. Millions of your citizens are avid fans, and very few of them harbor sexual perversions. Well perhaps they do, but these are mostly harmless perversions, legal everywhere in the country except in Texas (where half of the criminal population is on death row while the other half is elected for office).

Sexually uninhibited people are among the healthiest in America. They live longer, happier lives. Mental health-wise, they pop less Prozac. They raise better children. Most people who live happy, sexual lives are liberal in thought and action, open-minded, and tolerant of others. Rarely do they harm anyone, as it’s almost impossible to fly into a murderous rage when you’re getting laid on a regular basis.

Compare these liberated people to the flag waving denizens, the ugly, pimple-faced, angry children of America. Their evangelist says they can’t fuck for fun, so their bedrooms are dull places of god-fearing, supposed do-goodery. It’s not just the obvious nut jobs, either. We live in a democracy, and the angry, non-sex-having people vote for other angry, non-sex-having people. Angry, no-sex having people have done their best to ensure that you, America, come across as the same. But angry, no-sex having countries tend to bomb the piss out of a lot of people.

Yes, even with our new President, we at Liberating Porn fear for you, America. You need to put down the anti-abortion sign with that dead baby picture, smoke a doob and take it easy. Because even with B-rock in the Oval Office, you’re still filled with anger, still the jock doofus who shows off the Lexus his rich daddy bought him. For Christ’s sake, look at you. You’re at those stupid evangelical churches all the time then you finger-bang old men in truck stops. You’re a walking contradiction, a Great Satan that decorates brutal, elitist capitalism with Wal-Mart party balloons and Big Macs while your citizens die fat and poor. Please stop defending your actions with failed ideology. You misinterpret Adam Smith, demonize intellectuals, and have yet to hold a press release to inform the masses that Ayn Rand was a giant cunt.

Embracing porn may not fix all of your problems, but it will help you be honest. Naked people cannot hide much. It’s hard to keep a lobbyist in your pocket if you’re not wearing pants. Let us see your warts, so that we can have a doctor remove them.

So let your cock out, America. Put on a skin flick and crank one out. Hell, you can call Canada over to the house. She’s a sweet chick. We hear that she’s down for just about anything, given that she can get all types of crazy drugs from her free clinics. (Let your beard grow in; Miss Canada loves guys who look like lumberjacks or hockey players.) Get your nut off, experience some free love, then see how you feel in the morning.

With love,

Mitch and Chip — LIBERATING PORN

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I don’t know Mitch and Chip, but I sure as hell like what they’ve got to say.  Mostly, it’s what I’ve been saying all along, but they say it more  — um — in-your-face poetically than I ever could. 

In fact, it turns me on so much that I’m masturbating to this essay.

… every.  fucking.  word.  of it.

I could say a lot more.  Oh my darlings, soooo much more.  But I want you to savor THEIR WORDS, not mine.  Maybe later.

BROADWAY MELODY

by Frederick Seidel

A naked woman my age is a total nightmare.
A woman my age naked is a nightmare.
It doesn’t matter. One doesn’t care.
One doesn’t say it out loud because it’s rare
For anyone to be willing to say it,
Because it’s the equivalent of buying billboard space to display it,

Display how horrible life after death is,
How horrible to draw your last breath is,
When you go on living.
I hate the old couples on their walkers giving
Off odors of love, and in City Diner eating a ray

Of hope, and paying and trembling back out on Broadway,

Drumming and dancing, chanting something nearly unbearable,
Spreading their wings in order to be more beautiful and more terrible.

___________________________________

Poetry:  I just can’t get enough, it seems.  Yeah, I know you come here to read dirty stuff from the Phone Sex Goddess, the Queen of Kink, the Damsel of Debauchery.  I get that.  I really do.  But there is a lot more to me than "Smut Literatrix" and if you don’t want these other parts of me … sorry, chump.  Google your favorite dirty words and get on with it. Or you could hop on over to Blistered Lips, where I keep my little trove of personally-written FREE smut.  Either way, I’ll be here when you get back. 

So let’s get back to talking about this poem/poet.  First off, from my point of observation, it’s comme il faut to blog about this poem today, because I’m going to a Broadway show tonight.  And, oh yes, I am excited.  But more about that at some future date. 

It seems that Mr. Seidel is currently the toast of the town with the recent publication of Poems 1959-2009.  Everybody’s talking and I’m listening. 

Michael Hoffman of The Poetry Foundation notes: 

From the beginning, Seidel was always a bogeyman, a Bürgerschreck, an épateur—a carnivore if not a cannibal in the blandly vegan compound of contemporary poetry

From Wyatt Mason at The New York Times:

 … novelists are among Seidel’s most articulate advocates. Norman Rush recognizes how Seidel’s choices can be misunderstood: “The risks Seidel takes have to do with threatening the potential affection of new readers. They may see him as a ‘swell’ and take that presentation as reason enough not to be interested in what he’s doing. He doesn’t cozen the reader. But if you persist, the power and profundity of Seidel’s games, and his nerve, will get you — draw you into the extremely complex set of experiences that he’s laid out for you to have.”

Adam Kirsh (The New York Sun) answers the question, "Who is the best American poet writing today?" with:

Though the news will not be welcome to prize juries, literary philanthropists, and the people who choose the poems for the subway, I think it may be Frederick Seidel. There is a reason why Mr. Seidel, whose first book was published more than 40 years ago, has not accumulated the cargo of honors that turn so many poets his age into mere worthies: no Pulitzer, no National Book Award. Indeed, if you go to the "about the author" section of Mr. Seidel’s new Web site, you will find no curriculum vitae at all. Instead, Mr. Seidel offers a clipping from a 1962 issue of the New York Times, about the controversy that resulted when a panel of poets chose his first collection, "Final Solutions," for the 92nd Street Y’s inaugural poetry prize. Though the judges included Robert Lowell, the sponsor refused to publish the book, on the grounds that it libeled a living person.

Now — to my mind — this is an exciting and fascinating man/poet/iconoclast.  Being somewhat of a maverick myself, I am downright rapturous over this guy and his book.  I want to know more more more.  Give me more more more.  I want a biography.  I want an autobiography.  I want that book of poems.  I want it bad bad bad.  I want it yesterday.  I want to prop it up next to my PC so I can cast loving glances at it.  I want it in my purse so I can take it out at the nail salon and impress my fellow fashionistas.  II want it under my pillow at night so I can fondle it and smell it up-close-and-personal.

But that’s beside the point.   What’s more important is that I feel and see so much with this poem.  First of all — despite the fact I’ve never been even close to New York — I feel the New York-iness of this poem.  I can see the City Diner.  I am sitting in the City Diner, feeling the aged leather of the booth cling to my legs as I peruse a yellowed menu of cheap and fattening food while watching the natives order french fries (not home fries!) with their bacon and eggs from a waitress named Frannie, wearing a triangled handkerchief above her left breast. 

I know that elderly couple and the scent of their weathered love.  A love so strong and so anchored in time they could care less what a poet sophisticate thinks of them … they have each other.

And how dare Mr. Seidel  talk so candidly of aging women.  Ouch!  It just touches sooo deeply  — and I’m not complaining, mind you.  bring it on, Mr. Seidel.  make me choke on your poem — because I fear aging, having played the youth card for all its worth in the pursuit and conquering of men. 

Can you tell I’m excited?  Yes, indeed, I am.  I’ve caught up with some of Mr. Seidel’s work elsewhere.  And I’m more than excited:  I’m downright smitten.  I’m hot to trot.  I’m turned upside down and inside out.  This guy is a versifying genius.  I just might make him the Poet Savant of Zen.  A new savant is — after all — long overdue, and I don’t think there’s anyone else even close to being worthy of carrying the mantle.  Although I don’t think he’d thank me in the morning.  *wink*

I’ll be thinking about you and Mr. Seidel and all that jazz on my way to the theater this evening.  I’m much excited, and engaged and enthused  — the three "Es" of Self-Actualization (I made that up, but it works for me).  A special thank you to Mr. Smith who sent me a link in an email and got this whole ball rolling.  The only other occasion he took time from his (most likely) busy schedule to write me was to complain about something we’ve since ironed out.  So it was with much pleasure I received this particular email today.  You did good, Mr. Smith!

xo, Angela

ps. Speaking of Fredericks … Fredrick the Cross Dressing Cat has started his own blog.  How cute is that?  I always knew he was smarter than the average kitty.  He’s also tweeting at twitter, so make sure to follow him.