Oh the Slings & Arrows …… of a mother effin Bitch Boy.

If you’re the sort who appreciates a bit of alliteration, we could call this particular rant post “The Incredible Case of the Curiously Obtuse Cretin.”  If we’re talking in soundbites, then our title might well be  “When Good Phone Sex Goes Wrong.”  Either way, in the instance of  FemDom Phone Sex, if something goes wrong, the caller is by default fully & inexcusably culpable.  Even though I did know better.

I knew better than he did — I did, I did, I did — that there was absolutely no way in hell a conversation betwixt the two of us could provide the “happy ending” he was seeking — the Utopian Sexual Nirvana he was hunting down like the Holy Grail, The Lost City of Atlantis, the mother-fucking Golden Fleece, Shangri-La, The Arc of the Covenant.   He was Ponce de León, looking for the goddamn Fountain of Youth (who thought, BTW, it would cure his impotence … oh the irony).  Looking for a long, long time … call after call, girl after girl. I know this, because he told me so.  And because I happen to have Super Powers.

I tried to tell him; really, really I did. Because I did know better than he did.  My spank-dar, which is hardly ever wrong, was screeching Danger, Will Robinson, um, I mean Ms. Angela. Danger.  (I said “hardly ever” not “never ever” wrong.  There’s going to be some problems when you buy your parts from a 20th Century Fox back lot fire sale.)

And it is, after all, right there in the sidebar (Quick Start Guidelines) on page 4 of  “The Phone Sex Operator’s Official Handbook” that I am going to write by the end of the year might get around to writing someday: #17. NEVER trust the words of a man with an erect penis in his fist.   His palms are sweaty and he can’t help but be one oily son-of-a-bitch.

Unfortunately, against all my better instincts and despite the creep creep creep of my trusty smarm-o-meter, I swallowed his bullshit, smooth lies and bracing promises, finally agreeing to do a Fantasy Phone Sex call with him.  Of course it didn’t work out and Mr. Smarm has nobody to blame but himself.  I told him the truth and he insisted on telling me different.

So let’s start with the email I received post-call.  In fact, so post-call that it was TWO WEEKS after our Role Play Fantasy via the phone when I finally heard from Mr. Smarm.  Don’t worry; by the end this will all make sense.  Of course, I could be wrong, and I’m sure if you had the chance to ask Mr. Smarm, he’d be the first to tell you so.  But this is MY blog and we’re not asking Mr. Smarm a damn thing.

Mr. Smarm’s email to me:

Hey Angela:

Thought I’d take the time to comment on our last conversation…

Well, I would be lying if I said that I was satisfied. It seemed that I caught you at a bad time and you really weren’t focused on our session. Also, I think that you [were] somewhat intimidated by me, and I really wish that wasn’t the case. I mean, I think that you felt like you had [to] think up something “extravagant” for me, but believe me – you don’t have to.

I wouldn’t mind giving it one more try, but I would like to catch you in a more relaxed/focused mood, so you can do your best work (and I know that you have an excellent imagination).

Mr. Smarm

So I guess the question is …

…  does Mr. Smarm deserve a response?  My usual policy when dealing with numbskulls is very simple:  Don’t.

The thing is that despite the fact that two weeks had passed, despite the abrupt end to the call, despite the absence of a gentlemanly follow up email, I was actually glad to see Mr. Smarm’s (TWO WEEKS LATE) email.  Because even the day of “the call” I’d given him the benefit of the doubt, allowing that there may have some glitch that disconnected us.  After all we’d already talked forty minutes at that point.  I mean, who stays on the phone for that length of time if they aren’t having fun, right?  And the platform I utilize for my calls had been experiencing some recurring issues.  So, yes, I was glad.  Until I opened and read his email, that is.

So …

I was glad, I was sad, and then I was mad.

Conclusion?  No way in hell does this jerk deserve another moment of my once undivided attention and always valuable time.  I adhere to the Fool Me Once, Twice Doctrine.  Logical and less messy.  Therefore, I will not be sending a return email to Mr. Smarm.  Unfortunately for you, I already wrote my response.

I’m sure you won’t mind:

Dear Mr. Smarm:

I was quite delighted today to see your email in my inbox.  That is until I opened and read it.   Of course, when I read your email, I went from pleasure to hurt in a heartbeat.

 Now I am fucking pissed.

Because I poured my heart and soul into that fantasy. Once we were off and running, the world around me dissolved into that office where I — and eventually Jennifer (remember the receptionist?) — accused you, abused you and used you.

And I did one helluva job.

Yes, at first, I was nervous, even a bit reluctant. Because, whenever a phone sex caller starts the conversation with, “I’ve experimented with phone sex for years and most girls just can’t get it right” … well, it just doesn’t bode well.

… at your urging, I DID RELAX and took a leap of faith that you were true blue and meant what you said.  Obviously — as we now know two weeks too late later — you aren’t and you didn’t.

Otherwise, you would have taken that leap with me and enjoyed the flight. You would have appreciated the rich details and well-drawn setting into which I grounded the fantasy (the picture window from my office; your desk right outside my door; my pencil skirt, sheer black stockings and garters juxtaposed against barely legal Jennifer’s sundress and wedge heels). You would have been savvy enough to realize that this girl on the other side of the phone was having the time of her life.   That she was firing on all pistons, creating our own special world and having a fucking blast doing it.

And, by the way, you should have answered truthfully when I took those moments during the call to pause and ask if the direction I was taking was doing it for you.  Instead you lied.  And now look where we are.

As for your statement that “I think that you felt like you had to think up something “extravagant” for me …”  Huh?  What? Do you not get what I do? Have you not read my FREE Phone Sex Preview Stories? There’s plenty of samples of my work, so that New Callers know exactly what I’m about.  Unlike you, I don’t pull any punches.

 Have you ever entertained the possibility, Sir Pants-Down-a-Lot, that the problem lies with you and not me?  After all, you’re the one who’s spent a little bit less than a lifetime looking for the perfect Phone Fuck.  It has been said of me, “The way she riffs on matters sexual and otherwise, she is my white Billie Holiday, a 21st century Anais Nin with just a touch of Machiavelli.”  I could quote caller after caller, but you can read all of my Phone Sex Reviews — at your leisure, of course, when you’re taking a break from your great and almighty Phone Sex Fantasy Crusade.

I think you’re confusing “extravagance” with “virtuosity.”

And Haven’t you still been on the prowl, trying out another and another and yet another Phone Sex Girl, still looking for your Phone Sex Fix these past two weeks?   Never mind, don’t answer that.  I already know you were.  I know it for a FACT.  Remember, I have Super Powers.

I dunno, maybe you had a PSO some years ago that rocked your world and the rest of us simply pale in comparison. Maybe we’re all inept and you’re just a customer getting poor service from every single one of us.  It must be a tough to be a Martyr for Phone Sex, traversing the minefield of Broken Wet Dreams.

The bottom line is that I have no desire to ever speak with you again. I gave you everything I had and you trashed it.  The coup de grâce is that you actually have the balls to say that you “wouldn’t mind giving it one more try.”  Are you demented or delusional?   Which is it?

Never mind, because guess what.  I would mind.  I would mind it very much.  I’d rather spend my time with the myriad men who find me creative and perfect just the way I am.

Angela

We now return to our regularly scheduled perversion.  If you’ve lost your remote, it might be between the couch cushions or just look right here.

Whew! I don’t know about you guys, but I need a drink of water after all that.  Maybe even a Xanax.

And why is that song banging around in my head?  Oh no I’ve said too much, I haven’t said enough … tra la la.   That’s me in the corner, that’s me in the spotlight.  Losing my religion … tra la la.

Oh yes she did say it:

It is not enough to be abstinent with other people, you also have to be abstinent alone. The Bible says that lust in your heart is committing adultery. You can’t masturbate without lust!

Lester (Kevin Spacey) jerks it in American Beauty

Jimmy Kimmel:

I’m not a political person.  I keep to myself.  I’m not one to get involved in these things.

I’m not proud to say I’ll stand by as our leaders drag us into wars based on false pretenses. I’ll stand by while our oceans are polluted by greedy corporations who only care about money. I’ll stand by while our military blatantly discriminates against our own armed forced based on their sexual preferences.

But I’ll tell you something:  When our right to masturbate is threatened, that’s where I draw the line.  What goes on between me in my own bedroom  (and car sometimes) is my business, not the government’s.

Phone Sex Caller #12: 

This is a recession and masturbation is all we’ve got.  And she wants to take that away from us?

Roger Ebert tweet:

Karl Rove hoping to cast Pee-Wee Herman in the Willy Horton role for Christine O’Donnell‘s attack ads.

Phone Sex Caller #5:

I’ll just quote Mark Twain:  Be good and you will be lonesome.

Jay Leno:

Frankly, I don’t think it’s any of her business what I do in the privacy of that voting booth. This is America. Once you close that little curtain, you should be able to pull any lever you want.

dutchboy (blog comment):

Though maybe we shouldn’t get too cocksure and erect her political headstone just yet. After all, the teabaggers will be pulling for her, long and hard. If they can stimulate turnout, her campaign might experience a sudden spurt. Things could still get sticky in Delaware. This is truly a seminal political moment.

Stephen Colbert:

"Masturbation is adultry." I know this is horrible news for my home audience, many of whom are committing adultry even as we speak.  But, folks, don’t panic.  There is simple way to fix this problem:  Simply, marry your hand!

Phone Sex Caller #7:

It’s like you say on your Twitter Account, Angela:  Do you really think God cares what you do with your dick? 

Craig Ferguson:

A lot of people love this woman. In the last 24 hours she’s raised more than $1,000,000. Which I think is ironic, because she’s against masturbation, but she’s taking money hand over fist.

Phone Sex Caller #34:

Wonder what she’d say if she knew that I regularly eat my own cum? 

___________________________

xo, Angela

Source Material: Daniel Kurtzman, Rachel Maddow Video, Roger Ebert Twitter Feed,

… or else.

I dunno.  I guess the problem is that when I don’t know you and you don’t know me and it is the first time we’ve spoken … 

… well, it’s creepy.  It’s smarmy-creepy when "Hey, baby" are the first words out of your mouth.  Did you even take the time to find out my name?  Check out my Free Phone Sex Stories or this Free Phone Sex blog?  Or scan my various Phone Sex listings at NiteFlirt such as Prick Tease or Literate Smut or Macho Sissy?  I’m absolutely certain that the answer is a big, fat resounding ENNN OHH. 

Because here’s what happened (and I’m always right about these things, so don’t even attempt a protest):  You found yourself  with your dick in your hand.  Your dick wanted a P U S S Y.  Not a woman, not Angela St. Lawrence or even a girl by any other name.  You just wanted a PUSSY. 

(Which begs the question:  Would a pussy by any other name still smell as sweet?) 

Regardless, we both know that you and your selfish prick could care less if you were talking to Angela, Mindy or Theresa.  You didn’t know my name, because you didn’t care who I was as long as I possessed a vagina.  In other words, in this particular instance (‘cuz certainly you don’t operate this way in your everyday life; say it isn’t so, dear man), you were actually using "baby" as a pronoun.  

And not a pronoun as in "you."  I wasn’t me to you.  I was an it.  Calling me baby was the equivalent  to calling me IT.  So guess what?

Baby = It = Pussy = No Phone Sex for You from Me

Yanno … You really should be more of a savvy shopper when it comes to calling a Phone Sex Operator, because there are many men who are so talented at changing there voices that they actually take calls — usually from the stOOpid (that would be you) boys — in their girly-girl voices and collect your cash by the minute while you jerk.  Yes, they are  low-life posers too lazy or dumb to get a real job.  But guess who their target market is?  Y. O. U.  Because they know they can get away with it.  I have to admit that there’s a sweet poetic irony in that for me. 

And yes, you pissed me off and that is why I ever-so-abruptly hung up on you.  Call me cranky, call me a bitch, call me too demanding.  I don’t care.   FYI, you’ve also been permanently blocked so I never have to hear your slimy voice again.  

So to HDB, jellyfish, Pervert Savant, Mr. Smith, et al:  Okay, so I wasn’t on my best behavior today.  Not so charming, not so sweet, not so tolerant.  But, as you fellows and most of my readers and/or callers know, I’ve recently moved.  It’s been hectic and stressful and energy-depleting.  A girl can only take so much, dontcha know? 

And, really now …  is it so wrong to expect at least a sentient being on the other end of the phone when I pick up?   Should I or any girl be subjected to the guttural demands (because with that intro, you know they were coming) of loutish clochards operating on three brain cells at best?

Tell me I am wrong, and I’ll try to do better the next time.  Honest Injun. *fingers crossed*

In the meantime …

Well, men really can be damnably dumb at times.  From my sister:

Three mischievous old Grannies were sitting on a bench outside a nursing home when an Old Grandpa walked by. Grandma One yelled out, "We bet we can tell exactly how old you are."

The old man stopped and shook his finger at the Grandmas. "What are you? Crazy? There is no way you can guess my age, you old fools."

Grandma Two answered back, "We’re not crazy and we can prove it. Just drop your pants and under shorts and we will tell you your exact age."

Embarrassed just a little, but eager to prove the old women wrong, the Old Grandpa he dropped his drawers.  Grandma Three asked him to first turn around a couple of times and to jump up and down several times.   Determined to teach the old women a lesson, the old man threw common sense to the wind and began whirling and jumping as the old women screeched and howled until tears were running down their cheeks. 

"I don’t know what you old bats are laughing at," said the Old Grandpa, stopping to catch his breath, "you still don’t know how old I am."

Then all three Grandmas all piped up and said, "You’re 87 years old."

Standing with his pants down around his ankles, the old gent asked, "How in the world did you guess?"

Slapping their knees and grinning from ear to ear, the three old ladies called out in unison…

"We were at your birthday party yesterday!"

BTW … been super busy with this move.  Unpacking, shopping, decorating, etc.  I will be blogging and taking calls most days, now that things are starting to come together.  We’ve got some dirty stuff, some interesting news and a whole bunch of mischief waiting just around the corner.  So stick around, get comfortable, loosen your tie or drop your drawers or pop some popcorn.  Hopefully it will be a very bumpy ride.

with much affection, Angela

(photo credit: The Pirata)

Picture Credit:  Toothpaste for Dinner

1. The roundest knight at King Arthur’s round table was Sir Cumference. He acquired his size from too much pi.

2. I thought I saw an eye doctor on an Alaskan island, but it turned out to be an optical Aleutian .

3. She was only a whisky maker, but he loved her still.

4. A rubber band pistol was confiscated from algebra class, because it was a weapon of math disruption.

5. The butcher backed into the meat grinder — and got a little behind in his work.

6. No matter how much you push the envelope it’ll still be stationery.

7. A dog gave birth to puppies near the road and was cited for littering.

8. A grenade thrown into a kitchen in France would result in Linoleum Blownapart.

9. Two silk worms had a race.  They ended up in a tie.

10. Time flies like an arrow.  Fruit flies like a banana..

11. A hole has been found in the nudist camp wall — the police are looking into it.

12. Atheism is a non-prophet organization.

13. Two hats were hanging on a hat rack in the hallway.   One hat said to the other, "You stay here, I’ll go on a head."

14. I wondered why the cricket ball kept getting bigger — then it hit me.

15. A sign on the lawn at a drug rehab centre said:  Keep off the Grass.

16. A small boy swallowed some coins and was taken to a hospital.  When his grandmother telephoned to ask how he was, the nurse told her, "No change yet."

17. A chicken crossing the road — is poultry in motion.

18. The short fortune-teller who escaped from prison — was a small medium at large.

19. The man who survived mustard gas and pepper spray — is now a seasoned veteran.

20. A backward poet — writes inverse.

21. In democracy, it’s your vote that counts.  In feudalism, it’s your count that votes.

22. When cannibals ate a missionary, they got a taste of religion..

23. Don’t join dangerous cults:  Practice safe sects!

__________________________________________

Lest you forget ~ I have a way with words too. 

I have a way with Dirty words: 

Conjugated Naughtiness.  Punctuated Deviance.  Grammatical Impuri-tease.  Personified Debauchery.  Stylized Kink.

Just move those sticky fingers and  CLICK Right HERE