We will open the book. Its pages are blank.
We are going to put words on them ourselves.
The book is called Opportunity and its first chapter is New Year’s Day.

~ Edith Lovejoy Pierce

Maybe it points to a developing maturity, but this is the first year I really “got” how important celebrating the end of one year and the beginning of another really is.  It’s never been about the partying for me (my first two years as a legal adult taught me the best place to be is home on New Year’s Eve), but I just never felt the deep connection to the past or awe for the future suddenly upon my doorstep.

Things are changing in my life, and Christmas this year — usually my favorite holiday — was somewhat bittersweet.  I looked around at the people I love, this family who with all their foibles and eccentricities have always been the comfort and joy of my holidays, and knew that there is a very real possibility some or even all of them might not be with me next year.

My big brother is taking early retirement to work on an internet business with his wife and plans (when he can sell his loft for a reasonable price) to move across the country.  My mother, who’s been in a wheelchair these past few years after suffering a stroke, seems to be rapidly going downhill.  The familiar patterns of my life could be drastically rearranged come 2013.

Or the Mayans could be right and as of 12/21/2012 we could all be fucked, and not even make it to 2013.  I actually do think — considering the worldwide natural disasters, social discontent and economic upheaval of recent years — the potentiality is there and maybe even is necessary as a mechanism for cleansing the slate in preparation for spiritual and social progression.

So, yeah, I’ve been contemplating, introspecting, considering, imagining and evaluating quite a bit this past week.  I don’t have answers, nor do I want answers.   I just want to be present and accountable.  I want to be always grateful.  To be grateful and resolutely confident that the world’s story unfolds as it should.  As does the adventure of my life and the adventure of the lives of those I love.

……………………………………………………..

So, was that heavy enough for you?  Well, I meant every word.

BUT …

Do not think for a moment I’ve abandoned my title, Kinkstress Princess of the Internet*, nor the inherent responsibilities of holding said title.  I did get around, I do get around … and, apparently, so do you.  “You” being my Phone Sex Clients, FemDomme Bitch Boys, Chronic Masturbators, Cross-Dressing Trollops et al.  Because I did run a New Year’s Eve Discount and you showed up in droves.

If you’re not a client, you are not on my NiteFlirt email list and did not receive the special notice.  That was not my intent, as I planned on announcing it here at Zen so that everybody who wanted to could take advantage of my most-fab KISS KISS BANG BANG discount.  Unfortunately, there were technical issues with my hosting company yesterday and — with the calls coming so fast and hard (not to mention the guys *wink*) I couldn’t out-wait the issues to get a post put up.  So here’s kinda-sorta what you would have seen:

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Ring in the New Year with Angela: $1.00 OFF per minute!

As many of you know, I love spending a cozy New Year’s Eve at home.  As is my tradition, I’m dressing up in my red stockings & heels, popping a bottle (or maybe even two bottles) of champagne and settling in front of my fireplace for a night of indulgence.

I’d love to hear from you. Call to talk dirty, or tell me the New Year resolutions you will be breaking next week, or admit how drunk you are, or whisper your perfect kinky fantasy, or drink a New Year’s toast with me, or even just to shoot the breeze.  If we’ve not spoken before, or if we haven’t spoken for a while … don’t be shy.  While I love being pampered, I do love treating my callers every once in a while, and this is a great night to do it.

You must call this listing to get the discount. 

or call direct:    1-800- 863-5478  ext. 0331122

……………………………………………………………………………………………

But as I said, the boys who did receive the emails did keep me busy, busy, busy.   So busy that I had a line of eight lined up waiting for their turn at 2:30 a.m.  I finally had to call it a night.

But is that fair?  The email went out late, this website wouldn’t cooperate so I could announce it here and then there are the guys who were otherwise engaged and couldn’t have called anyway.

Soooo ….

Here’s the good news:  I am extending the discount throughout tonight and for as much of tomorrow as I can.  At a certain point, I do get tired and the vocal cords do get a little raw and I have to take a break.  But I do promise to be available as much as possible these two days.   So call your Mistress and give her a little sugar.  She just might give you some right back. *wink*

xo

*Term bestowed upon me by a certain gentleman caller.  I kinda-sorta like it and think I’ll keep it.

Would Ya? Should Ya? Could Ya?

That’s gross.  Do you talk to a lot of perverts?

You do what?  How about a date?

Oh my God!   Does your family know what you do?

I have the perfect fantasy for you: Lactation!

 Do you get a lot of fetish calls?  You know, I have this thing for feet.

More or less, these are some of the predictable reactions I get when revealing my avocation to the un-ordained. While some (including myself) might argue that phone sex has gone at least somewhat mainstream in recent years, it is still not a topic you want to be bringing up at cocktail parties. From the sincerely curious to the smugly judgmental to the stupidly horny, assumptions are going to be made. Not that I can complain too loudly.  I’ve surely been boorish, myself, a time or two (ok, maybe three or four) to make unfounded assumptions. Yet, having experienced these ignorance-based reactions first hand, I cannot help but cringe when pushed into a corner by the overly-meddlesome.

When I abandoned my dream of graduate school (just temporarily,momma, I promise) and left behind my burgeoning corporate career to do phone sex (say it isn’t so, you wretched, wanton girl), my sister, bless her beautiful heart and bourgeois tendencies, bought me a mug, which on the outside wryly asks the question, “I went to school for years to learn to do THIS?”  And, beloved sister of mine, I do cherish that mug. Notwithstanding my office supply fetish, it proudly sits–next to my Rolodex–the container-of-choice for my ink pens, letter opener, markers, nail files, orange sticks and sundry miscellanea. I cherish it because it reflects the reverent humor, easy flexibility, mutual validation, and even quirky spirituality that is so integral to whom I am and what I do both personally and professionally.

With the advent of the Internet and attendant proliferation of independent PSOs (phone sex operators), the definition of good Phone Sex has become increasingly subjective.  Simultaneously, as our world hyper-rapidly expanded, erotica and pornography flourished, and the division between fantasy and reality blurred.  Both a blessing and a curse, it can be quite exhilarating, yet, confusing and even a cause for dissent amongst its practitioners.  Some like it hot, some like it cold.  It’s that kind of thing.

(On a side note, I would think that–if nothing else–the very nature of this non-monogamous and inexhaustible Internet would be self-instructive: There REALLY is room for everybody. We have more than enough do-gooder types [You know the profile: The hypocrite who swears he is pure as the driven snow; yet, he only cums when fucking his wife by imagining her being raped by a double-shlonged reindeer.] doing their best to legislate, control, constrain, and restrict this last vestige of true freedom of expression. Just remember this: When we protect and champion each other, we protect and champion ourselves.)

Now, where were we? Oh, yes! So you’re in the mood for some wicked merrymaking.  You’ve checked out the bathroom wall at the corner gas station, and though you could swear it used to be right there above the condom dispenser, there is no graffiti, “For a good time call Cocksucker Cathy.”   With  that avenue close, you decide to take the leap and call a Phone Sex Operator!

You want Phone Sex and you want it NOW! You want it? We got it! Hot phone sex, fantasy phone sex, domination phone sex, kinky phone sex, dirty phone sex, role-play phone sex, nasty phone sex, erotic phone sex, humiliation phone sex, tease & denial phone sex.

Phone Sex! Phone Sex! Phone Sex! … and even more Phone Sex!

How do you possibly weed through it all? How do you find the perfect first connection in all of that clutter? Well, brother, quite frankly, you don’t. You just say eeny meeny miney moe and take that leap of faith. After all, brother, how hard art thou? I’m a firm believer in going by the seat of your pants (or crotch of your pants) when things just need to get done (or you need to get done).

Basically, you are entering a marketplace as a consumer.  Just like you might, time and again, visit the grocery store until you find the perfect cookie, you may have to shop for a while before you find, HER, the Phone Sex Chick that blows your mind and load like no other can.  While that can be a royal pain in the butt, I guarantee that — until you find her –you will have lots of dirty fun along the way.  It’s  sort of like dating. It will cost you the price of a few burgers and shakes, but who’s counting dollars & dimes when you’re stealing some kisses and even copping a few feels along the way?  And the pay off is that sooner or later you’re gonna get lucky!

Ho, ho, ho …  oh so fucking lucky.

Take my word on it.

xo, Angela

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.

OK, first things first: I am an asshole.  I really really really apologize for sending you a bunch of crap and kind-of nagging emails. I am so very sorry.  I didn’t mean to and just kind of got caught up in the moment, so I hope you will forgive me.

Anyhow, I hope all is well, or as well as it can be. I have gone through some tough shit in the last year (Last year? How about the last decade?) so I can tell you that it is important to take care of yourself. Caring for yourself is an act of daily healing.

Daily Healing List:

– Eat well. Veggies, fruits, no meat in the evening, olive oil, long grain rice, whole grain breads, etc.
– Don’t smoke. (ABSOLUTELY NO DRUGS!!!)
– Drink wine with food. A bottle a week.
– Have a daily non-exhausting workout regimen. Swim if you can, ride a bicycle if you enjoy it.
– Read good books.
– Drink 2 liters of good liquids a day. That’s 8 cups. "Good" means no Cola, Pepsi, etc. Yes, you will pee a lot, but so what?
– Don’t eat trashy junk food. (Tostitos, Oreos, Doritos, potato chips, etc)
– Sleep well.
– Air out your house every day.
– Make sure your bedroom is clean and organized.
– Floss every day. (The more you floss the less it will hurt.)
– Pamper yourself. Buy an electric toothbrush, drink flavored teas, own a soft bathrobe, eat spinach salad even if it’s more expensive than lettuce, buy a small wooden stool for when you stretch your feet, own a piece of satin lingerie, experiment with different fun lipsticks, read Marcel Proust in bed in satin lingerie, get a professional manicure once a month.
– Have a plant, even if it’s a cactus.
– Read about religion. Christianity, Judaism, Buddhism, whatever. Exclude Islam which is a gang, Mormonism which is a corporation and AlGoreanism which is a scam. Read about history – the French Revolution, the Ming Dynasty, the Greeks, the Persians, etc etc. Both provide calm and perspective.
– Hang paintings and pictures on the walls.
– If you have the space, have a nicely upholstered old-school comfortable couch in your bedroom.
 
So this is my gift to you. The trick to spoiling yourself with small simple things, on a daily basis, and most are inexpensive. I hope that I’m not going too Deepak Chopra on you. (I think he is a douche. But I’m saying that with love.) (Or as Triumph the insult comic dog would say, "He is a nice guy,… for me to poop on!")

Thank you for taking the time to read my emails.

Humbly and adoringly, Mr. B

PS.  The amazing site you introduced me to, Secrets in Lace, has a new item and a new model — both of which are driving me to distraction.  Normally, I’m not very big on blondes, but this woman is in a class of her own.  The picture of the blonde and the brunette (here) is just heaven. I won’t indulge in details, but when I landed on this page half my day was shot, and I literally had to take two rests in between. That site is heaven. It’s art and desire and fantasy fulfillment and style and time and and and. They deserve a Nobel prize.)

____________________________________________________

Dear Mr. B.:

While you didn’t "indulge in details," I know exactly what you did while you were there.  And you did it more than once, didn’t you?  You know I know, don’t you?

And I have to admit, there really is something quite charming, even disarming, about a man who detours the hard stuff for Secrets and Lace … and shoots half a day.  Or maybe more?

If you get my drift.  Because I certainly get yours.  *wink*

xo, Angela

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,