Beauty

Tony Hoagland

When the medication she was taking
caused tiny vessels in her face to break,
leaving faint but permanent blue stitches in her cheeks,
my sister said she knew she would
never be beautiful again.

After all those years
of watching her reflection in the mirror,
sucking in her stomach and standing straight,
she said it was a relief,
being done with beauty,

but I could see her pause inside that moment
as the knowledge spread across her face
with a fine distress, sucking
the peach out of her lips,
making her cute nose seem, for the first time,
a little knobby.

I’m probably the only one in the whole world
who actually remembers the year in high school
she perfected the art
of being a dumb blond,

spending recess on the breezeway by the physics lab,
tossing her hair and laughing that canary trill
which was her specialty,

while some football player named Johnny
with a pained expression in his eyes
wrapped his thick finger over and over again
in the bedspring of one of those pale curls.

Or how she spent the next decade of her life
auditioning a series of tall men,
looking for just one with the kind
of attention span she could count on.

Then one day her time of prettiness
was over, done, finito,
and all those other beautiful women
in the magazines and on the streets
just kept on being beautiful
everywhere you looked,

walking in that kind of elegant, disinterested trance
in which you sense they always seem to have one hand
touching the secret place
that keeps their beauty safe,
inhaling and exhaling the perfume of it—

It was spring. Season when the young
buttercups and daisies climb up on the
mulched bodies of their forebears
to wave their flags in the parade.

My sister just stood still for thirty seconds,
amazed by what was happening,
then shrugged and tossed her shaggy head
as if she was throwing something out,

something she had carried a long ways,
but had no use for anymore,
now that it had no use for her.
That, too, was beautiful.
__________________________________

I dunno, maybe you think the poem is inappropriate for a Phone Sex blog.  But this is also my personal blog and I don’t really see the everyday me (lover of words and poetry) very separate from my Phone Sex Goddess persona, and … well … this piece touched me deeply.  I did cry.  Maybe you will too. 

You can read a biography of the poet here, find him on Wikipedia here,  and read an interview here.

xo, Angela

… and thanks,  PQS.

****BTW … I will be working later today.  I have a session with my trainer and a few errands to run.  After that, you can call for Hot Kinky Phone Sex HERE!

****And if you want your ass kicked by the best call Domina Stern HERE!

****And if you want to pay for your strokes call Mistress Sherry Elizabeth HERE!

The Stupid Jerk I’m Obsessed With
Maggie Estep

The stupid jerk I’m obsessed with
stands so close to me
I can feel his breath
on my neck
and smell
the way he would smell
if we slept together
because he is the stupid jerk I’m obsessed with
and that is his primary function in life
to be a stupid jerk I can obsess over
and to talk to that dingy bimbette blonde
as if he really wanted to hear about her
manicures and
pedicures and
New Age ritualistic enema cures and
truth be known, he probably does wanna hear about it
because he is the stupid jerk I’m obsessed with
and he’s obsessed with doing anything he can
to lend fuel to my fire
he makes a point of standing
looking over my shoulder
when I’m talking to the guy who adores me
and would bark like a dog
and wave to strangers
if I asked him to bark like a dog
and wave to strangers
but I can’t ask him to bark like a dog
or impersonate any kind of animal at all
cause I’m too busy
looking at the way the stupid jerk I’m obsessed with
has pants on that perfectly define his well-shaped ass
to the point where I’m thoroughly frantic
I’m just gonna go home
and stick my head in the oven
overdose on nutmeg and aspirin
and sit in the bathtub reading The Executioner’s Song
and being completely confounded by the fact
that I can see
the stupid jerk I’m obsessed with’s face
defining itself in the peeling plaster of the wall
grinning and winking
and I start to yell,
Get the hell out of there
You’re just a figment of my imagination
Just get a life and get out of my plaster
and pass me the next painful situation please
but he just keeps on
grinning and winking
he’s the stupid jerk I’m obsessed with
and he’s mine
in my plaster
And frankly, I couldn’t be happier.

____________________________________

Gawd!  She’s good, good, good!  We’ve enjoyed Ms. Estep’s poetry in the past.  Remember Sex Goddess?  Visit her website.  Buy, buy, buy her books.

xo, Angela

Phone Sex Quote of the Day

Do you realize that if you simultaneously had sex with three two-inch-cocked losers, that would be the equivalent of having sex with one full man, but to those poor guys, it would be an orgy.  The karmic payback owed you by the Universe at that moment would be tremendous.  -from Mr. B, who is er, um … a cerebral pervert of the highest caliber.

Phone Sex MILF of the Day

If you’re looking for a hot phone encounter with sexy MILF, check out Sweet Megan by CLICKING HERE.  This libidinous long-haired blond loves both oral and anal.   And she has nice tits!  Natural 36DDs.  You like it better that she’s married, don’t you?  Just makes it that much dirtier.

Sexism
David Lehman

The happiest moment in a woman’s life
Is when she hears the turn of her lover’s key
In the lock, and pretends to be asleep
When he enters the room, trying to be
Quiet but clumsy, bumping into things,
And she can smell the liquor on his breath
But forgives him because she has him back
And doesn’t have to sleep alone.

The happiest moment in a man’s life
Is when he climbs out of bed
With a woman, after an hour’s sleep,
After making love, and pulls on
His trousers, and walks outside,
And pees in the bushes, and sees
The high August sky full of stars

And gets in his car and drives home.

____________________________________________

Thanks to PQS, whose appreciation of poetry delights me to absolutely no end.  Because he used to make fun of my "poetry thing."  And now he’s a gleeful and eager confederate.  You can read more about Mr. Lehman HERE.  And did you know he wrote a poem for Obama’s inauguration?  Well he did, and you can see him read it HERE.

____________________________________________

Phone Sex Quote of the Day

A contract of mutual self-delusion exists between the caller and the phone sex operator.  The caller imagines he is speaking to his most secret fantasy — and whatever it might be — animal, vegetable or mineral, the operator willingly plays the part.

Phillip Toledano (Phone Sex: The Book)

____________________________________________

Phone Sex Babes of the Day

Young Ashley:  She never says no!

Hot Hanna:  She will do anything to please her Master!

Frannie the Trannie:  Forced Bi and Sissy Training!

____________________________________________

Okay … that’s all for today.  Off to gamble with my mother.  Wish me well, cross your fingers and your toes.  And call soon.

xo, Angela

You’re Beautiful

by Simon Armitage

You’re beautiful because you’re classically trained.
I’m ugly because I associate piano wire with strangulation.

You’re beautiful because you stop to read the cards in
newsagents’ windows about lost cats and missing dogs.
I’m ugly because of what I did to that jellyfish with a lolly
stick and a big stone.

You’re beautiful because for you, politeness is instinctive, not
a marketing campaign.
I’m ugly because desperation is impossible to hide.

Ugly like he is,
Beautiful like hers,
Beautiful like Venus,
Ugly like his,
Beautiful like she is,
Ugly like Mars.

You’re beautiful because you believe in coincidence and the
power of thought.
I’m ugly because I proved God to be a mathematical
impossibility.

You’re beautiful because you prefer home-made soup to the
packet stuff.
I’m ugly because once, at a dinner party, I defended the
aristocracy and wasn’t even drunk.

You’re beautiful because you can’t work the remote control.
I’m ugly because of satellite television and twenty-four-hour
rolling news.

Ugly like he is,
Beautiful like hers,
Beautiful like Venus,
Ugly like his,
Beautiful like she is,
Ugly like Mars.

You’re beautiful because you cry at weddings as well as
funerals.
I’m ugly because I think of children as another species from
a different world.

You’re beautiful because you look great in any colour
including red.
I’m ugly because I think shopping is strictly for the
acquisition of material goods.

You’re beautiful because when you were born, undiscovered
planets lined up to peep over the rim of your cradle and lay
gifts of gravity and light at your miniature feet.
I’m ugly for saying "love at first sight" is another form of
mistaken identity, and that the most human of all responses
is to gloat.

Ugly like he is,
Beautiful like hers,
Beautiful like Venus,
Ugly like his,
Beautiful like she is,
Ugly like Mars.

You’re beautiful because you’ve never seen the inside of a
car-wash.
I’m ugly because I always ask for a receipt.

You’re beautiful for sending a box of shoes to the third
world.
I’m ugly because I remember the telephone numbers of
ex-girlfriends and the year Schubert was born.

You’re beautiful because you sponsored a parrot in a zoo.
I’m ugly because when I sigh it’s like the slow collapse of a
circus tent.

Ugly like he is,
Beautiful like hers,
Beautiful like Venus,
Ugly like his,
Beautiful like she is,
Ugly like Mars.

You’re beautiful because you can point at a man in a uniform
and laugh.
I’m ugly because I was a police informer in a previous life.

You’re beautiful because you drink a litre of water and eat
three pieces of fruit a day.
I’m ugly for taking the line that a meal without meat is a
beautiful woman with one eye.

You’re beautiful because you don’t see love as a competition
and you know how to lose.
I’m ugly because I kissed the FA Cup then held it up to the
crowd.

You’re beautiful because of a single buttercup in the top
buttonhole of your cardigan.
I’m ugly because I said the World’s Strongest Woman was a
muscleman in a dress.

You’re beautiful because you couldn’t live in a lighthouse.
I’m ugly for making hand-shadows in front of the giant bulb,
so when they look up, the captains of vessels in distress see
the ears of a rabbit, or the eye of a fox, or the legs of a
galloping black horse.

Ugly like he is,
Beautiful like hers,
Beautiful like Venus,
Ugly like his,
Beautiful like she is,
Ugly like Mars.

Ugly like he is,
Beautiful like hers,
Beautiful like Venus,
Ugly like his,
Beautiful like she is,
Ugly like Mars.

_____________________________

I’ve been reading a lot of interesting poetry lately, in fact on a daily basis, because it’s Poetry Month and I’m on the Knopf -Doubleday mailing list for the daily email.  I’m still trying to figure out what the antiphonal repeating chorus is about, but still … it’s a great poem.   I can almost hear the man’s (husband’s?) whine in every verse as he  describes their differences.  Or he could just be a caller describing his relationship with his Phone Sex Princess/Goddess/Mistress.  Either way, it works.  It’s that Petrarchian thing again.

Do make a point to visit the poet’s website, where there is some interesting video.   Sir Gawain and the Green Knight anyone?

_____________________________

Phone Sex Goddess of the Day

The divinely dangerous Miss Lauren of Lauren Rules just might be the woman who finally breaks you.  A voluptuous blonde who excels in training, using and abusing the male animal, Mistress Lauren is a force to be reckoned with.  If you’ve been seeking a powerful and confident Mistress — and feel you haven’t yet quite met your match — then you simply must call this intoxicating and hypnotic beauty.  While you still have possession of your own balls (because She WILL soon own them) visit LAUREN RULES.  And don’t forget THE BLOG, which will absolutely make you weak in the knees.

_____________________________

Phone Sex Advice of the Day

Manners count.  It’s that simple and that important.  PSOs are not any different than the women you meet in your everyday life.  You might even have a female friend that is a PSO and you don’t even know it.  Would you want her to see you acting that way?  We won’t (unless you called an idiot PSO) judge you by your kink.  But we will judge you by your politesse or lack thereof.  It’s human nature; and we are, after all human.  Just like you.  Which is exactly the point.

xo, Angela

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE

Pamela Redmond Satran

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE …
enough money within her control to move out
and rent a place of her own,
even if she never wants to or needs to….

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE …
something
perfect to wear if the employer,
or date of her dreams
wants to see her in an hour…

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE …
a youth she’s content to leave behind …

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE …
a past juicy
enough that she’s looking forward to
retelling it in her
old age …

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE …
a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black lace bra …

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE …
one friend who
always makes her laugh.. and one who lets her cry…

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE …
a good piece
of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in her
family …

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE …
eight
matching plates, wine glasses with stems,
and a recipe for
a meal,
that will make her guests feel honored …

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .
a feeling of
control over her destiny …

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW …
how to fall in love without losing herself …

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW …
how to quit
a job,
break up with a lover,
and confront a friend
without;
ruining the friendship …

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW …
when to try harder… and WHEN TO WALK
AWAY…

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW …
that she can’t change the length of her calves,
the width of her hips, or the nature of her parents …

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW …
that her
childhood may not have been perfect … but it’s over …

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW…
what she
would and wouldn’t do for love or more …

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW….
how to live
alone … even if she doesn’t like it …

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW …
whom she can trust,
whom she can’t,
and why she shouldn’t take it personally …

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW …
where to
go ….
be it to her best friend’s kitchen table..
or a
charming Inn in the woods …
when her soul needs
soothing …

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW …
What she can and can’t accomplish in a day …
a month … and a year …

***

Well, this one was a little rough to get formatted properly … and I still might not have it all in place.  Despite what might not be totally kosher (as in "originally written"), I worked hard on getting it to fit and make sense, so enjoy as is.  The backstory is that my sister sent me this, subject line:  Best Maya Angelou Poem Ever!  And I simply adored it, being the girly-woman I am.

Yet, something seemed kinda-sorta funny about this.  You see, like most women, I’m a huge Maya Angelou fan.  And while I don’t know all of her work, I certainly know the important stuff — so why hadn’t I ever heard of this poem?  Hmmm.  Time for some googling.  Which brought up this at the Snopes Site.  The REAL Poetess behind this beautiful poem is Pamela Redmond Satran, who happens to have an awesome website where you can buy her books.  Buy her books for me, because I’m totally a Book Bitch and I will read them and tell you all about them.  See how nice I am?

***

Which reminds me:

Best Book I’ve Read This Year:  The Best American Non-Required Reading 2008. 

Which is edited by Dave Eggers (A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius) whom I adore and includes an introduction by Judy Blume (Otherwise Known As Sheila the Great) whom I immensely respect (never got into girly-cutesy fiction even as an adolescent/preteen).  It’s also an attractive book  — it just looks damnably good on the shelf — the cover artwork being that of graffiti artist Barry McGee (check him out here and here).

And I really, really, really wouldn’t mind having 2007, 2006 and 2005.  There’s more … but that would pretty awesome and keep me damn happy for right now.

Worst Book I’ve Read This Year That  I Thought  Would Be The Best Book I’ve Read This Year:  Wicked

Oh-me-oh-my!  I sooo wanted to love this book; from which the Broadway Musical was adapted.  Since hearing this song, I’ve been wanting to see the show and will be seeing it this fall, if all goes as planned.   As far as the book goes, I found the characters uninteresting, the pacing tedious and the convoluted storyline nerve-wracking. Considering the nominations and awards the show has garnered, the same is not true of the musical, so I’m as enthuastic as ever.  Maybe even more so, now that I am curious as to how the writers fixed/transformed the original story.

And:

Thanks to the guys who sent me these books for Christmas, because they are exactly what I would have eventually bought for myself.  You know me well and treat me even better than well, and I adore you for it.

______________________________________________

Phone Sex Goddess of the Day: 

Bella Daisy who keeps a most interesting journal, which you can read right here.  If you like fiesty Italian Princess types, Bella’s your girl.  She’s cute as a button and extremely sexy.  But be forwarned:  she is a woman in control and you will submit!  Call Bella now!

______________________________________________

Phone Sex Quote of the Day:

I tried phone sex once, but the holes were too small.

______________________________________________

And, yup, I’ve obviously been a bit lax in blogging recently.  But do forgive me, because life has been outrageously busy and I have a new personal trainer who is a total bitch — keeping me uber busy, tired and aching.  But I’m looking good and feeling great.  So we can’t really fault either her or me.   Now, can we?

xo, Angela