My main gig is phonesex, phone sex fantasy — pure and simple.

Fantasy being the key word, but I’ll get back to that thought in a minute. Hang tough and I promise to make this short and sweet as I have things to do today and am on the move.

Because what I find curious is that….

Some (not all–don’t get jiggly on me) girls who do “FemDom” or “Spoiled Brat” or “Princess” or “Mistress” (don’t fool yourself–same crayon box, different crayons) calls are quite adamant that they don’t do phone sex, insisting that they are much superior to phonesex gals.

Of course these same self-professed dominatrices oft buy into their own mythology (ie. showing up at chat rooms, blogs and message boards to instruct, badger, and chastise the lowly and un-deified minions and/or collecting deadbeat boyfriends who suddenly evolve into houseboys/slaves). Which, come to think of it, is a pretty good reason to best be moving beyond this particular bit of blather. Don’t you think? Can’t really argue with a Demi-Goddess. Now, can we?

Back to the main thought here:

Anyway, the bottom line –no matter how you want to dress it up– is we fulfill the caller’s fantasy–not our’s, but the callers. Got that? In other words, we are the myth of perfection, not the reality. And, no matter which way you slice it, perfection within the realm of a fantasy call is defined by the caller, not the callee. The liaison between the phone sex caller and phone sex provider is a slippery one at best. He is looking –at least momentarily under the vise-like grip of his most lizardly self– for a fantasy come true, the perfect partner in slime. It our job to provide that experience in triple-decker, double-digits deviance of the highest caliber.

Furthermore, to be successful in this business of smoke and mirrors, requires a suspension of disbelief for both the caller and callee. Because we just ain’t getting him “there” unless we jump on the magic carpet with him. Yet, at the same time, we must maintain very clear professional boundaries….both for the caller and for us. The better we are –the more we care about what we do and who we do– the harder this becomes. But it is nonetheless an imperative of great import. Don’t kid yourself…souls lie in the balance here, karma is waiting right around the corner to kick our asses.

Personally, I block obsessive callers (312 at last count–but this number also includes the rude and the stupid), refusing to be a part of their downward spiral. I am diligent in reminding my callers that fantasy and reality are two different animals. That they must not be blinded by my neon-lit manger. That if I turned up the halogens things would look quite different.

I always remind them that in my everyday doings I am probably not much sexier than their wife/girlfriend/significant other….that just like her, I probably would not want to wear fetish leathers or tie them up or take their rectal temperature or kick them in the balls or force them to suck cock.

Because someday I won’t be young and beautiful and clever and full of myself and sharp and brilliant and adorable and adventurous and uncontainable (mythically speaking, of course).

And the telephone will only yield a busy signal.

And if you are wondering where all this came from…it all started here:

Are Sex Services Bad?

Damn you, Gracie!

Let it be known across the Land of Virtual Kink that Richard, beloved of Alexandra and having acquitted himself well as both page and squire, came this day to kneel before the Queen of Kink (that would be moi–at least for these purposes…but don’t believe everything you read) to receive the accolade of Submissive Savant.

Richard joins Pervert Savant and Deviant Savant as part of my ever-growing Savant Collection. These exquisite and rare collectables look absolutely fab on the shelves of my curio cabinet, adding a certain pizazz to its otherwise ordinary veneer. This Queen delights in her Savants’ individual quirkiness, general outrage at all things mundane and above-average Kink Quotient.

In celebration of this most joyous of days, I’ve added Submissive Savant to the Virtual Savant Curio Cabinet.

Sir Richard ichard is my good friend, Alexandra’s beloved submissive, brilliant and clever observer/chronicler in the Land of Virtual Kink, my generous & indulgent advisor on all things techno-web and internet-iquette (because I haven’t got a clue).

Straight up, you can’t go wrong when befriending this lovely savant. While he is submissive, I opt to adore him…from afar, of course. Because otherwise he just couldn’t take it.

Oh, and Richard is a tireless and passionate bitchboy for anything BDSM/FemDom, as you will find at his other sites: BDSM Watch, FemDom Blogs, FemDom Dating, BDSM Weblogs, and FemDom Romance, FemDom WeBlogs.

Now let’s party!

xo
Angela

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.

A book is a version of the world. If you do not like it, ignore it; or offer your own version in return. ~Salman Rushdie

Won’t you join me in championing free speech this week by observing Banned Books Week: Celebrating the Freedom to Read. Do it anyway you want, I don’t care: Take a book to lunch. Or dress it up in stockings and stilettos–then fuck it silly or jerk off and cum all over it. But most of all, hold it to your heart and keep it safe.

Great Book Quotes

• To be a book-collector is to combine the worst characteristics of a dope fiend with those of a miser. ~Robertson Davies
• There is no such thing as a moral or immoral book. Books are well written or badly written. ~Oscar Wilde
• The man who doesn’t read good books has no advantage over the man who can’t read them. ~Mark Twain
• A room without books is like a body without a soul. ~Cicero
• Never judge a book by its movie. ~J. W. Eagan
• Don’t join the book burners. Don’t think you’re going to conceal faults by concealing evidence that they ever existed. Don’t be afraid to go in your library and read every book. ~Dwight Eisenhower
• This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force. ~Dorothy Parker
• I first read books to survive my life; then I read books to live my life; now I read books to celebrate my life. ~Angela St. Lawrence

Most Sacred First Amendment

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble , and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

Books from the Hit List

• To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
• The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger
• Cujo by Stephen King
• Beloved by Toni Morrison
• The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain
• Native Son by Richard Wright
• Lord of the Flies by William Golding
• Ordinary People by Judith Guest
• The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
• Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes
• The Color Purple by Alice Walker
• Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
• I Know Why the Caged Bird Sing by Maya Angelou

***Researching and putting all of the info together for this entry, I’ve had tears in my eyes more than once; fell in love with power of words–over and again; was struck heart-deep by the weight of truth which those who write always bare; and fell in love with my beautiful country all over again. If you even find your way to one of those things…I will be profoundly humbled.

Molly Ivins remembers Ann Richards

Several years ago there was a big political do at Scholz Beer Garten in Austin and everybody who was anybody in political Texas was there, meetin’ and greetin’ at a furious pace. About halfway through the evening, a little group of us got the tired feet and went to lean our butts against a table by the back wall of the Garten. Like birds in a row were perched Bob Bullock, the state comptroller; me; Charlie Miles, a black man who was then head of Bullock’s personnel department (and the reason Bullock had such a good record on minority hiring); and Ms. Ann Richards.

Bullock, having been in Texas politics for thirty some-odd years, consequently knew every living sorry, no-account sumbitch who ever held office. A dreadful old racist judge from East Texas came up to him, “Bob, my boy, how are yew?” The two of them commenced to clap one another on the back and have a big greetin’.

“Judge,” said Bullock. “I want you to meet my friends. This is Molly Ivins with the Texas Observer.”

The judge peered up at me and said, “How yew, little lady?”

“This is Charles Miles, who heads my personnel department.” Charlie stuck out his hand and the judge got an expression on his face as though he had just stepped into a fresh cow pie. It took him a long minute before he reached out, barely touched Charlie’s hand and said, “How you, boy?” Then he turned with great relief to pretty, blue-eyed Ann Richards and said, “And who is this lovely lady?”

Ann beamed and said, “I am Mrs. Miles.”