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!
