Archive for the 'Humor' Category

Phone Sex 411

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 unordained. 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 (okay, 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

PS. Just so you know, I could have listed this particular piece UNDER EVERY SINGLE CATEGORY, because I’ve certainly talked about all of this stuff with certain boys of certain proclivities.

PPS. Just so you also know: I know, you know, we know who you are. 🤩😍😘

Bad Bradley

The car was parked far back in the lot. As they made their way, Kelly Mae could feel her stiletto sliding in the gravel and before she could catch herself — or before Bradley (if that was his real name) could catch her — her foot slid sideways, pushing down and twisting, snapping the heel.

“Well, Bradley, what are we going to do about this,” Kelly Mae asked, waving the stiletto in front of his face, the broken heel precariously bobbing back and forth.

“I’m sure you can think of something, darlin’ geerl,” Bradley grinned as he grabbed for her breast.

Kelly Mae shoved his hand away. “What in the hell do you think you are doing? You offered me a ride. A ride home only. Did I say you could touch me? Where was that fucking hand when I tripped in the gravel?”

“Aww, baby geerl, don’t be that way.”

He reached again, and that is when Kelly Mae — tipsy but certainly not stupid — made up her mind. “Well, Bradley,” Kelly Mae cooed as she once again removed his grasping paw, “I just figured out what I am going to do with this broken stiletto. Let’s get to that car so you can drive me home, where I can show you.”

Bradley, even in his drunken state, thought that sounded like one hell of an idea.

And that is how, an hour or so later, Bradley found himself bound on his back across Kelly Mae’s bed. He wasn’t concerned. In fact, he thought he’d hit the jackpot and finally got himself one of those kinky girls he saw and read about on the internet.

“What you doin’ now, hunney,” Bradley asked when Kelly Mae pulled up his left leg and tied his ankle to the bedpost.

“Just never you mind, Sugar. You’ll see in just a minute or so.”

Bradley watched in wonder and as Kelly Mae pulled up his right leg, tying that ankle to the other bedpost.

“Well, Mr. Man, seems you got yerself a big ol’ erection goin’ there,” Kelly Mae smiled has she rubbed her hand up and down his cock.

“I shure do, geerl. But how am I gonna fuck you like this?”

“Oh, Bradley, you ain’t gonna fuck me,” Kelly Mae said, reaching for the broken stiletto and showing it to him.

“I’m gonna fuck you, you son of a bitch.”

And then she was shoving the long, slim heel into Bradley’s ass.

What Sarah Said

What I remember most is the country music wheedling and yodeling out of his Bose stereo (alpha-male black, of course) as he slid his dick in and out of my snatch.

After that, how could I respect him in the morning?

So, fuck the jag, fuck the cowboy hat and tight jeans I found so appealing in my admittedly tipsy state. The night was a bust and my cowboy ended up being just another frog disguised as a prince.

He did have a huge cock, though. I remember that, too.

Lot of good it did the two of us.