The Funny Things

Funny little things have changed for me since being a phone sex worker.

I was having a slow-motion flirty exchange with someone on a Reddit thread (at the blistering speed of 1-2 messages per day), which moved to private messages, and I found myself unsatisfied with flirting via written words; I wanted to hear his voice. That is completely opposite of my urges since I started flirting on the internet in 2002 - I have said before that I learn all I need to know from email / chat exchanges, so it was startling to me to have dissatisfaction with his writing as a communication medium.

My people-watching has completely changed for the naughtier. I've always made up stories for strangers to amuse myself, but they used to be primarily stories about jobs, hobbies, or the tenor of their personal relationships. Now I tend to picture the men around me cross-dressed, or the women pegging the men with a strap-on, or the women elaborately bound and gagged and flogged and subjected to forced orgasms with Hitachi wands. I always pictured some people sexually, but now it's pretty much every adult, and the range of things I imagine has dramatically widened and gotten kinkier.

I am very, very careful about my signatures now. Although my family knows what I do, and I've shared a few rated-PG-versions of work stories which I knew would amuse them, I'm fairly sure they don't want their emails signed, "Love, Galiana". I often sign phone-sex emails, "XOXO, G", which is also how I often sign off-phone emails, just with a different initial, so now I'm even more paranoid before hitting "send" than I was when I was a consultant.

(side note: I've long been confused about what to call myself. My family and friends from school know me by my nickname, which is approximately the same level of cute-sie-ness as if I went by "Gallie". When I started tech consulting at age 25 and was billing out at $100 / hour, I thought it was bad enough to have someone show up who looked 17 (I've always looked young), but to also have a cute name seemed uncomfortably unprofessional, so I went by my birth name, starting in 1995. So for 15 years, I have regularly started phone calls with the equivalent of: "Hey, it's Galiana. I mean, Gallie. I mean, I'm sorry, apparently I don't know who I am...")

And last but not least, my brain-to-mouth filter is deeply weakened. I am a little terrified of being around mixed-generation family over the holidays. On the phones, I push myself to the right emotional state, and then to say whatever comes to my mind. Often, with less verbal callers (or when they lose their ability to speak),  I end up in a nice, fluid, uninterrupted stream of naughty descriptions tumbling out of my mouth with slowly increasing speed and intensity. There is no place for filtering; there is only feeling and speaking, and coming.

Dear Santa: For Christmas, All I want is to make it through all my family visits without making anyone spit-take in horror. Love, Galiana