Friday, December 30, 2011

Weekend Women

In bad news, NiteFlirt pulled all of my friend Candace's listings (she has fixed the problem, but they didn't reinstate her listings before the holiday weekend -- boooooo).

Kiwi Candy
In good news, she is available for calls for most of the weekend, and you can still call her! Just go directly to her listing with this link:

Don't leave poor Candy all dressed up with nobody to play with! If you haven't called Candace, she's a good person: sincere and sexually charged and submissive... what more could you possibly want?

Or, if neither of us are around, there's a newcomer on the block:

Luna Zega
Gentlemen, please welcome Luna Zega, a firecracker sexpot with crazy curves, an erotica writer's naughty imagination, and a deliciously experienced maturity. I met her the same way I met Candace - she found my blog, and wrote me asking a few questions.

She's obviously a smart lady with a keen understanding of human sexuality. You can find her listings here:

As for me, well, my husband and I decided last-minute that we would host a New Year's Eve party for our new kinky local friends... which is tomorrow... ZOIKES! So we're running around like crazy people trying to prep for an onrush of kinksters.

It's a lovely problem to have, but it means I'll be off tomorrow (New Year's Eve), and I will only be around Sunday and Monday for appointments, so email me to book your time (!

I hope your 2011 has a lovely finish, and that your 2012 has a lovely beginning!

Saturday, December 24, 2011

Merry Christmas To Me

So in addition to getting connected to the party side of kinksters in the heartland (as I wrote about in my last post), I was smart enough to drop an introductory note to the community's unofficial photographer: Sir Wallter (I'm not being sloppy, his name really has two Ls, and you can find him on Model Mayhem if you're so inclined).

Last night, we loaded two outfits, my travel toy bag, and a ridiculous volume of beauty products into the car to head over to Sir Wallter's for a photo shoot.

It went well.
 No, seriously, I mean, it went really really really well.
 Sir Wallter's specialties are: (1) bondage rigging and photography (but alas, I ran out of energy before we got to that part of the evening - boooooooo) and (2) vintage pin-up poses, so I brought my awesome Secrets In Lace ostrich-feather-trim chiffon robe, and let him direct me, which resulted in winners like this:
Bunny Ears!
Yep, that's right, the classic make-bunny-ears-with-your-shoes Playboy pose. How freakin' awesome is that? Seriously. Couldn't you just kiss him? (don't tell anyone, but I totally kissed him -- how could I not? He shot me with bunny ears fer fux sake!)

But he was also kind enough to allow me the use of one of his play rooms, the one with the St Andrew's cross and implements of bondage and torture artfully placed about, to do a shoot with one of my other strap-ons, since my Feeldoe set had been relatively popular. Turns out, his eye for top shots was just as keen:
Training Time
 That's my hefty strap-on, his hefty paddle. They make a nice pair, don't they?

In addition to just having a fantastic eye for poses, he had a gift for drawing emotion out of me. Even though it was our first shoot, together, he got me all playful and squirmy and needy.
I love my foot curling up in the background from being wiggly...

He said I'm welcome back. All I can figure is that somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something very very very very very very good.

Or maybe it's just that in my adulthood, I keep doing things that are very very very very very very naughty. It's hard to tell, isn't it?

If it means something to you, Happy Christmas Eve. If not, Scandalous Saturnalia...

P.S. I'm expecting coal tomorrow. Or to have Santa slip in and have me suck him off when I'm half-asleep. Either way, I'm clearly on the naughty list.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Heartland Kink

This is a story of how to get involved in your local BDSM / kink community, as well as a little smut about my life.

The short version: my husband got to consensually smack an adorable masochistic college student in her early 20s, and I got to grab her boobs, and it was awesome. The rest of this blog post is the long version.

When we moved here in October, we knew the fastest way to find open-minded friends would probably be to involve ourselves with the kink / BDSM community. FetLife seemed a good place to start: a high concentration of people who won't disapprove of my phone sex career, and FetLife is excellent at discovering community events.

We went to a "munch" first, the name of a group event held in a public place for the purpose of socializing, but also to screen newcomers. You don't want newbies' first contact to be at a play party. You want them somewhere else first to give a less-charged place to ask questions, and to screen them. To pass that screening, most groups only require that you seem non-pathological and non-tar-babyish (a tar baby is someone who won't let you go once you touch them).

Here's how you seem non-pathological: Smile when you meet new people. Don't touch anybody until they touch you / offer to be touched (offering a hand for a shake, offering a hug, etc). Don't assume you have any rights - ask respectfully about everything, even if you're a Dom (especially if you're a Dom). Ask engaging questions about the interests of others (which types of play do you enjoy? which types of events do you enjoy? how long have you been in the community?). Ask questions about the community (how often do you meet? are there play parties? are there educational events?).

Here's how you avoid seeming like a tar-baby: Approach every event with the attitude that you'll find a play partner at the *next* event, but not at this one, to take the pressure off yourself - today, you are only building your reputation as an awesome person. If someone has spent more than 10 minutes with you, thank them for their time and attention, tell them you'd love to take up their whole evening, but ask if they need to mingle instead, thereby graciously releasing them if they wish to move on, and if they say no and stay with you, smile and thank them casually. If you compliment someone, don't follow it up with an awkward pause that communicates "see? I'm nice, now don't you want to fuck me?" and instead move on to the next topic as if you didn't just compliment them.

Other anti-tar-baby tips: Don't ask anyone to fuck you, or if you must and they say no, DO NOT ask again because that shit will get your ass thrown out. Don't ask anyone to play with you, or if you must as they say no, DO NOT ask again... You see the pattern here, right? It's best to wait until at least your third event before you ask to play (but accepting another's offer can happen any time) to avoid being seen as needy.

Never assume you have the same privileges as someone else. Story time to explain this point:

At our first introductory munch, the woman sitting next to my husband was playfully choked by two attendees. My husband DID NOT have permission to choke her, for two reasons: (1) he had never asked to choke her and (2) she had never offered to let him choke her. This is not complicated.

Along those same lines, because it was our first munch, and the first time my husband had met that woman, it would have been awkward for him to ask to choke her. Wait till he meets her for the third time.

Instead, my husband watched her being choked, and after the first choker left, he complimented her on how beautiful her expressions were when it was happening (compliments are good as long as you don't fall silent and stare expectantly after them), and before she had the chance to be awkward about accepting a compliment, he asked her how she found out she liked being choked. She got to tell a sexy story, he enjoyed hearing her sexy story, then they naturally wandered off into other topics with other people, with no awkwardness. She friended him on FetLife after the event. Who knows if they'll ever play together? But at least she isn't creeped out by him.

Anyway, the woman sitting next to me was AWESOME about explaining the structure of the community, who organized events, and what happened in the area. She was a natural greeter, an information fountain, very sweet. We friended each other on FetLife. The important thing is that we did not creep her out, which we did by being friendly and relaxed and grateful for her information.

Four days later, she posted on FetLife that she and her boyfriend/Dom had broken up (we had met him too). We asked her to dinner to take her mind off things, and to say thanks for the kick-ass introduction to the community she had given us, and she accepted. After dinner, she came back to our house and hung out with my husband while I worked upstairs. I heard a lot of giggling. They didn't play. My husband had all kinds of amusing stories to tell me later of how he cheered her up and learned a bit more about the locals. We engaged her and her friends on her FetLife posts in supportive, amusing ways.

So now we had a munch and a private dinner, and nobody has played, and we hadn't asked anybody to play. We were just nice. Neighborly. Kind. Supportive. That's it.

Yay bewbs
Yay bewbs
Last week, that same young woman let us know about a local party: bring a dish to share, and a kinky toy to trade, white-elephant style, worth $5 or less. My husband whipped out his maker skills converting a dowel rod and an unused wooden spatula into fierce-looking converted pervertables, and we brought dip and chips.

Since I had not been able to show my boobs the previous weekend at hub's holiday party, I busted em out for this one (picture taken before we left, when my lipstick still looked good).

We found ourselves at a cozy party of 10 where we were the only ones in our 40s, and only one guy in his 30s, and the rest were young whippersnappers. We mostly succeeded in the unnatural effort of "not dropping 80s references".

The hostess had obviously played before with one of the guests, since he kept picking up things and hitting her with them... hard. It made her giggle. Another guest brought her floggers and crop to show off. Several of the other kinky gifts were also things to beat people with. People started asking to try out toys, getting smacked and smacking for a few moments at a time.

Here's the important thing: everyone asked first, before trying a toy, and before hitting someone else. Everyone started out soft. Nobody hit harder until they were told they could. Everyone stopped when the person getting hit said "That's good, thanks!" I got to feel the spatula, the dowel rod, the crop, and one of the floggers. I got to use all of the above on others. Fun!

I wore the hat the whole party
I wore the hat the whole party
Then the hostess was against a wall having a flogger tried out on her, and it went on for more than a few moments, and it got intense. She mentioned she was feeling warm, and we kindly offered she could remove her top, assuming she would not. She did. So we shut all the blinds, and enjoyed a topless woman with amazing boobs getting flogged. Oh yes, we enjoyed it a lot.

After they took a break, the hostess, clearly happy with the flogging, invited anyone at the party to hit her with anything. She was standing close to me at the time, still topless, and I said, "What about grabbing your awesome boobs?" and she said, "You can do that!" so I totally did. They were awesome.

About half an hour later, my husband wanted to see how the crop handled, so he asked the hostess if he could smack her with it. Note: she had already given permission to everyone to hit her, and yet, he still asked. She enthusiastically agreed, and after a few good swats, it was obvious that she really really really liked the crop a lot (she'd never had one), and he was really really really enjoying hitting her with it, and the room got quiet and watched, which obviously turned both of them on even more.

Twenty minutes later, when she was starting to bruise... badly... he slowed down, thanked her profusely, told her that he was so honored to have beaten her, and stayed with her until she hugged him and insisted she didn't need aftercare (he wasn't calling it that, but he was behaving in an aftercare-ish kind of a way), at which point he quietly faded to a different conversation.

Silly hat and awesome boobs, as we were leaving, with vertigo goofiness kicking in
Silly hat and awesome boobs,
as we were leaving,
with vertigo goofiness kicking in

We wrote her after the party and thanked her again for hosting, for being willing to be groped, for being willing to be beaten, and for welcoming us into the community.

So now we have new friends on FetLife (everyone from the party accepted our invites), we're signed up for another munch and another party in January, and we have a start on a fun sense of community.

The key to success? We weren't assuming we would play. We weren't pushing for play. We approached opportunities to play cautiously, with a lot of mutual respect and double-checking (my husband checked in with the hostess he was beating constantly because they didn't negotiate ahead of time). We approached the entire community and each interaction as if we were cultural anthropologists entering the temple of a religion we didn't know very well, but needed to learn more about. Respect everyone, ask permission for everything, assume nothing, and accept offers graciously.

And maybe you'll get to grab a coed's boobs. Squeeeee!

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

A Holiday Message

A little video holiday message from me, even though there are just a few applicable days left:

Or, in case the embedded player doesn't work, here's the link to YouTube: Galiana's Holiday Message

Or, in case you don't feel like seeing me in motion, here's the text (without a few ums and y'knows stripped out, and with a few words added in for clarification):

Hi world! It's Galiana Chance, and although I am wearing an excessively silly Santa hat (and I recognize that it is excessively silly), I have a somewhat serious thing to say about the holidays which is that:

The holidays are rough for a lot of people. And if the holidays are rough for you, first of all, I'm sorry. Secondly, if you're not necessarily in a state where you're going to hurt yourself or where you need a suicide hotline or something, but you want somebody to tell good memories, or hard memories, or why you don't feel good about going home, or what that whole experience is like, or whatever... but if you just have some holiday thinking that you want to do [with someone], feel free to call [me].

Unfortunately, I don't have the time, space, and energy to process every person in the whole world's holiday thoughts without getting paid for it, but if you've been a blog reader and that seems like something that would be interesting to you, feel free [to call my phone sex lines].

I'm not a therapist, I'm not going to pretend to be a therapist, but I will do my best to listen. And if you wish, I will share complementary stories back with you about my own family craziness and all that jazz, and let you know that I'm sorry that it's hard.

I hope that you enjoy every piece of the holiday season that you can enjoy, and that you savor the most out of the rest of the year as much as possible.

I wish you all the best. Mmmmmwuh! /blow kiss

Sunday, December 18, 2011

All I Want for Christmas

All I want for Christmas are my friend's never-been-worn Fluevog "The Business" boots:

Fluevog "The Business" Boots
The caption says, "Let's face it, it's business time - and these new Body Parts take care of business like nothing else. With these luxurious beauties wrapping you in soft patent faux-reptile leathers lined in gold and laying you on a surprisingly comfortable 4" golden heel, attracting new business will be the least of your concerns."

The videos I could make in these boots. The cam work. Not to mention, the complete and total FUN of going to play parties in them!

My friend knows what I do for a living, and she has realized she'll never wear the boots, but she can't afford to give them to me for free. These boots deserve a great life, a life she cannot give them. They deserve better. They deserve to be treasure, adored, displayed, admired, and most of all: worn.

The boots retailed for $549. They are now discontinued, which makes them precious on ebay. She will sell them to me for $275 if I can promise her that much in the next 5 days... which is where you come in (if you wish to), because I don't have anywhere close to $275 to spare at the moment.

So, how can you help? Oh, look here, I have NiteFlirt tribute buttons! Well. Isn't that handy?




Also, I can receive gifts via PayPal at for any amount.

If you contribute to the Fluevog boot fund, and I get the boots, I will send you "thank you" videos wearing them -- I'll make one video for all contributors with close ups and details. Then for people who contribute $50 or more, I'll also make a video especially for you with your name in it.

If I don't raise $275 and don't get these Fleuvog boots, I'll buy myself a less expensive pair of party boots with whatever I raise. Plus, I'll pout. A lot. It'll be tragic. Okay, no, it won't be tragic, but I will be sad at the missed opportunity.

I really want these boots. They make me feel funny in my tummy to think about wearing them. They're lace-up, knee-high, and dead fucking sexy.

I'll make a confession: the most expensive pair of shoes I have ever worn retailed for $130 (suede heels by Rockport, by far the most comfortable pair of heels I've ever worn, and I wore them every day when I briefly trained people how to use computers in 1996). These boots would quadruple that number, which is dizzying to contemplate.

Actually, neither of my wedding dresses even cost me $549, nor have any coats, no cocktail dresses... nope, nothing. Not even close. I paid $186 for a Laura Ashley bridesmaid dress in the 90s, but that's the most expensive piece of clothing I've owned so far. So these boots would become my most extravagantly luxurious item of clothing ever.

I think I'd have to take out a rider on my renters' insurance for them. That's awesome to consider, isn't it?

I should totally be wearing these for New Year's Eve. Make it happen, peeps.

Friday, December 16, 2011

Holiday Party Oopsie

The hub had a company holiday party last night, and I decided to wear a long-sleeved dress I haven't worn since last time I was living in Illinois (1999), a timeless crushed blue velvet piece that I remembered as being roomy. Because I didn't need to buy a dress, I got wintery-looking silver and blue jewelry to match.

I told the husband I was wearing a non-slutty dress for the party, since it was the first time I was going to meet his coworkers. Have to keep up the respectable camouflage, after all. Good wifey.

But for you, dear blog readers, I snapped this picture of what I wore under my dress: a comfortable and classy-looking matching panties and bra. The picture was taken after I got out of the shower, before hair and makeup were done:

under my party dress
I didn't bother getting a high-quality version because I was, of course, threatening to run a bit late, but I rushed through my makeup and did my best 80s hair-scrunching tricks to attempt to keep the curls, despite the lack of humidity in this crazy dry part of the world, got my jewelry on, and put on the dress...

And... ummm.... although I correctly remembered the waist and hips as being plenty loose, apparently I have expanded in the boob region more than I thought I had. I told you I used to be a C cup. That's really how much of a gap there was, it's not exaggerated for effect.


I went downstairs and said to my husband, "Remember how I told you I was going to wear a non-slutty dress to your party?" and he said, "Yeah" and turned around and doubled over cracking up. "What exactly does the slutty version look like, honey?!? Yowza!!"

I texted that picture to my sister, with the explanation, "I told my husband I'd wear a non-slutty dress, do you think this qualifies?" and she texted back, "Wow. Nice rack, sis!" which made me laugh so hard I startled my dogs.

I called Mom to tell her about the debacle, because she can't get pictures on her phone, and she said, "At least you tried not to be slutty. I'm proud of you."

I salvaged the outfit with a silky camisole / tank top in a deep gray color which lined up relatively well with the edges of the dress, and actually made the new necklace stand out nicely. Besides, at this point, it was hilarious, so I had to wear it. There's a story in it now, dammit, I'm making it work!

The whole thing had, of course, made us run late, so I didn't get any pictures before the party, but this one was taken after the party, after a double dose of my vertigo medicines (thus the glassy eyes), while a YouTube video was playing in the background of a really cute armadillo giving himself a bath (thus the amused grin).

During the party, I kept the tops lined up a bit better than I did for this picture, but at least the hair stayed curly and the necklace looked cool. However, my husband's coworker at our table seemed so transfixed by my chest that at one point I had to check to make sure I had actually put on the camisole. Apparently the shape was distracting enough, even without the flesh...

The party itself was... hmmm, how to say this politely? Well, I'll put it this way: if you're going to gather hundreds of technical professionals together for an evening, it's fair to expect some awkwardness, but ideally, the awkward will come from the techie geeks unable to sustain small talk, rather than from the inability of the speakers and presenters to hold the attention of the crowd, so ideally, speeches and awards would be heard, and not completely lost because everyone chats with their dinner neighbors instead of paying attention to the presenters.

I started the party thinking, "Thank goodness I had nothing to do with planning this party," and spent the rest of the party trying not to think, "I could have planned this so much more effectively." From cold food and stingy drinks to moronic dessert logistics resulting in a 20-minute wait for sugar, it was a spectacular mess.

Afterwards, I called Mom and told her how it went. Her response? "You should have taken off the camisole, then nobody would have noticed."

Who's the Luckiest. Girl. Ever? Me. It's totally me. Because when I'm a thousand miles away from my family, and the only holiday party I attend replaces my festive spirit with a giant sack of snark, at least I can share it with them, and we can all laugh together.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Taglines and Thumbnails

Because Candace has been nagging me to enlarge the font on my NiteFlirt phone sex listings, I decided to update my taglines and thumbnail pictures while I was at it.

So now, all my taglines include the words "caring" and "genuine" and "playful", specifically chosen for the holiday season, to attract people who are browsing NiteFlirt in search of a friendly connection during a time of the year that can be tough.

Last December I had tons of fun and made lots of new friends on the phone. Because my availability will be somewhat more limited this year, I don't expect to have quite the same influx of new voices to my menagerie, but I am looking forward to those one-last-call-before-I-travel calls, with their delicious ache of "I'm about to abandon my routine and personal space for days on end so I better enjoy these last few moments of freedom". The calls after travel are full of relief...

My goal with the pictures, besides updating to something more recent, was also to have a better variety when someone looks at the "Live Phone Sex" tab in the new NiteFlirt layout (all these pictures were taken last weekend by Quicksilver84 from FetLife).

So there I was, updating my listings like a good girl, and I thought of you, dear blog readers, that you shouldn't have to go digging through my listings in order to see all the snazzy new photos, so here they are!

Click any of the images below for slightly larger versions, and if you want a much bigger version of one, let me know and I'll email it to you as a holiday gift!

Women Home Alone > Sex
Women Home Alone > Sex
I specifically wanted a holiday version of the leaning-over green lingerie shot that was my first thumbnail.

Fantasy > Girls Next Door
Fantasy > Girls Next Door

... and the same pose in my pink fuzzy robe. So wholesome! Or, as several people described the shot in green "corn-fed", which I think is code for "has big boobs".

BDSM > Submissive Women
BDSM > Submissive Women
Although I wasn't specifically thinking submissive when I shot this, I do look spankable, don't I?

BDSM > Mistresses
BDSM > Mistresses
I'm sorry, what? You want to see more of these? You'll have to speak up, darling, the gag seems to be garbling you a bit.

Fantasy > Role Playing
Fantasy > Role Playing

You. You, young man, you've been VERY naughty this year, haven't you? Whew, thank goodness!

Fetish > Fem Dommes
Fetish > Fem Dommes
Yes, you're allowed to stroke it, but only the lower half, and only with your fingertips...

Women Home Alone > BBW
Women Home Alone > BBW

That whole bending forward and looking up thing just kinda works for me, doesn't it? I must remember this for future photo shoots.

Women Home Alone > Housewives
Women Home Alone > Housewives
I honestly do lounge around the house in that robe, but usually without the bra...

Fetish > Submissive Women
Fetish > Submissive Women

I can't imagine why you would suspect I have a mischievous streak today, Sir!

Phone with Cam > Women Home Alone
Phone with Cam > Women Home Alone
Although I haven't been back on cam in a long long time, this couch is where I will lounge when I do, although I'll probably get a new slipcover for it because it turns a weird color with light bouncing off red walls (it's gray). I really love this picture.

Women Home Alone > Oral Sex
Women Home Alone > Oral Sex
Why yes, I would absolutely take a cock in my mouth in lieu of a kiss under the mistletoe! Thanks for asking!

There, I did it, Candy. Now where is my copy of your latest video, dammit?

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Thoughts from an Energy Rebound

Sometimes life throws you a curve ball, like when your old standby allergy medicines apparently interact with your vertigo medicines and you find yourself confused all the time and sleeping 14 hours in a row.

And then sometimes, life lobs you a softie, like when you follow your intuition on how to switch up your allergy treatments and find yourself fully energized again with wildly raging lust, having to practically pin your hands at your sides not to start masturbating from the moment you wake up.

I think maybe my favorite days are ones where I finally have that burst of ability again after a time of feeling limited. When the question, "Is this going to last forever?" is answered with a resounding "No, you dork. Not even close."

This morning, I woke up aching for the feeling of being held down by strong hands wrapped around my thighs, and a tongue exploring me. I rolled over in bed, hugging a pillow, my knees apart, savoring the thoughts without the touches.

And then I gave thanks, for energy, for libido, for the reassuring rush of warmth to my core, that urge that lets me know that my body is back in balance, that I may be lucky enough to be able to end my day with the gasping half-hearted resistance of a long-time caller who has a thing for me seducing him with my stockings... Or better yet, the encouraging murmurs of a caller who has become a good friend over the past year, thanking me for understanding his sexual peccadilloes as he drifts off to sleep, as if his proclivities hadn't just made both of us explode with breathless pleasure.

The day-long (week-long? month-long?) build-up was so very much worth the wait.

Even though I only took two calls tonight, I feel exhilarated, empowered, strong, and an absolute surge of sassyness for anyone daring enough to tangle with me. I knew enough to log out and head for bed when I started winding down; I can't push my luck on an energy rebound day, but I wanted to take a moment to record the feeling, the swirl of gratitude and lust and connection and happiness for the ability to do this thing I do as often as I can do it.

Sometimes I have felt so weak, so helpless, so unable to provide for myself, let alone for others. Being a phone sex operator, using my real pictures, sharing my honest words here on the blog, toying with sexual energy while focusing the whole world down to the voice in my ear... this makes me feel so alive, so strong, so useful, so beautiful.

Do you understand that I need you as much as you need me? Do you really?

Thank you. All of you. Thank you.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Fuzzy Secretary Santa

You wanna take pictures of a scantily clad phone sex operator for fun? Although my plea for a photographer on FetLife was not much more sophisticated than that, an aspiring erotic photographer by the FetLife handle of "Quicksilver84" took me up on the offer anyway, and we spent a few hours this afternoon taking pics of me.

Although not as luminescent as my 40th birthday photos in Vivian Ronelle's impeccably lit studio, I was happy that Quicksilver captured a few great moments. It should be enough for a month or two to feed this blog, and to send to callers (I know I know, I'm months behind on thank-you follow-ups, I'm sorry...).

My plan right now is to break the pictures out in three separate posts, but just in case I get lazy or distracted, here were the three concepts:

First, "What are you wearing?" has been answered a lot lately with "my fuzzy pink bath robe and slippers, plus undies" so I thought I'd provide a view into what that looks like on a good day:

Robe, slippers, undies
Robe, slippers, undies
That's me in The Red Room, with the rope lights at the place where the wall slants on purpose, ready to be wrapped up and snuggled, or unwrapped and... well, that part's up to you.

Secondly, I was long overdue for a good secretary look, and I have a caller with a thing for textured tights, platform heels, and a good ponytail to grab, so I dug back into my memories of my white-collar professional days for a look that started off like this:

You wanted something sir?
You wanted something, sir?
By the end of that outfit, the strapless corset and tights were fully exposed, and the use for the ponytail was glaringly evident to anyone paying attention.

Last, but certainly not least, Mrs. Claus got a bit of an update for 2011.

You've been very naughty
You've been very naughty
Oh, gracious. That is... ummm... quite an update indeed. She seems a bit ... angry? Power-hungry? Eager to find a target for that flogger? Maybe it's best if she goes back to checking her list.

Thankfully, I remembered to ask for at least one good horizontal shot because Kiwi Candy asked me for a new banner. She's re-doing her listings and her blog ... again... the woman seriously puts the rest of us to shame with her work ethic, bless her darling little slutty heart. So I popped this together for her:

New Banner

I think it's warm and friendly and playful and inviting, but I'm much more interested in what you think of it - I'd love a comment or an email telling me whether or not you would click it if you saw it in the wild.

Overall, there were some lessons learned: I need to re-think the lighting in my Red Room, I probably shouldn't wear red things in The Red Room, and I should let the photographer help me put my stockings on next time, since it turns out it's kind of a thing with him.

All in all, it was a fun, affirming afternoon with a charming young man. (He's 27, so he's just young by comparison. I didn't do anything illegal, don't worry) Productive fun was had by all!

Friday, December 2, 2011

Spoke Too Soon

Now, in addition to being married to the funniest guy I know, I sound like Jessica Rabbit. A 2-hour appointment yesterday wrecked my voice, in kind of a sultry way. I probably won't log in for public access, but if Galiana-as-Kathleen-Turner is your thing, write me for an appointment!!

Thursday, December 1, 2011


2010 Santa
2010 Santa

I didn't write much in November for a few reasons: (1) my allergies have been threatening to migrate to my lungs, so I've been fighting off a cough for a week, teetering hourly between winning and losing the battle, (2) my husband traveled back to Houston via train for Thanksgiving, which left me surprisingly worry-paralyzed that week, and (3) I seem to have picked up a local lover, even though I didn't intend to look for one this quickly.

The keys to seducing me seem to be (1) funny and (2) smart and (3) kind. My husband is easily Roger Rabbit levels of funny (yes, I did just make myself Jessica Rabbit, thank you very much), and the new lover is a serious sapiosexual's wet dream come true (his brain is totally bigger than yours). And both of them are wonderfully kind, to others as well as to me.

Luckiest. Girl. Ever.

Now that I've settled into a weekly routine with the new beau, and hopefully won the war against germs in my head and chest, I will attempt to resume a more predictable schedule for the remainder of the holiday season.

I'm continuing to make appointments, 10am-4pm Central, or after 8pm Central. There's a 30-minute minimum for appointments, and I need at least a few hours' notice, but a day ahead works best. Write me at NiteFlirt or at my email to set up a time.

I'm continuing to thoroughly enjoy the whole appointment thing a lot. I love being able to sink into a caller's fantasies even before I hear his voice, to get my head space right, to have time to anticipate and tingle in all the right ways.

Before 10am? I'm asleep or snuggling with dogs. Nobody gets to interrupt snuggle time. Between 4pm and 8pm? I'm feeding dogs and dining with the hub, or doing 2-person chores with him, like deciding how many items we can part with from our obscenely large collection of underused electronics and power cords which no longer match any electronics we own... we think. It's a huge problem in the geek world.

As for logging in for general calls for Anyone In The World, I'm finding 9pm to midnight Central to be my most common hours.

Oh, and I also picked up a volunteer to take pictures of me, so I'm hoping to have some holiday pictures in my new Red Room in my new naughty Santa outfit soon! Yay!

As far as I know, I'm not traveling back to Houston until early in the New Year, so I should be around for most, if not all, of December! I look forward to holidazing with you!

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Talking About You

I had a fun afternoon yesterday with a cross-dressing, dildo-sucking slut of a caller. Just before I got online with him, I was talking to a new potential local lover, and I said, "I have to go now. I get to see a pretty sissy boy dressed up and sucking a giant dildo!" and his response was, "Wow. I think I'd like to watch that!"

I didn't think much of it, because duh, of course he would - it's super fun! But near the end of the call, I mentioned the exchange to my caller (who... seriously... can shove a thick long cock down his throat, even it's anchored to his desk and he's wearing a collar -- it's a choke-inducing combination at that angle for any but the most talented). He got incredibly excited that I'd been talking about him.

Of course I talk about him. I talk in generalities about anyone who hasn't asked me not to (I never ever include names or anything I may know that's identifying, of course).

My social circle loves to ask, "Any fun calls lately?" to hear about the latest advances in fembot technology from The Robot Boys (my nickname for the ASFR callers), new humiliation scenarios from my super-pathetic Mattress-Humping Storyteller (pathetic is his word of choice), or how many times I heard my favorite ballbuster smack himself and groan before he came.

But sometimes, the mention is spontaneous. While discussing a mutual friend's dissolving marriage, the conversation turned to biological imperatives, and I brought up how many callers request impregnation fantasies (many), and how many callers can get driven right over the edge if I beg them to knock me up (you know who you are). It makes sense, right? I mean, the whole point of sex is procreation from an evolutionary standpoint, so it stands to reason that men who find it sizzlingly sexy to think of impregnating a woman would manage to make babies and pass on that urge.

Or this afternoon, when I was finding myself more snide about something than I was happy with myself for being, I said to my husband, "Or, as a caller said last night, 'But then, I like putting rubber masks on women before I fuck them, so, seriously, who am I to judge?'" Exactly.

My conversations are like my blog - I have no idea who I'll talk/write about or when. It all comes to me organically. I don't think I write a blog as much as I channel it. And I never plan to talk about calls, but sometimes, you just come up.

(except for you, that guy who hates to be mentioned (who, by the way, I haven't heard from in far too long...) -- don't worry, I never ever mention you)

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Lingerie Bar

Lingerie Bar
Lingerie Bar in The Red Room

My sister came in to help me unpack the last two days. It was amazing to hang out with her relationally, of course, but she's also a whirlwind organizer. Not only did we get the kitchen and guest room completely settled, but she created the Lingerie Bar.

I knew I wanted the Fuckatorium 3.0 (aka The Red Room) to only contain sexy Galiana things. Necessities, therefore, include: a couch (I learned the hard way a couch is comfier than a bed for lounging with a computer for hours), laptop (for blog posts, email, Twitter, and catching up on others' sexy blogs, like Kink In Exile who mentioned me this weekend - awww thanks Alisa!), sex toys (they're in here, but not yet unpacked), and, of course, lingerie. No sexy space is complete without lingerie, right?

A few awesome folks got me housewarming Amazon gift cards, which I used to buy, among other things, an adjustable garment rack, intending it for Fuckatorium lingerie. When it turned out we needed the garment rack for my non-lingerie clothes (I overflowed the tiny century-old closet), my sister immediately saw the possibilities in the shower rod we had replaced (I love curved shower curtain rods - they make the shower feel so much roomier). Why not hang the shower rod from the angled ceiling to act as a clothes rack?

A couple of hooks, a bit of bondage rope, and voilĂ , the Lingerie Bar was born! I love it sooooo much.

As I hung everything on the awesome new fuzzy-grippy hangers my sister generously provided me, I relished the memories that drifted up: photo shoots, play times with lovers old and new, evenings on cam, evenings shooting videos, the delight of opening gifts, and the look on my husband's face when we were first dating and I knocked at his door wearing *that*. Delicious.

Why yes, that is a shoe rack next to the Lingerie Bar! And yes, those are new strappy silver heels I expect to wear soon, since they match the new silver headband... Not that I've been hoping the Fuckatorium can pass for a robot lab or anything. Pffff. Don't be ridiculous.

Speaking of ludicrous, that splash of plaid is definitely not a skirt headed for a barely-legal babysitter fantasy video anytime soon. That would ridiculous - I'm 41 years old, I could never pull that off, not even in braids if I were sucking on a lollipop.

The same goes for that red cheerleader skirt and pompoms if I were wearing pigtails... Absurd. I mean, nobody would ever fantasize about their middle-aged wife surprising them with a flashback role play, I'm certain of it.

And that satin nightshirt I've had since college, who would want to see a video of me demonstrating how I masturbate myself to sleep while wearing that?

It's not even worth considering putting a lacy bra and panties, a garter belt, and stockings under that feather-lined vintage-inspired robe to discuss my preferences and techniques when I'm wearing a strap-on.

I'm hoping to shoot more video in this new space... it seems I have a decent start on inspiration, doesn't it?

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Settling In

Galiana relaxedI realized today that I've been doing something extraordinary for the past ten days: settling in.

I think my time in Houston never felt permanent enough to feel like I had settled into any kind of pattern. I remember a stretch of four days where I felt a calm sense that I knew what to expect, and I didn't have any looming, unknown, massive tasks. Four days out of seven months is not a fantastic record.

But we plan to be here in the great plains of central Illinois for at least a couple of years (where the sunsets have, I must admit, been far more spectacular than I remembered... I think it's a ploy to lull me into a sense of welcome. It's working.). Hopefully, we'll be in this same quirky, slanty, cozy house with the nice neighbors and the gorgeous trees.

So now that most of the functional unpacking has been done, as well as enough decorative unpacking to make the place feel like it's ours, I'm finding a pattern emerging:

* Early mornings on weekdays, since the hub has to get up anyway, he feeds the dogs and lets them outside, then puts them back in their crates to let me wake up on my own rhythms. On weekends, the dogs get morning routine from whoever can't sleep through them whining at us anymore, or from whoever needs to get up to go to the bathroom first

* When I wake up, I've continued a thing I started in Houston, which is: snuggle time on the couch with the dogs. I set aside about an hour to wake up slowly, sipping caffeine, making a coherent to-do list for the day, playing iPhone games, and giving the dogs the freedom to choose the activity: I always say yes to tug, fetch, and tummy rubs during snuggle time, and eventually I am rewarded with two dozing lap-warmers. Snuggle time ends when they inevitably bound off the couch to investigate a neighborhood noise and I need to stretch my legs and get my day started.

* My days have been mixed. I've tried to group together times when I had to wait for return phone calls, service or repair people, or freecyclers to pick up our packing boxes, because waiting on things like that means it's impossible to log in for phone sex. When I've had appointments (between 10am and 4pm Central time), I've given the pups rawhides and left them safely on the other side of the baby gate in the dog-proofed downstairs, while I head upstairs to The Red Room (aka the Fuckatorium 3.0) to lose myself in delicious fantasies.

* From 4pm to 8pm has become family time: the dogs need dinner and an outside break, the hub gets home for an hour or less of domestic chores, then we have dinner and unwinding together time, possibly mixed with more snuggle time on the couch, and then I lose him to his very steady girlfriend The Internet, with all her fun things to learn and ridiculous memes to giggle over, or to his primary lover Video Games, with all her things to build and strategize and shoot, and I head back up to The Red Room to log in. Eventually, sleepies overtake me and I stumble downstairs and crawl into the bed he's been keeping warm for me.

It's a lovely rhythm. It feels sustainable and calm. It protects enough time and energy for my primary romantic relationship, provides enough affectionate touch to keep me sane, and yet leaves plenty of time and energy for all my other connections: friends, family, and the gorgeous lush playgrounds where I luxuriate with callers.

And luxuriate I have... I've discovered a distinct advantage a roof-slanted room: when I'm lying on the couch, I can anchor one foot against the wall-ceiling angled above me, which lets me buck my hips up in a really interesting way.

Ooo, and I had an extraordinarily happy re-discovery of my Feeldoe: it was the only "dildo" I could find one day on a call before I unpacked my sex toys, so I used the long end of it to fuck myself while using the short egg-shaped end to press against my clit (that's the side that is inside me when I use it as it was intended, as a strapless strap-on). And holy overload, Batman, the sensations are an amazing mimic of the pressure against my clit during missionary fucking if a lover is grinding his pubic bone into me. Which I love. A lot. It's my new favorite thing to feel when I'm masturbating.

The room seems perfect to hold my sexual energy, the couch and desk chair offer lots of options for comfy positions whether I'm typing or fucking, and the glare-free lighting is easy to spend time in. It seems perfect so far.

Welcome to the next season of my life. I think it's going to be wonderful.

Monday, November 7, 2011

Crooked Little House

Casual in The Red Room
Casual in The Red Room

The walls aren't straight. The floors aren't straight. The tub in the bathroom struggles a bit to drain because the floor is almost as tilted as the tub. We sleep downstairs, in part, because we're a tiny bit concerned that one day the top of the house might decide to pay a friendly visit to the bottom of the house.

I'm talking about my new home, as of October 1. It's charming and adorable in that way that century-old homes can be, with a spider-web-filled basement and not quite enough electrical outlets, but fun architectural moldings around the archways downstairs and a cozy wrap-around porch for warm weather neighboring.

The upstairs was clearly an afterthought: attic space enclosed when someone made a bit of cash, all the walls tilt inward along the roof slope, and possibly done before building codes were quite as rigorous as they hopefully would be today.

None of this concerns you, except the part where I hung up rope lights in the new Fuckatorium for diffused lighting, set up my desk, set up the couch, and then saw... wait... why doesn't the rope light line up parallel at the top of the screen? And why is one end of the couch further away than the other end from the rope light?

This investigation led me to discover out that the floor is subtly crooked enough that the picture doesn't line up square unless I prop up one side of my desk. Oh, hi, door wedges, I'm so glad now that I unpacked you already, and that you no longer have to live in the junk drawer.

The Fuckatorium 3.0 is not quite ready for a prime time video just yet. But the picture above was indeed taken tonight in the new space. It is 9 feet wide at the floor, 18 inches wide at the ceiling, 22 feet long, and painted a deep, sexy, brick red. We call it "The Red Room". It is a crazy, insane, bizarre space. Perfect for me, don't you think?

I just showed my husband the tilt in the floor. He helped me figure out the most level place for the couch. Then he said, "Great. I have a wife with rare neurological vertigo, and I picked out a crooked house for her to live in..." and then looked a little sad. So I recited the poem "There Was A Crooked Man" while getting the dogs to dance along to the rhythm of the words. Now it will be stuck in our minds forever when we think of this place, I'm sure.

I have noticed that sometimes I have to figure out if I'm dizzy or if the floor is just funny right in that spot. It's oddly comforting when it's the floor. My brain might eventually just go "awwww fuck it" and stop trying to balance me altogether..

Most importantly, the rope lights + the red walls make me feel all cozy and dreamy and sultry in here. The decorating concept this time around is "bare minimum" - I won't do anything in The Red Room except be Galiana. My non-lingerie clothes, my guest bed, my jewelry, etc is all elsewhere this time around. The Red Room is just for video and pictures and phone calls.

I look forward to you dropping by!

Saturday, October 29, 2011

How'd It Go?

Last Wednesday I had my Social Security disability hearing for my vertigo, covering the period from March 2009, when I got sick, to July 2010, when I started working as a phone sex operator. Beforehand, my lawyer prepped me what to expect, and we went over the evidence to ensure my she had the important findings at the top of her notes.

We discussed whether to tell the judge I do the generic "phone consulting" or to tell him I'm a phone sex operator. The reality is, I chose this profession not only because I'm a giant slut who loves playing with callers' sexual energy, but also because I can set my own hours, I can rest when I need to, and I can't sustain any visual effort longer than about an hour. That leaves... ummm, well, phone sex! My lawyer advised me to play it by ear, but if it came to a choice of "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth" then of course, I had to tell the judge.

Five minutes into the hearing, I was saying, "I'm a phone sex operator, Your Honor." He snortled, blinked, and asked, "Excuse me?" I repeated myself, "I do phone sex, Your Honor." I could feel myself blushing, and panicking slightly about whether or not it was the right choice. He raised his eyebrows at my lawyer as if to say "Nice curveball, counselor", but declined to comment.

I answered questions: Could I work from home as a PSO? Yep. Why could I be a PSO in July 2010? A combination of physical therapy and medicines improved my condition enough. Why couldn't I be a PSO between March 2009 and July 2010? The vertigo precluded concentrating long enough to sustain intense dialogue. How much do I make as a PSO? I've averaged only a few hundred dollars per month more than if I were still disabled and collecting Social Security disability benefits (my monthly average has been decreased by all the time I've taken off for my moves, but also, my monthly benefit amount was substantial because I made a lot / paid a lot into Social Security before I got sick - I think I maxed out my SS contributions for the last 8 years of my IT career).

Why can't I do my old job, be an IT Manager? I thought about opening a wall of SQL text, reviewing discombobulated spreadsheets with inconsistent data to import into a central database, reading hundreds of emails a day, running a project team meeting starting with "guys, we have a problem, and I have no clue how to solve it"... and I started to cry. Crying made me panic about seeming disingenuous or manipulative, and made me embarrassed to be crying, which, of course, only made it harder not to cry. Great.

There were more questions. The judge had clearly read my medical evidence, and knew what he wanted to uncover during testimony. I didn't interrupt him, I tried to stay on target, summarize without missing critical subtle details, and not let it distract me that I was starting to spin, stutter, feel foggy, drop words. The timing was horrifying, yet poetically impeccable: I was having a concentration-triggered vertigo crash in the middle of my disability hearing. Things were getting blurry, but I had to hang on enough to answer questions.

The judge thanked me for my creativity and willingness to work, which I thought was odd until I considered it later: I'm sure he sees a lot of people who are just trying to scam the system or get out of working to be lazy. But there I was saying, no, I really genuinely couldn't work for 16 months. But then I could work, so I did. I work, making less than a third of what I used to make. I work, making only 10% more than I would make if I were not working and on disability. But I can work, so I do.

Then he said "I'm granting disability for the closed period of March 2009 to July 2010. Counselor, are you all right with that?" My lawyer looked surprised, stammered, and said, "Yes, Your Honor". And then she was gathering her things and the judge was saying "This concludes the hearing" and I had the feeling I should leave the room, but there were things we had reviewed before the hearing that had not been stated, and my attorney hadn't given me the chance to tell the narrative I had been practicing... and what the fuck was going on?

Thankfully, something in my rational mind overruled my panic and said "follow your lawyer" so I packed up, stood up, turned around, stumbled into the wall, and drunkenly made it into the attorney consultation room. "What happened? Why didn't we... my narrative..."

She said calmly, decisively, and slowly, "You won. He said yes. He granted your disability. You're done."

"What? When? You said that wouldn't happen..." Then she laughed as my brain caught up, and trying to look professional instead of delightedly happy as she explained that the phrase "I'm granting disability" means he affirmed my total disability in the months I couldn't work, and granted me benefits.

My legs gave out; I had to sit. For two and a half years, I faced repeated denials of benefits because neurological vertigo is wickedly hard to prove. A part of me didn't believe the day would ever come when anybody would give me any disability benefits whatsoever.

Over the past few days, I keep having a feeling of dissociation from the reality of what has happened, followed by huge rushes of emotion: relief, gratitude, anger, joy, frustration, peace, and giddy giddy giggling.

The money will be exactly enough to: repay my mom and sister the money they've loaned us, pay off the last of my student loans from my MBA classes (I didn't finish my MBA because I got a management job without one), pay for the last step of the dental work I've been putting off for months, and then pay for about 10 celebratory dinners at in the $50-and-under range. Perfect.

So, how'd it go Wednesday? It went perfectly. I'm barely starting to come out of my shock at how perfectly it went.

I deeply appreciate each and every note of support I got. Thank you. Thank you more than you know.

So. Now I need to figure out how to get this damn blog back on track. Phone sex, Galiana. That's what people are here to read about, phone sex. Try to write about phone sex next, would you?

You know I don't make promises, but I'll try.

Monday, October 24, 2011

On The Road Again

Tomorrow, I'm traveling back to Austin to have a disability hearing. Although the timing was unfortunate, I'm very glad it's been scheduled and that I get time to explain my weird, complicated case.

I spent the first six months of my vertigo visiting 17 doctors and a physical therapist, looking for diagnosis and a cure.

In months 6-15, I tried a series of medicines, to varying degrees of less-than-total-success, but I also extended the lessons I learned in physical therapy to try to develop coping patterns of activity / rest.

In month 15, I felt good enough about the balance of occasional medicines and my physical therapy gains to attempt to make a living at phone sex. I was not at all sure I could do it. Some days were better than others. I'm still so grateful I was able to make it work.

The hearing will ONLY cover the time period before I started working (months 0-15). I genuinely believe that I could not have worked any sooner - it took that long for the right medicines and therapies to do their thing. Plus, Just Say No to attempting to defraud the government.

So the hearing will be hard: I'll have to remember in vivid detail a difficult period of my life.

And it will be wonderful: I'll get to remember in vivid detail how much more I can do now, and celebrate being the kind of person who chooses to do everything I can do. I choose to work, even at 1/3 of my former salary most months, because I can, and I love that about myself.

And I am traveling on my own, something I feared I could never do again. I'm not gonna lie, it's gonna suuuuuuuck to be on a plane again. But it sucks less than never traveling again. By a lot.

In the meantime, we're happily unpacking our new home to make one room functional at a time. The bedroom works REALLY well!! Yay me!

The Fuckatorium 3.0 will be spectacular, but has not yet been properly equipped or decorated. I can't wait to show it to you! I'm going for a very sparse look, with only necessities. The idea is to keep as little as possible in the room so it's video-ready at the drop of a hat if I get the urge. Less clutter = more videos (I hope). It's a unique room, with deeply sloped walls that obviously used to be part of an attic, 9 feet wide by 22 feet long with deep red walls - it's striking!

So I'll be offline and unavailable for calls Tue, Wed, Thu, but available by appointment only Friday afternoon. I'll probably be offline Saturday, and back on Sunday. Then next week, well, next week is when the real fun starts again: establishing my new pattern. I am so incredibly looking forward to next week!

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

I'm Stuffed

Paddle In Hand
Paddle In Hand

Summary (extra-short): My stuff has arrived in my home, so I'm all stuffed up.

Summary (medium-short): After 10 days of hearing nothing from our movers, we got a call Saturday saying they would hold our stuff hostage unless we paid them $800 more than the estimate. Sunday, after they arrived at 6:30 pm, we refused to pay it, called cops, had a 3-hour stand-off in our front yard, took video, measured the truck, I cried, and they eventually agreed to the $1600 originally estimated plus the $200 tip I had always intended to give them. Monday, they arrived at 11:30, took our money, then informed us they were in too big of a hurry to reassemble our furniture or put any furniture or boxes where we specified ("for $1800 you get your stuff dumped"), we took more video, I cried more, but we have our stuff.

A few details: My husband and I figured out a pretty clever Good Cop (him) / Hysterical Cop (me) routine where we blamed my medicines and the general condition of Being Female for my over-excitability. We used my Hysterical Condition to manage to get everything we need on video to sue them for serious breach of contract, as well as fraudulent charges (they charged us for over 500 cubic feet they admitted we did not have).

Justice will happen through the courts, and through our very eager army of non-smut friends who are, at this moment, filling review boards with factual, non-slanderous reviews of their company.

But I haven't spent that much energy faking a one-down position to anyone in a long time. It was the right thing to do to get through the day, to have our stuff safely returned to us (nothing was intentionally damaged, and the dryer not working is probably electrical).

But here's the deal: If your fetish is humiliating women, calling women stupid, or in any way whatsoever suggesting that the woman you're talking with is anything other than an amazingly capable, whip-cracking, intelligent, funny, productive, bad-ass-motherfucker? Do. Not. Fucking. Call. Me.

Also, I'm not at all your girl if you need me to beg you, cajole you, nag you, manipulate you, or coerce you. I'm all out of Bad Cop juice at the moment. Well, or else I'm allllll filled up with it, but it's not the kind you'll like.

Seduce you? Bring it. Kick you in the nuts while humiliating you? I'm totally your girl. Edge you until you're begging and writhing and leaking a steady stream of pre-cum all over your own hand (or whatever I'm letting you stroke with)? Aww fuck yeah.

My bold diva self should start being available on phone sex again tomorrow night. Or maybe tonight. Or who knows? Whenever the hell I want, dammit! /grin

My nice, normal, sweet, accommodating self should return in a few days. Maybe...

Saturday, October 15, 2011

A Bit Better, and Amusements

My current mood
My current mood
We still don't have our stuff, but our movers have at least called us now. We are no longer playing the game of "maybe they stole all our things." Now we are playing the game of "they claim we owe them a lot more money than they initially estimated before they will deliver our things." I hate playing chicken.

Thankfully, my husband and I play a pretty damn good game of Good Cop/Bad Cop. Usually we just play it alone with each other, but in this case, it comes in handy externally as well. Heh. That made me grin.

We've researched the law and helpful tactics, but if you have suggestions, feel free to shoot me an email and advise away. My legal-name FB has been bombarded with helpful hints from many of our non-smut friends, and I have gotten supportive and helpful emails from the smut side of my life as well. Our communities have been fantastic.

So, to thank you for suffering with me through my tales of woe, I will now share amusing anecdotes:

Thursday evening, an ex-coworker passed close enough to us in his drive cross-country that he stopped for dinner, during which, I confessed my phone sex career to him. He was thrilled for me, and had lots of fun questions and enthusiasm without being specifically titillated because he is solely and voraciously attracted to men.

After discussing how some people use my services in a pseudo-therapeutic way, he started pondering aloud some fantasies he had from early in his sexual development which he felt like he hadn't explored because of his shame around them, but he was being purposefully vague.

This led to me asking him, "Specifically what do you think about when you're jacking off?" He laughed, hard, and said, "It's just like working with you again! I can see you pulling the door to your office shut, and you turning around and asking me that question exactly that way!" Yep. I probably would have.

The next day, I relayed that story to my mother, who has asked not to be told too many specifics, but finds some level of bawdiness amusing. Upon regaining her breath after a burst of surprised laughter, she said, "Oh dear, no. Wait, why? Was that one of your interview questions?" No, no, no, no, no. No, it wasn't. But it sort of is now, isn't it?

In other encouragement, in that same conversation with Mom, when I said "I think I'm ahead of schedule with having made all my major life mistakes twice before the age of 42", she replied, "Oh, honey, I'm sure you're not done."

I'm pretty damn sure she's right.

Friday, October 14, 2011

Control, You Fickle Bitch

Now why would you want to leave me?
Now why would you want to leave me?

I had a lot of control when I lived in Houston - my husband was traveling for work 10 days out of every 14, my family and local friends were trained to call before dropping by, and I was finding my ability to adapt to the unexpected kind of, well, atrophying, because the unexpected was happening so rarely in my daily life.

I mean, sure, there was the whole thing with "you're moving - you're not moving - you're moving - you're not moving - oh okay really you're moving", and anyone would have found that disruptive, but aside from that ennui, I could manage my dizzies, my dogs, my time, and my energy as I wished.

Oct 2, I arrived at my new home in Central Illinois (I've decided I can safely say "Central Illinois" now that I've been here and determined I am not quite at The Godforsaken Ends of The Earth)(plus Central Illinois could be any one of five "metro" areas, so it's still not all that specific)(could we finish this sentence without more parenthesis, please?)(maybe, if you ask nicely...)(ohfuckit)(what was I saying?)(I arrived at my new home...) to find that Control has forsaken me.

Frank Sinatra sang to Luck, asking her to be a Lady and stay with the guy she came in with. I feel like I'm attempting to serenade Control in much the same way, and, as a shocking surprise to absolutely nobody, she ain't playin' along.

In ascending order of emotional impact, from lowest to highest levels of reinforcement of the idea "you really are not in control here": (1) I have to travel unexpectedly back to Austin in two weeks (2) my movers may have stolen all our stuff and (3) a good friend lost a close family member in an accident.

I'm very glad to be a support for (3), especially since I lost my father at age 22, and I remember how helpful it was to talk with people whose immediate family members had passed away when they were far too young. The best advice given to me in that time was, "You're a smart girl, and you're usually able to figure things out, but if you try to figure out Death, you'll make yourself crazy. This is a feeling thing, not a thinking thing. Just feel." She wins the prize for best advice ever. I still thank her periodically.

Control: Big Fat 1, Galiana: Big Fat 0.

As for (2), it's been nine days now since we've heard hide nor hair from our movers, and one of the numbers we were using to reach them has been disconnected. Gulp. I did a lot of research in early September to choose the company, and yet, in the past 30 days, there seem to be dozens of reports suddenly of them doing a horrible job, which has been a big shake to my confidence as well as a big huge giant fat massive annoyance to be living in limbo wondering if we need to start buying replacements to stuff, or if we can hold out Denial and Hope one more day (Hope and Denial make such a cute couple, don't they?) So I'm researching civil and criminal options to recover my things, from a thousand miles away, and trying not to blame myself for picking a horrible mover.

Dear Victim, don't blame yourself. Love, Everyone Sane.

Control: Whopping Hellacious 2, Galiana: Serious 0.

Then for (1), it seems that my change of addresses didn't reach all the right offices, and I'm having a disability hearing about my vertigo in Austin in two weeks. Surprise! The hearing is about the 15 months when I couldn't work before I figured out the right pattern of low-dosage, occasional medicines and resting that allowed me to start doing phone sex. Don't worry, I'm not defrauding the government. If anything, I'm being militantly forthcoming (my lawyer probably didn't need to know I do phone sex now - maybe I could have said "telephone sales", right? But it was kinda fun to tell her). But the practical thing in the meantime is that we had to scramble to get funds and plans for me to travel again, just exactly when I thought I'd be settling down, and it's possible that if I known the date of my hearing before we moved, I would have waited another 4-6 weeks to move at all.

Control: Pow! Pow! Pow! That's 3 in a row, to Galiana's 0... and that looks like a Knockout, folks!

Oh, and my allergies have been bad, too, but that seems miniscule by comparison. Apparently, though, I needed to whine about it. /whiiiiiiiine

I would like to think that I would have learned my lesson not to hold onto control too tightly had it been applied slightly more subtly than via sledgehammer. But perhaps not.

In the meantime, I'll log on for phone sex when I'm able to shuffle these worrisome details out of my busy head enough to feel sexy.

And of course, a reminder: a good number of delicious callers have dropped me an email to let me know a specific date/times they would be available, which I find MUCH easier to accommodate than to log on for Anyone In The Whole Wide World. There's a 30-minute minimum for appointments, but I have been loving those little eagerly anticipated getaways.

And, indeed, writing this, I can feel my mind and body longing for the verdant, luscious, all-encompassing escape of immersing myself in someone else's sexual energy. Maybe I need to stop sleeping as a coping mechanism and do more phone sex instead.

Like, for example, on Tuesday night, before any of this happened, I had an amazing time teasing and guiding the new caller who found me through this blog, the one with the gentle voice, the one I introduced to a few pleasures available from the belt of his fuzzy robe... My mouth just watered, and what was that? It seems to have been a little grin.

So write me already, you slacker. It's the least you could do, really, isn't it? Here, I'll make it easy:

Saturday, October 8, 2011

The Best Laid Plans

Early Morning Snuggles
Early Morning Snuggles

The best laid plans of mice and men / Often go awry (or something like that, depending on your translation to modern English).

For the record, I'd rather be the best laid girl than have the best laid plans anyway.

But on to the actual topic of this blog post. As plans go, it was a fine one: arrive in my new town on Sunday, have my stuff delivered on Mon or Tue or Wed, and have a friend visit to help me unpack on Thu-Sat while hub had to be out of town.

The tiny little complication to the plan? Our stuff hasn't been delivered yet. In fact, we don't know when it will be delivered. We do know our truck has not yet left Texas. We've been told someone else canceled their move, so they have to wait until they have another full container from Houston to the Midwest before we get our belongings.

In the meantime, we're living off the spartan furnishings hub had acquired while in his temporary apartment, plus some things we bought from our landlady when she moved out. It's a bit inconvenient, but not impossible.

Still. Better. Than. The Last Move. A bajillion kazillion times better.

Since hub was heading out of town anyway, my friend still came down to visit, and we got The Plan together for where all the big furniture is going to be placed once it arrives, which has provided me a giant measure of mental relief.

As an added bonus, she loves taking pictures, especially of dogs, so when my pit bull mix and I were snuggling on the couch this morning, she captured us. No shower, no makeup, not the most flattering of angles, but I love it.

The original plan was to unpack necessities and feel a bit settled before I started taking calls. The new plan is to take calls until our movers arrive, then take a couple days off again to unpack necessities, then figure out a new schedule and attempt to pretend that my life is stable for a while. We can dream together, can't we?

I started writing this blog post at the same time as I logged in to take calls. I was nervous nobody would find me unless I blog-announced and mail-announced my availability, but I was wrong. I've had three calls so far: and old friend for teasing and ball-busting, a semi-regular for tickle torturing, and a new caller on my hypno line who completely resisted my first induction attempt, but sounded so gratified by the second attempt that he hung up on me after breathing intensely for a few minutes. /grin We'll have to work on his etiquette, but it sounds like the induction worked well. /flex

Welcome back (again), Galiana!

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Unshared Pics From 2011

A few moments from 2011 which I haven't yet shared with you. Pro tip: Click on the pics to see slightly larger versions.

January, 2011:

Girl Goo On Big Red
Girl Goo on Big Red

See those streaks of white? That's what was left on Big Red after a really great call. Yummers. In terribly sad news, Big Red died a horrible death one night when I neglected to crate my dogs for the night before my anxious dog hit her mode of I'm-too-overtired-to-stop-myself-from-chewing-something-even-though-I-know-better. Don't worry, I quickly replaced Big Red with Slightly Bigger Green, and I ... uhhh... I'm all good.

February 2011:

Hard at work
Hard at work

Setting up the original Fuckatorium in the Austin house, I realized it might be of interest to some people that I do manual labor around the house in my bra. Oh sure, it's an old cotton bra that was a cup size too small at the time, but it feels better than wearing a shirt! This is why I have those sports-bra-tank shirts, so if I need to work in the garage with the door open...

April 2011:

Learning to Straighten
Learning to Straighten

I learned to straighten my hair in April. Theoretically, I knew how before then, but April is when I practiced. This is my hair after I straightened it and then just curled the ends. It was a self-portrait with my old phone, in my Houston bathroom that has crazy brown stripey wallpaper which I will not miss after I move... But the place we're moving, I'll have much less bathroom mirror to work with, so I'll miss that.

May 2011:

Pink Egg of Happiness
Pink Egg of Happiness
My pink egg-on-a-stick vibrator, usually used for clitoral stimulation, covered in my juices after I obviously used it for insertion. Vigorously. I so very much heart my pink egg. Big Green and Pink Egg are a fucking deliciously explosive combination.

May 2011:

Au Naturale
Au Naturale
Hmmm, maybe I should have just called this post "Girl Goo Gallery" (I just cracked myself up). See all that squishy white stuff on my ring finger? That was from me playing with myself on a call with just my fingers - I was begging was be allowed to use my vibrators and told I couldn't. It still felt great. Just don't tell him I said so.

June 2011:

theoretically not porn
theoretically not porn
It's theoretically possible that a new in-person lover of mine took a few pictures of me early in the morning when I was too sleepy to protest, although I had on no makeup and my hair was a mess. Side note: How does me not showing the crack of my ass make the difference between this pictures being nakedness vs being porn? I'm baffled.

September 2011:

Come to bed soon?
Come to bed soon?
If I had a theoretical new in-person lover, it would theoretically be possible that I met with him recently for a second visit before I move away from Houston, because we're not sure when we will be able to arrange to meet again in 2011. And if that happened, it would make logical sense that we might spend a bit of our time together with me playing dress-up and him taking a couple hundred pictures to add to his spank bank. I'm not saying for sure that's what happened, of course... but it's a nice shot, isn't it?

Try not to miss me too much.