Monday, July 30, 2012

The Beauty of Submissive Men

First, Ferns asked for a very special birthday present in a blog post, "The beauty of submissive men" - she wanted photos of submissive men. She asked for diversity and truth. She got both.

Because the resulting video can't be played on my iPhone or iPad, I didn't see it until after I read this blog post by the ever-articulate submissive Tomio Black, "Unexpected beauty", which made me cry and cry.

Then I finally saw the resulting video, hours later, here: "Submissive men: A celebration of beauty". I love it with all my heart.

Bravo Ferns. And happy birthday, Mistress.

If you're as happily moved as I am, please pass this on as many times as you can (this blog posts, or just direct links to them, I don't care).

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

That Went Well

I've built successful communities before: at church, at work, in online gaming, and socially. And I've organized group meetings and get-togethers all those places, too. So I had a high level of confidence that hosting my first kinkster community event would be a success...

Until about 2 hours beforehand, at which time waves of doubt crashed over me. What if the discussion format bombed? What if nobody shows? What if the food is terrible?

When I first organized the event, I was expecting 15 but secretly hoping for 20 just to feel badass.

I got 38. That's right, thirty-eight people showed up to mingle, listen to me give announcements about upcoming community events, and participate in the discussion groups (which were widely referred to as "semi-structured", an accurate description I love a lot).

And we had newcomers! One couple hadn't been to a community event in two years. Two people were complete newbies. I had non-newcomers on the lookout for newbies, and they were warmly greeted and welcomed by the community leaders who we want to be when we grow up (/sniffle they came to my thing! /sniffle)

But... back to that number. Thirty-eight is like a turnout you could expect in Austin. Or Houston. Or some other giant metropolis. You don't expect that for a non-mainstream fetish event in a town where corn fields are always no more than 10 minutes away. I mean, yes, within an hour's drive, there are probably about a million people, but still. I was pleasantly shocked.

So the food worked pretty well, but needs some tweaking, the drinks worked well, the traffic flow around the room worked well, and the venue loved us and can't wait for us to return. The manager even congratulated me on having such a good turnout. Awww. (I totally wanna smooch him, by the way)

Anyway, enough bragging about my thing. After it was over, my husband and his live-in girlfriend Devant kicked off a party at our house while I recovered upstairs for a few hours, playing a silly flirty party mixer game we made up, and helping the crowd feel welcome.

The only picture I took of myself was at the end of the evening, when I felt drunk as a skunk from my vertigo dizzies (I consumed zero alcohol), and I look like a wino. Guests said I looked "happy cute drunk" but clearly from the picture I refuse to share, they were merely being polite.

However, I did manage to get this picture of Devant, which should give you an idea of how the party went:

Devant in her natural habitat
She was being put into a straightjacket before getting beaten on the bed. A moment before this picture, Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy" came up on the rotation, and she made her eyes all googly and sang along, "I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind!" which cracked everyone up. A pink-haired 21-year-old in a straightjacket got beaten on my bed while playing brat and giggling hysterically. How great is my life?

Also, someone who was present for my Hand Orgy has been thinking she also wanted one, so she got one, and it was magical and wonderful and awesome. She also cried a lot, which made me feel less silly about crying at mine.

Then there was a guy there with the most awesome afro-like-but-surprisingly-not-on-a-black-guy hair (maybe he's Jewish? Middle Eastern? I'm not sure), and word spread to texture-lovers that he'd let us run our fingers through it. Oh, and maybe he likes being scratched. So maybe his shirt needed to come off while one... okay, two... no wait, four... I think it was five women eventually were surrounding him, playing with his hair and scratching his back and chest, and sometimes biting him. It was his first party ever, his first scene ever, and he was hiiiiiiiiiigh as a kite from happiness.

In case you're jealous. to. death. of that guy (as well you should be), here's how he got that scene: he went to three public meet-and-greets (aka munches) before anyone invited him to a party. He was polite and respectful at the public events. He never asked to be invited to the play parties. At the play party, he sat back and watched, declining to join in to the hand orgy or anything else other than watching because he was, as he said, "watching to see what the rules are so I don't mess up". He was approached by someone who asked what he liked. He negotiated with her about the hair playing and the scratching and the biting. He knew his safewords. He kept his hands at his sides because nobody had invited him to touch them. He moaned appreciatively when surrounded by women pawing at him, which made it more fun to continue to do so.

In short, he was polite and respectful and patient and open to new experiences.

Also, he had yummy lips, which I brain-drunkenly said aloud, so one of my friends dragged me over to him and told him I wanted to kiss him. Could not be more junior high. Ridiculous. He was gracious enough to oblige me, so we made out for like 2 minutes, only interrupted because I realized it was making my vertigo worse, and if I didn't stop kissing him, the party would be over for me. It was almost worth it to keep going, but not quite.

For those of you keeping track of my smooch slut record, I also made out with another friend who is quitting smoking. Y'know, as encouragement! I do what I can to help my friends be healthy, right? They were kissing partners #91 and #92.

It was a fantastic weekend, an amazing event, a great party, and I made it through more of it than I expected to, because I fortuitously got happy-vertigo-drunk instead of miserable-vertigo-drunk. The evening ended tucked in bed with my lover, extremely satisfied.

Friday, July 20, 2012

Big Weekend Ahead

In my typical way of doing more things at once than I can reasonably keep up with, this weekend, I am:

  • hosting a community event designed to help newcomers to the kinkster lifestyle get their questions answered
  • attending an after party in my home, organized by my husband and Devant (my husband's live-in girlfriend), which I will attend after my vertigo zombie-brain calms down
  • spending the night with my lover after the play party, probably just for cuddles, due to aforementioned vertigo zombie-brain issues
  • having a friend switch my hosting providers on my domains, which will probably generate a lot of questions which need rapid resolution
  • mentally gearing up for a second photo shoot with Devant, tentatively scheduled for Monday

I think that's it....

The after party is really the awesome part. I said that I wanted to give something back to the kinkster community which has not only given us Devant, but also a gaggle of other friends here who I am growing increasingly close to.

I had the idea of hosting my own event, optimized to be as non-dizzying as possible, so I wouldn't feel as guilty about not being able to keep up with Everything Everyone Else Is Doing (which I totally am not managing to do - I'm a very sporadic attender to the extraordinary volume of other people's things I'm invited to attend, no matter what it sounds like here on the blog)

But in general, kinkster community events are far more populated if there is at least one play party afterward. Sure, the public event is public and the play parties are private, but still, more people show up for the public non-play thing if there's a play destination afterward.

But I knew I couldn't do both, host an event and host a play party afterward. It's too much to do.

Hubby and Devant came to my rescue, agreeing to host an after  party when they can. Yay!

So here's what this looks like: I do nothing to prepare for the party. I host the event, which requires very little setup from me. I come home, go upstairs, and fall into a deep coma-like sleep for a few hours. I wake up and come downstairs, making a grand entrance to a play party in full swing. I gather attention, adoration, hugs, kisses, and gropes for an hour or two. Maybe I help someone beat or tie someone else. I float back upstairs with my lover and fall asleep cuddling, knowing that my vertigo is not causing anyone else to forego fun for the evening, and, instead, I have helped facilitate fun.

Seriously. Who the fuck has a life this ridiculous and awesome. I'm not used to it yet. I hope I never get used to it.

I'll try to remember to take pictures, but I might be too busy smooching women and grabbing boobs. I trust you to forgive me.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

2 Years, 450 Posts, 1 Blogged Life

Two years ago, I took my first phone sex call. I've never told you about it, have I?

My first phone sex call lasted 1 minute. My listing had been approved and active for a week, and I'd been dying from the suspense of wondering who would call. He said he was curious because my listing was so different, I said "Thanks, I think!" in a tone that I meant to sound playful, and he hung up and never called back. Not. Exactly. Encouraging.

The next day, I got an email asking if I would exchange for-pay emails about desires for extreme humiliation, sissification, and being pimped out as a cocksucking whore. Sssssure, cuz I'm such an expert on all that (look up "sissification" on urban dictionary...). Then he called me, and we talked about those desires for 11 minutes. He didn't climax that I could tell.

I was confused. I had hoped... y'know... for the phone sex business to... y'know... contain actual phone sex. No?

My third call, on the day after that, lasted 30 minutes. I was a virgin, his babysitter, and he walked in on me masturbating. He taught me how to suck cock (thank goodness!), and how to come under his tongue (yummy), holding me down when I was oversensitive so he could enjoy my overstimulated thrashing (mmmmnnnnrrrrgggg).

Much better. Whew. That was the call which let me know I could do this. Plus, it was fucking hot.

Since then, I've had over 2,500 phone calls, about half of which were during my first six months, when I was available full-time. Then my husband found work and I went part-time and sporadic as a phone sex worker. I've spoken to at least 700 men and 2 women...

Okay, fine, I was trying to make this blog post exciting or titillating or informative, but it's totally not working for me. Because what I feel like saying is this:

I kinda feel like a fake.

I mean, yes, I still do phone sex for money. But they're all appointments these days. And most of my appointments come from 10 regulars who I know like the back of my hand. I'm a little afraid to start writing about them because then it would be obvious that I have a tiny little constituency these days, and what if that makes me horrifically boring?

This blog feels like it so rarely even talks about phone sex. It feels like it fits my original tagline "The Blogged Life of Galiana Chance, Phone Sex Operator" much more accurately than my current tagline of "The Phone Sex Blog of Galiana Chance". But I'm reluctant to change it back because my Google rank has risen to page 6 of results for "phone sex blog" since I changed it (from page 54), but I kinda feel like I'm false advertising. Ugh.

Dear All My Insecurities: go fuck yourselves.

Galiana and Devant flipping you off
Galiana and Devant flipping you off

FYI: The picture is from the photo shoot my roommate & I did four days ago for one of my regular callers - he paid us a looooooot of money. Enough to pay the photographer and my roommate and myself quite well. Oh, plus Devant got her first mani/pedi with me on Wednesday, which of course, she loved a lot. The caller loves girls flipping him off. We were happy to oblige. Isn't her expression to die for? Since she's normally pretty bubbly, this picture is hilarious to me.

I understand that all I have to do to "not be a fake" is to take phone sex calls. And I do. I really do. I left my play party early Saturday night to take a call to replay a scene from the caller's sexually formative memories. Before the photo shoot with Devant Thursday morning, I took a deliciously playful call to be a British secret agent testing new field gadgets in ways that were perhaps not entirely consistent with lab protocols.

A dozen calls of 30+ minutes each plus some sugar-daddy tips is about what I need to make in a week, and that's about what I do. I'm still a phone sex worker. Intellectually, I understand that I am not a fake, whatever the hell that means.

But back in my early days, in that giant rush of energy when I first started, I dove all the way in. I was available 12-14 hours per day for weeks on end. I was ecstatic to have found work I could do. I was ecstatic to have an income. I was ecstatic at the wall of lust I found myself able to navigate successfully. I gained confidence, skills, knowledge, and a sense of purpose.

But since my husband found a job as well, and a damn fine one at that, and especially since I moved up here to be with him, I haven't made phone sex as much of a priority. Now I'm available for a few hours per day at most, almost always by appointments. Where's the risk? Where's the rush? Where's the push to new frontiers? Where's the stuff that makes for interesting blogging?

I think the thoughts that are turning over in my brain, wanting to be written, are in the rest of my life, more than in the phone sex. And maybe that's what's been making it difficult to write this blog post.

In the past year, I've had three new lovers. My husband has blossomed as a BDSM top and gained one live-in girlfriend and one submissive and one "student" and at least four other casual play partners. We've hosted half a dozen play parties. I've consensually groped dozens of women. I've taken on a real-time domestic service submissive. I'm considering topping another submissive in exchange for helping me with my web tasks. I've started organizing local events for new kinksters to safely get questions answered.

Plus, my husband's current job has a ton of overlap with jobs I used to do, so half the time at dinner when it's just the two of us, we're thinking through complex business politics and change management strategies. The other half, we talk about all the other crazy stuff we're doing: the parties, the partners, the million things we're learning about ourselves by interacting so intimately and intensely with others.

And I do more now. God, now I'm gonna start crying, and this unstructured rant no longer even pretends to be anything other than a diary. The anti-vertigo medicine I started a year ago continues to enable to do a little more all the time. So I can go to the chiropractor and then to the grocery store and then to dinner with my husband and our roommate, and still keep an hour-long appointment to do a robot roleplay where I have a fantastic orgasm in the middle of a very complicated malfunction.

So because I can do more now, I do more. I do so much more.

I don't know if you realize this or not, but two years ago, the grocery store alone would have done me in for the day.

Yep. Crying.

So sometimes I do too much, and then I hit walls of dizzy exhaustion, and then I can't take appointments for a day or sometimes two, and then I get frustrated with myself and angry that my priorities aren't in order and I worry that one day, the handful of callers I have left will get sick of me abandoning them and all fire me all at once.

Being a phone sex operator isn't what defines me anymore. Well, that's not fair - it never fully defined me, but for a while, it took up most of my energy.

Oh. Finally. There it is.

Now I know what I want to say.

I'm a person with a rich life who happens to be a phone sex worker, not a phone sex worker who happens to have a life.

Sometimes, I need to write things to figure them out. Now I know exactly what this blog is for again. Thanks for sticking with me through that process. Fuck the Google rank; it's time to change my tagline back. This blog is about the life of Galiana Chance, a woman who happens to be a phone sex operator, not just about my job.

Well. There now. I feel so much better.

So. Now that we've figured that out, happy 450th blog post. And happy two years of phone sex, in all its sporadic awesomeness.

If you feel like giving me a gift in celebration, please leave a comment or write me an email ( to tell me why you read my blog. I want to know, even if your answer goes against what I just wrote (crackin' myself up - I totally want someone to write "I want to hear stories of phone sex, dammit, and you're totally failing me!"). Your engagement would be an honor.

Now I need to end this blog post because my lover just came over. Pardon me, I need to go live my life.

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Appointment Widget

My calendar page is useful again! There's a new widget there showing you times in the future which I would love to fill with an appointment with you.

You can request an appointment, cancel an appointment, or reschedule an appointment through the calendar, in 30-minute blocks. If you have questions, please write me.

You have to give an email address when you request an appointment, and it has to be a real one that you check to see if I confirm the appointment (it's not for sure til I confirm it).

I will be able to see your email address, but I'll never sell it, and I'll be far too lazy to use to market to you. I'm already not using NiteFlirt mail to market directly to people who have called me, so why would I use something possibly even more invasive?

This is so fun! It's like I'm a real live person on the internet now!

Oh, hey, speaking of fun... Right now, I have times available on the appointment widget for this Saturday afternoon and evening (July 14). But I have the opportunity to go to a kinkster social on Saturday. But it's out of town, and I'm not sure I want to make the drive.

So, we'll see what happens Friday, and if I don't have any appointments set for Saturday, I'll cancel the availability and go to the social. But if I have even one appointment, I'll stay home and turn on the phones and see who calls!

I guess I'm having kinky social time either way, aren't I? Lucky me!

Play Party Eye Candy

Against all odds, and perhaps also against all better judgment, I went to a play party this weekend. I wasn't in great shape after the traveling, but I made it.

The host lives in a collegiate part of town where noise ordinances are unlikely to be enforced, and neighbors are more likely to peep than report if there are nekkid people in an inflatable "hot tub" in the back yard.

So I wander in the back yard, and there are five topless women and three appreciative men in the inflatable "hot tub" (water heated by the scorching outdooor temps and refilled by garden hose), and I was easily coerced to join. The woman next to me, who I've groped and smacked and licked several times now, groped my boobs, because for some reason, although I'd done all manner of terrible things to her breasts, she'd never seen mine naked, and declared, "Your boobs are so dense!"

This led to all six topless women circling up to feel one another's boobs for squishiness and density. My boobs were declared to "feel young", in case you were wondering what they feel like.

It sounds like fiction. I understand that. And yet, I believe it is a memory, accurately portrayed. But then, I take barbiturates every day, so how reliable am I?

So then the host, who is a mischievous genius, pinned his delectably squirmy girlfriend's hands behind her back, told her to close her eyes, and told her to guess whose breast was in her mouth with no sight and no hands.

It was implicit that anyone who didn't want their boobs in her mouth could opt out, but since we had all been fondling each other moments before, and we all burst into laughter at the host's clever party game, it was also pretty likely that we were gonna go along. Oh, hey, whaddya know? There's Galiana, scooching up to the host's girlfriend aiming a nipple at a lovely mouth!

She guessed me correctly, which was awesome, then missed 2, got another one right, then there was only one woman left, so we silently volunteered one of the men... and the guesser made a HILARIOUS face and did a spit-take and squealed, "There's hair on this chest! What the hell!"

I laughed so hard my sides hurt.

Then we repeated the game with the host's lovely young submissive, who is also the wife of the guy with the hairy chest. Relationships get complicated to explain when everybody has multiple play partners. I think only one person in the pool is monogamous, and she still lets my husband beat her, so it's very complicated...

Anyway, back to the game. The lovely young thing in the second game had to guess who was kissing her with her eyes closed and her hands behind her back. She guessed correctly on everyone she'd kissed before (4 people), and the only smoker (one of the guys), but guessed wrong for me, so I had to go back and kiss her again. I *haaaaad* to. Poor me, right? She was a fantastic kisser.

(side note: She is my #90 kissed, but I'm not sure how to count someone who has sucked on my nipple but not kissed... I have very unusual problems)

After we got out of the water due to extreme prune-iness in our extremities,I changed clothes, which resulted in this:

Galiana's corset eye candy
Best outfit ever

So that is: black patent leather 4.5" heels I hadn't ever worn, a poofy see-through skirt I got at a conference, a black lacy thong, my wedding ring, a bracelet my husband's live-in girlfriend made for me, a bracelet my husband's other girlfriend (new) made for me, a corset my husband's same other girlfriend sold to me, a Secrets in Lace bra bought for me by a money slave last year, a black bead necklace I got at the same conference as the skirt, glasses, and a hair-up-do thing.

I don't consider myself a fashionista by nature, but I figured I might as well dress up, since I didn't have the energy to play. But I know enough to know that this outfit is probably the best thing I will ever put together.

My husband came upstairs and took another few pictures on the bed, then did his instagram magic and came up with this:

Galiana drama

I presented myself to the partygoers upstairs and downstairs, to much praise and adoration. The cross-dresser in a denim skirt swore he'd up his game at the next party, and kept saying he couldn't decide between being distracted by my boobs or my shoes. The host asked me to walk up and down the stairs a few times... and then thanked me for gracing his home with my loveliness. Awwww.

So I got groped, smooched, and praised as eye candy. Other people got tied up, beaten, I suspect there was sucking and fucking behind closed doors, and a few bruises and welts were shown off. It was lovely, lovely evening.

Sunday, July 8, 2012

Hotel Layover

A weather situation in Chicago caused me to miss the last flight of the day home, so although my dear husband offered to make the drive to pick me up, we agreed it would be easier on everyone if I just did the "distressed traveler rate" at the hotel for the evening.

Hyatt Regency O'Hare
view from the glass elevator

The Hyatt Regency O'Hare felt posh to me, although I couldn't tell if the decor was retro-chic or actually 1970s, because I suck at decorating, but I immediately thought, "I have to do a robot shoot here some day." The combination of ultra-modern silver and chrome with wood-like wall paneling and dark patterned carpet made me want to squeeze into a silver bodysuit with big marked squares on my tummy and stand in the lobby and see who would push my buttons /grin

Since I had taken a couple of late-night appointment calls while I was away (after my sister and niece left, so there were no kids in the house), I had a bit of spending money in my "fun money to blow on impulse purchases" category, so I blew it on room service and hotel porn.

Back in my tech days, I traveled for conferences and meetings. It became a tradition to buy porn in the hotel room, so much so that most of my porn-for-pay experience has been in hotels. The last time I traveled on business was 2009.

My. Things have changed. Woooooow.

What I remember of hotel porn, it was kinda softcore. No direct penetration shots, no cumshots, no anal, very little gay porn. None of those descriptors were true at all anymore. There was a softcore section like I remember, but there was also a section with probably a dozen choices for anal, several for mature, lots of lesbian, lots of gay male, and a generous helping with the word "rough" in the descriptor.

I got the all access package. I figured I'd blog about it. It's a business expense, right? Besides, I was splurging, dammit.

First, I watched my first Asa Akira scene. I've been following her on Twitter because she's funny as hell (her Twitter self-description is "I have an award-winning asshole"), and I knew she won a ton of 2012 AVN awards, but I'd never seen her. The movie was called "Best Sex 2012" with scenes from a few different 2012 award winners, and her scene was first.

DAYUM. She was sitting on the floor, he was standing over her, fucking her face, trapping her, and within a few minutes, he had slapped the shit out of her. By the end of it, she had cum multiple times, he had fucked her twisted up and trapped in more positions than I knew a human body could make, he had smacked her skin red, and she was begging for more with a big, utterly believable grin on her face.

I love Nina Hartley, and her guides to various sex acts, mostly because she's so damn enthusiastic. Have you seen her in an orgy scene when she sees a cock not currently in use? She jumps on it like she's claiming a prize. It's more of a pounce, really. I thought for sure I'd go my whole life and never see anyone on film who could convince me as thoroughly that she genuinely enjoys getting fucked.

Uhhhhh. Sorry Nina. Asa really really really really really likes getting fucked. There goes my porn budget for, like, forever.

So after that scene, which made me appreciate the AVN's taste in porn stars, and honestly entranced me too much to masturbate (although I was very turned on), I browsed through some barely-legal, mature, lesbian, all-anal, and gang bang, skimming through scenes, but didn't see anything that grabbed me. It mostly felt hard and fast to me, with lovely bodies doing interesting things, but without any particular spark.

I saved my favorite category for last, on purpose, figuring gay male porn could push me over the edge and let me sleep. I decided on "tosh.hOle", advertised as "gay parody" (of tosh.0) had an amusing premise, but when Dustin Fitch started sucking Mick Gibson, looking up at him with his pretty, clear blue eyes, my brain scrambled and I found myself hitting the 30-second rewind. Again. And again. And again. Fuuuuuuck. Before I came, I was talking out loud, something I don't usually do when I masturbate, saying something insane like "That's it, pretty baby, suck Mama's big dick just like that." I was seriously completely out of my mind. He just looked so sweet...

When I'm prepared for a hotel stay on my own, I pack a vibrator, or a fat-handled kitchen spoon if I only have a carryon and don't have want a vibrator-related delay going through security, but since I wasn't expecting a hotel stay, I had to improvise:

Galiana goo on a knife
now *that's* a knife

That's the handle of the butter knife from my room service meal, covered in Galiana goo. I know it's stupid to fuck yourself with a knife of any kind, but I held on to it and I was really careful. Also, there were these boys kissing each other and Asa gets all rigid and silent when she cums and that big black cock looked super yummy and it's totally not my fault!

Who wants to get me my next hotel room?

Thursday, July 5, 2012

Facebook: Major Privacy Violation

I am discontinuing my Facebook profile, because when I was helping my aunt set up Facebook, she imported her address book, which contained ONLY my legal-name email address, and Galiana Chance was one of her suggested friends!

Let me be clear what happened: Facebook somehow connected my personal, non-Galiana email address, which my aunt had, to a Facebook account which never contained that email address. I triple-checked the csv file we used to import her contacts into Facebook, and NOTHING galiana was in it. Nothing.

I have no clue whatsoever how Facebook knew that the two of us are connected, but it freaked me the fuck out.

So Galiana's FB profile has been discontinued. Permanently. I was only using it to announce blog posts to about 30 people anyway, so I wrote to all of them encouraging them to subscribe (see that box on the left side of the blog to enter your email address? or the orange RSS button to add me to your RSS reader? Use those!)

Thankfully, my aunt knows what I do for a living. I'll tell you a secret: she's considering joining me as a GILF! But still, NOT THE FUCKING POINT. One of my sister's friends who happens to have my email address from a wedding shower I helped with 5 years ago... everybody has better things to do than to deal with that hassle.

If you want to test this: have a friend search for all your email addresses and see what comes up. Or, go a public library, create a temporary yahoo mail address, create a Facebook account off your new yahoo mail, then enter in all your emails and see who comes up.

HOLY CRAP. I was sooooo mad.

However, in happy news, I had a lovely vacation in Hot Springs with my aunt and sister and younger niece. We wandered around the hot springs, then ate at a Mexican cafe practically carved out of the side of the mountain (Rolando's - it was amazing). We swam in a creek full of perch and minnows and skipping rocks and happy family memories.

I should be back at home tonight, although weather may turn that into tomorrow... but either way, I look forward to being my normal, not-completely-horrified-at-Facebook self again soon.