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 (galiana.chance@yahoo.com) 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.

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