Grand Slam Call

I was going to call it a "Home Run Call" because I identified at least four fetishes, but then I realized how many fetishes I was grouping together into a cuckolding fetish: cuckolding super-fetish = being cuckolded + big black cock + small penis humiliation + forced bisexuality + cream pie.

So then I asked myself: what number would make a Grand Slam Call? Sure, it puts four runs on the board, but there are 10 bases covered in a grand slam by the time all four runners make it home, right (4+3+2+1)?

So I set out to try to limit the fetishes on this call to only 10, if I separated them out properly. Turns out, it was easy.

We're married, and:

1. I have taken a lover "against his will" (cuckolding),
2. because he has a small dick (small penis humiliation),
3. and my lover is a well-hung African-American (big black cock, a.k.a. BBC),
4. and I "force" him to help get my lover hard by sucking him ("forced" bisexuality),
5. and to clean up after my lover comes inside me by licking his cum out of me (cream pie),
6. although not all of the cum was lapped up, because I get knocked up (impregnation),
7. so for nine months, I let him worship my growing tummy (pregnancy),
8. and my growing ass (ass worship),
9. and suck on my breasts as they got ready (lactation),
10. but I never once let him fuck me (tease and denial).

It's going, going, GONE! And that, ladies, and gentlemen, is a bona fide Grand Slam Call! History in the making!

It seems like it would have seemed like a crowded, rushed, scattered call, right? And yet, no, instead, it was kind of... ummm... wow, do I sound too insane if I say it was mostly just sweet?

The #black Daily

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Confessions

I am stunned to realize I have completely neglected an awesome category of phone sex calls from the blog so far: the confession.

There are, of course, entire listings devoted to the idea, "Tell me your dirty little secrets. Let me be your confidant." I don't have a confessional listing, but I get confessional calls. And I love them.

The feeling varies, from "This happened and I'm shocked, and I had to tell someone" to "This is a complete fantasy, but I want you to pretend you think it's real." It doesn't matter to me, my responses are still the same.

I had someone email and say he'd never played with anything larger than his finger in his ass before, but an ex girlfriend had sent him a giant black dildo, and he couldn't stop thinking about whether or not bigger is really better, and if he got up enough drunk-courage to think about taking it, would I walk him through it?

Of course I would. He started on his back, with a finger inside himself. We chatted about cock size, and how this ex-girlfriend came to send him this strange thing. He went to two fingers while we talked about lube, and prostate stimulation, and how erections have strange responses to anal. He went to three fingers while we talked, with his breath growing more erratic, about whether or not he would change from doing this.

The dildo went in. He was overwhelmed, then ecstatic. By the end of the call, he had mounted it from the suction base against the wall and backed up against it. When he cried out a string of profanity and enthusiasm as he came, I suspected perhaps he fell into the category of fantasy (a hunch later confirmed to be true): this was a guy who had taken that dildo more than once, as well as real-life big black cocks, but he was using me to pretend it was his first time.

I've heard about trips to glory holes, with cocks of ever-increasing sizes feeding through the anonymous openings. I've heard about pantyhose secretly worn under suits. I've heard about gang-bangs arranged for exes, the memories of which he just can't seem to shake.

My participation is rarely directly sexual: it's not about me getting off to the confession, it's about me feeding my energy into it. My enthusiasm, my encouragement, my noticeable lack of disbelief at even the most outrageous of claims. I look for details to add, questions to ask, the right moment to let out a happy girly squeal of delight as I enjoy the movie in my mind.

Or sometimes, I'm asked to participate: What does it feel like suck a cock for the first time? How would you have felt after losing your virginity in a dorm room, then crossing the room and mounting his roommate, who had pretended to be asleep? Does it make me weak to want someone to tie me down and hurt me?

I love the role play fun of participating in an obviously fantasy confessional, but I think the real confessions are even more fun. I love the connection, the sense of befriending someone around an especially intimate issue for them, and, when I'm very fortunate, the rare chance to help someone accept who they are a little more fully.

Oh, and don't worry, semen tastes great. I promise.

The Happiest Confession

I talk to a lot of men who want to confess or discuss their bisexual fantasies or escapades. As you might expect, the calls often overlap with Big Black Cock conversations.

I've heard about trips to glory holes to suck off anonymous cocks that appear through the hole in the wall at adult video stores. And I've heard from a previously straight jock-type guy who was seduced on a cruise by a guy who remained a lover for weeks after, struggling with how his friends would never understand (he thinks... but then, they all probably think the same of him, right?).

But last night, I got a call from a guy, we'll call him "BNGM", which you'll understand in a sec, who started off confessing that he'd sucked his first cock, and been fucked by his first dick, a few weeks ago. I thought it was going the way of most confession calls: he'd describe what happened, I'd be thrilled (because I love gay male sex enough to put that in all caps if I believed in non-acronym all caps), I'd ask questions, and both of us would get off to the gritty details in the stories. Yummy.

But BNGM kept veering off the sex to talk about the guy. What he does for a living. How patient he was while teaching how to give head. How much he loved holding hands with him walking down the street. How tender he was during the first penetration. When he said, "He's out of town tonight," it sounded downright wistful.

I started asking questions. They've been spending the night at each others' places. They've been meeting each others' friends. They'd had a lovely dinner with another gay couple in the building, including an adorably bonding "girls' chat" between he and the flamboyant bottom of the other couple. They joined the same gym. They danced together and shared a kiss in public.

With every description, his voice would catch. And when he would mention the sex, his lust would wash over me through the phone like a wave breaking overhead while body surfing during high tide.

I made up a back story of why he was calling me: he'd called phone sex lines when he was straight. He felt a little lonely and a little horny that night, and calling phone sex is what he knew to do. He meant to tell me sexy stories and get off fast and go to sleep.

But he couldn't get aroused with me, or he couldn't share his arousal with me. He kept backing off of it. And yet, the more he spoke of his lover, the closer he crawled to raw emotion. He had described being happy to be introduced as the "new boyfriend," and his voice cracked a little.

I said, "It sounds like you have an amazing friendship and smoking hot sex. That's the dream, isn't it?"

When he replied, "It is. It feels like a dream. I never thought I'd say this, but ... I ... think ... I think I might be falling for him," something about the way the words choked themselves out suggested he had never said them aloud before.

My eyes welled up with happy tears, and I congratulated him and wished them both the very best. He laughed, sounding a little teary-eyed himself, and said, "I guess you're talking to a Brand New Gay Male."

Yes. Yes, indeed, I was.

I'm so happy for you both, BNGM. Sorry I'm not at all interesting to you sexually, but I couldn't be more pleased about the reason why.You go, girl.

P.S. His lover is black and has a huge cock. I swear I'm not making it up, and I don't think he is either. It's not my fault he's the luckiest guy in the world!

Big Black Cock and... Washing Machines?

I finally opened my new Big Black Cock dildo, which I bought for the photo shoot last week. I was going to stick it on the wall of the shower and fuck it, but the shoot ran long, so I ran out of steam before I got to the shower at all (note to self: that still sounds like fun - you must do that soon).

Today, I finally used the dildo for the first time, for the monster cock caller I talked about here. It was, as advertised, big. It has a completely different dynamic going in than smaller toys - it requires more force, and I can feel it in completely different places on its way in and out.

Then, after the call, after I washed it, in a spectacular display of un-sexiness, it smells like sex toy - like silicon, or rubber, or whatever the real-skin material is. In fact, the scent is so strong that it has filled my beloved fuckatorium (which some would unimaginatively refer to as a guest bedroom) with sensory memories of baby powder and the desperate need to masturbate (I used to baby powder all my sex toys).

Seems sad to be left there, poor thing

Because it was distracting me, I realized I need to air it out. Sticking it outside won't do, because we have neighbors with two-story homes who clearly see our back yard. I needed to choose a room with a fan that we don't need to use for the rest of the day, like... the laundry room! Perfect! So I turned on the fan in the laundry room and used the suction cup to secure it to the washing machine.

The dildo is bigger than it looks. It's a big washing machine. Like 15 bath towels or something superlative like that.

But the important question here, really, is: how many homes have a Big Black Cock stuck to their washing machine?

I live an extraordinarily strange life.

BBC: Not Just Brit TV

The biggest surprise in the past almost-two-months since I became a phone sex worker is the number of calls I get regarding BBC: Big Black Cocks.

I admit, at first, my Inner Naive had a tiny bit of a response of, "Why are you calling a woman to talk with her about penises? Seriously, it's okay, you can just be gay."

But quickly, the calls piled up. Dozens of calls. Dozens of guys. And to clarify: I don't have BBC on my listing. Or anything about size, or race, at all. My listing is basically just that I'm smart and open-minded and creative. And yet, maybe as high as 10% of my conversations involve Big Black Cocks.

Some of these men tell me a large penis holds some mesmerizing sway for them, as if it is a center of power. I've heard: A man with a huge dick is stronger than me, more deserving than me, better than me. Obviously smart men suddenly seem hypnotized, enchanted, drained of their own power, humiliated just by being in the presence of a monster cock, as if somehow they are immediately less of a man. And these men-under-the-influence who consider themselves straight find themselves with the urge to serve that big dark meaty hunk of flesh.

Some men with BBC fetishes are openly bisexual, and they tend to want glory hole fantasies, or for me to invite over my friends to use them if they're submissive. Some are cuckolds: their wife runs around and fucks hung guys while they serve, fluff, and clean up, and the story seems to take on an extra charge if the hung stud is black.

And then, as I was planning to write this blog entry, I got a call from a black guy who has an average penis size, and... wait for it... he was fascinated by Big White Cocks. I'm stunned I made it through the call without dropping into total shock.

The conclusion I have reached, based on my statistically insignificant sample size, is that the fascination is inherently with "Other" - that which is different from yourself.

Well, my other conclusion is that I need to go buy a big black dildo and take pictures with it, to send to those 10%.