I love the creative use of language, and using unexpected words to convey exactly the right tone. I frequently fall back to under-used gems like Nifty! Zoikes! or Swell! for my own amusement.
Yesterday on my last call of the night, in a delightfully winding and conversationally intimate conversation with a self-described Masturbator (but not the Masturbation Superstar I described in an earlier post, who I haven't heard from in much too long...), he said he was having trouble focusing. I asked how I could help him focus, and he drew in his breath, and replied, "Well, jeepers..."
So. Happy.
Jeepers! I've been looking for you! I've been missing a word lately, and it needed all those soft sounds, to convey feeling a little overwhelmed, but in a good, gentle way. What was coming to mind was "Jesus!" the way it's usually used to proclaim a happy overload, like if your tiramisu melts in your mouth through layers of cake and booze and cream and then holy crap is that cocoa powder dusting on the top oh my gosh I just had a foodgasm. Like that.
The tone of it is right, but I prefer not to use the word Jesus as an exclamation for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is: why would I risk offending someone by a word choice when the world is so full of so many other luscious words with their tasty sounds and rhythms and subtle conveyances?
No, Jeepers is much better. A little humor, a little unexpected, and a touch of a sense of wide-eyed wonder. Perfect.
Thank you, Masturbator. I needed that!
Showing posts with label aural. Show all posts
Showing posts with label aural. Show all posts
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
New mp3 For Sale: Gentle Fun
This is a follow-up to my blog post Heartbreak and Phone Sex, Part V as well as an announcement of a new pay-to-view offering.
My dear "sexually accessible" friend referenced in the blog post above gave me both permission and encouragement to offer the custom mp3 I made for him for sale, so I am, with a few caveats:
(Side note: Why is $1 / minute relevant? Because $0.99 / minute is the minimum I can charge for a recorded listing - and I will also turn this into a recorded listing - where you have to pay that much each time you listen to it. But with an mp3, you can re-listen to it as many times as you wish, so it should cost more... or at least, that's my current perspective)
This mp3 is representative of my honest enjoyment of someone else's gentle energy and fun vibe. He asked me to take him in his mouth, and then ride him, and it was easy to picture, and deliciously fun to experience in my mind. I couldn't stop grinning after I came.
To see the little write-up on MyFlirtStore, go here:
http://www.myflirtstore.com/Smart-Fun-Galiana/view/13737.html
Or to purchase it, click this button:
If you have even half as much fun listening to it as I did making it, you'll love it.
My dear "sexually accessible" friend referenced in the blog post above gave me both permission and encouragement to offer the custom mp3 I made for him for sale, so I am, with a few caveats:
- I didn't script it before I did it, so there are a few stumbles and pauses while I searched for words, which normally would disqualify a recording as being sale-worthy for me, but in this case, I'm okay with it, because I think it adds to the spontaneous charm (at least in theory), and I didn't want to re-record it, since I think the immediate honesty of it is its real strength.
- My voice was a little strained from allergies... stupid cedar pollen in central Texas in winter.
- I edited out his name for privacy, which causes a couple of little hiccup / scrambled sounds.
(Side note: Why is $1 / minute relevant? Because $0.99 / minute is the minimum I can charge for a recorded listing - and I will also turn this into a recorded listing - where you have to pay that much each time you listen to it. But with an mp3, you can re-listen to it as many times as you wish, so it should cost more... or at least, that's my current perspective)
This mp3 is representative of my honest enjoyment of someone else's gentle energy and fun vibe. He asked me to take him in his mouth, and then ride him, and it was easy to picture, and deliciously fun to experience in my mind. I couldn't stop grinning after I came.
To see the little write-up on MyFlirtStore, go here:
http://www.myflirtstore.com/Smart-Fun-Galiana/view/13737.html
Or to purchase it, click this button:
If you have even half as much fun listening to it as I did making it, you'll love it.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Social Magic and Voice Samples
I've been asked a few times phone sex callers if I can read minds. Not... exactly... but I do have a few tricks up my sleeve, most of which I only realize I'm doing in hindsight.
I come from a family of social magicians: my father could make anyone feel fascinating, appreciated, and loved. My mom can put anyone at ease by telling a funny story that makes her audience feel she is one of them. My sister has an almost unnerving ability to dial her charm up or down at will. And me? In high school, I regularly amused myself by casually saying or doing naughty things around people who only knew the straight-A good girl side of me - I got energy from their shocked confusion.
The methods of social magic don't feel hidden to me: in person, if you want someone to be at ease, you look them in the eye when they're talking, ask questions to show you're listening and interested, and match body language when it makes sense to do so.
In acting class, we experimented with expressions: What's more threatening? 1. A person yelling, "I AM ANGRY YOU DID THAT!!!" while flailing and pounding and stomping, or 2. a person who takes a deep breath, sets their jaw, straightens their spine, tightens their eyes a bit, and says calmly, "I am angry you did that" in a pitch a few tones lower than their normal speaking voice. /shiver Ugh. Wow. The mental picture of my acting coach doing that still fills me with terror. Do. Not. Want.
When I was a kid, Mom could tell who I was talking with on the phone because I was such a mimic. I don't try to do it, but I unconsciously find myself matching pitch, tone, speed, accent, and vocal mannerisms with the person I'm talking with. If I'm talking with someone British, I have to work to stay sounding American.
On the phone, I answer, "Hi, I'm Galiana!" with a cheerful, but essentially neutral voice. Once I hear the person on the other end, though, I think I probably sound completely different for every caller. When it's clear the person I'm talking with is chemically altered in a mellow way, I find myself saying sleepily, "heeeeeeyyyyy, it's good to heeeear from you." But when I'm hit with a fast, clipped, high-energy east coast voice, I ramp up and articulate through the rushing.
What made me think of it was my last caller; he has a smooth, calm voice and loves to tease and explore. I feel like I'm floating in a pool of pure luscious-ness with him, relaxed and sensual, all arching and stroking and sucking and coming.
After I got off the phone, I returned to sending follow-up notes, and the next on the list was a submissive who begs for me to be more commanding and stern with him, so I spend our time together barking commands and growling at him to shut the fuck up and take his punishment like the slut he is.
And I thought, "How the hell can I give someone a voice sample?"
I am amused.
I come from a family of social magicians: my father could make anyone feel fascinating, appreciated, and loved. My mom can put anyone at ease by telling a funny story that makes her audience feel she is one of them. My sister has an almost unnerving ability to dial her charm up or down at will. And me? In high school, I regularly amused myself by casually saying or doing naughty things around people who only knew the straight-A good girl side of me - I got energy from their shocked confusion.
The methods of social magic don't feel hidden to me: in person, if you want someone to be at ease, you look them in the eye when they're talking, ask questions to show you're listening and interested, and match body language when it makes sense to do so.
In acting class, we experimented with expressions: What's more threatening? 1. A person yelling, "I AM ANGRY YOU DID THAT!!!" while flailing and pounding and stomping, or 2. a person who takes a deep breath, sets their jaw, straightens their spine, tightens their eyes a bit, and says calmly, "I am angry you did that" in a pitch a few tones lower than their normal speaking voice. /shiver Ugh. Wow. The mental picture of my acting coach doing that still fills me with terror. Do. Not. Want.
When I was a kid, Mom could tell who I was talking with on the phone because I was such a mimic. I don't try to do it, but I unconsciously find myself matching pitch, tone, speed, accent, and vocal mannerisms with the person I'm talking with. If I'm talking with someone British, I have to work to stay sounding American.
On the phone, I answer, "Hi, I'm Galiana!" with a cheerful, but essentially neutral voice. Once I hear the person on the other end, though, I think I probably sound completely different for every caller. When it's clear the person I'm talking with is chemically altered in a mellow way, I find myself saying sleepily, "heeeeeeyyyyy, it's good to heeeear from you." But when I'm hit with a fast, clipped, high-energy east coast voice, I ramp up and articulate through the rushing.
What made me think of it was my last caller; he has a smooth, calm voice and loves to tease and explore. I feel like I'm floating in a pool of pure luscious-ness with him, relaxed and sensual, all arching and stroking and sucking and coming.
After I got off the phone, I returned to sending follow-up notes, and the next on the list was a submissive who begs for me to be more commanding and stern with him, so I spend our time together barking commands and growling at him to shut the fuck up and take his punishment like the slut he is.
And I thought, "How the hell can I give someone a voice sample?"
I am amused.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
The Funny Things
Funny little things have changed for me since being a phone sex worker.
I was having a slow-motion flirty exchange with someone on a Reddit thread (at the blistering speed of 1-2 messages per day), which moved to private messages, and I found myself unsatisfied with flirting via written words; I wanted to hear his voice. That is completely opposite of my urges since I started flirting on the internet in 2002 - I have said before that I learn all I need to know from email / chat exchanges, so it was startling to me to have dissatisfaction with his writing as a communication medium.
My people-watching has completely changed for the naughtier. I've always made up stories for strangers to amuse myself, but they used to be primarily stories about jobs, hobbies, or the tenor of their personal relationships. Now I tend to picture the men around me cross-dressed, or the women pegging the men with a strap-on, or the women elaborately bound and gagged and flogged and subjected to forced orgasms with Hitachi wands. I always pictured some people sexually, but now it's pretty much every adult, and the range of things I imagine has dramatically widened and gotten kinkier.
I am very, very careful about my signatures now. Although my family knows what I do, and I've shared a few rated-PG-versions of work stories which I knew would amuse them, I'm fairly sure they don't want their emails signed, "Love, Galiana". I often sign phone-sex emails, "XOXO, G", which is also how I often sign off-phone emails, just with a different initial, so now I'm even more paranoid before hitting "send" than I was when I was a consultant.
(side note: I've long been confused about what to call myself. My family and friends from school know me by my nickname, which is approximately the same level of cute-sie-ness as if I went by "Gallie". When I started tech consulting at age 25 and was billing out at $100 / hour, I thought it was bad enough to have someone show up who looked 17 (I've always looked young), but to also have a cute name seemed uncomfortably unprofessional, so I went by my birth name, starting in 1995. So for 15 years, I have regularly started phone calls with the equivalent of: "Hey, it's Galiana. I mean, Gallie. I mean, I'm sorry, apparently I don't know who I am...")
And last but not least, my brain-to-mouth filter is deeply weakened. I am a little terrified of being around mixed-generation family over the holidays. On the phones, I push myself to the right emotional state, and then to say whatever comes to my mind. Often, with less verbal callers (or when they lose their ability to speak), I end up in a nice, fluid, uninterrupted stream of naughty descriptions tumbling out of my mouth with slowly increasing speed and intensity. There is no place for filtering; there is only feeling and speaking, and coming.
Dear Santa: For Christmas, All I want is to make it through all my family visits without making anyone spit-take in horror. Love, Galiana
I was having a slow-motion flirty exchange with someone on a Reddit thread (at the blistering speed of 1-2 messages per day), which moved to private messages, and I found myself unsatisfied with flirting via written words; I wanted to hear his voice. That is completely opposite of my urges since I started flirting on the internet in 2002 - I have said before that I learn all I need to know from email / chat exchanges, so it was startling to me to have dissatisfaction with his writing as a communication medium.
My people-watching has completely changed for the naughtier. I've always made up stories for strangers to amuse myself, but they used to be primarily stories about jobs, hobbies, or the tenor of their personal relationships. Now I tend to picture the men around me cross-dressed, or the women pegging the men with a strap-on, or the women elaborately bound and gagged and flogged and subjected to forced orgasms with Hitachi wands. I always pictured some people sexually, but now it's pretty much every adult, and the range of things I imagine has dramatically widened and gotten kinkier.
I am very, very careful about my signatures now. Although my family knows what I do, and I've shared a few rated-PG-versions of work stories which I knew would amuse them, I'm fairly sure they don't want their emails signed, "Love, Galiana". I often sign phone-sex emails, "XOXO, G", which is also how I often sign off-phone emails, just with a different initial, so now I'm even more paranoid before hitting "send" than I was when I was a consultant.
(side note: I've long been confused about what to call myself. My family and friends from school know me by my nickname, which is approximately the same level of cute-sie-ness as if I went by "Gallie". When I started tech consulting at age 25 and was billing out at $100 / hour, I thought it was bad enough to have someone show up who looked 17 (I've always looked young), but to also have a cute name seemed uncomfortably unprofessional, so I went by my birth name, starting in 1995. So for 15 years, I have regularly started phone calls with the equivalent of: "Hey, it's Galiana. I mean, Gallie. I mean, I'm sorry, apparently I don't know who I am...")
And last but not least, my brain-to-mouth filter is deeply weakened. I am a little terrified of being around mixed-generation family over the holidays. On the phones, I push myself to the right emotional state, and then to say whatever comes to my mind. Often, with less verbal callers (or when they lose their ability to speak), I end up in a nice, fluid, uninterrupted stream of naughty descriptions tumbling out of my mouth with slowly increasing speed and intensity. There is no place for filtering; there is only feeling and speaking, and coming.
Dear Santa: For Christmas, All I want is to make it through all my family visits without making anyone spit-take in horror. Love, Galiana
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
New "Problem": Open House
I love October in Texas. The weather finally turns to sweater-friendly temperatures, and the house begs to be opened up after months of rushing to shut the door to keep out the oppressive heat.
This week, we've had every window and door propped open, including the garage. It's possible that there are now zero molecules of air in my home which were here a week ago. While the house has been breathing, we've been re-arranging stuff, including taking away two carloads of things which no longer belong with us (to half-price books and our local recycling center). It's been a fantastic start to the month.
Except for one tiny new problem: when the phone-sex-dedicated phone rings, I don't just need to get to the Fuckatorium, I also have to shut the window. Because our neighbor and his cute girlfriend probably want to wander around their back yard with their evening beers in hand, playing fetch with their adorable labrador, without the accompanying sound of my orgasms.
It's a delightful problem, and I'm happy to have it.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
What I Love Hearing
I'm starting to feel like a connoisseur of male voices. In public, I find myself drawing men into longer conversations to hear timbre changes for my own pleasure. I feel like the female sound version of a "dirty old man" who goes out of his way to drive by college campuses in spring, just to enjoy the view of coeds tanning.
I love rich, rumbling laughter from a deep, gravely bass voice. They usually sound so serious, so the laughter is always unexpected and delightful.
I love a clear, mid-range high baritone / low tenor, when it slows down to a dominating pace, insistent without getting louder or deeper or angrier, just lustier, needier, stronger somehow. I can picture myself mesmerized in a boardroom, fantasizing during a presentation about being ravaged on the soft mahogany table.
I love sweet, faltering questions from tenors, whose sighs sound like descants on top of my melody.
I love a soft, tender voice dropping down into huskiness as desire rises to the surface.
I love when terms of endearment flow naturally: darling, baby, sugar, princess, sweetheart, precious, lover, honey. My Inner Feminist hates all of those, but in the throes of passion, fuck her, she's useless.
I love when words retreat and leave behind ragged breaths, cut-off exhalations, rough groans, seemingly involuntary exclamations, moments of silence building tension for an explosion of sound and energy that will fill me and nurture me.
And last, but certainly not least, I love, love, love, love, love to hear my name - sighed, barked, moaned, growled, stated, or spit out while laughing - I crave all of them. I chose the name Galiana for a ridiculous number of reasons, as I explain here, and although it is not my birth name, in some ways it feels like a truer name than the one I was given. So please, use it. It catches my breath to hear, "Galiana...?" and I sometimes I savor the sound so much that I almost hate to break the spell by answering, "Yes?"
I've always been orally fixated. Seems now I'm becoming aurally fixated as well. What's the hearing version of, "Yum"?
I love rich, rumbling laughter from a deep, gravely bass voice. They usually sound so serious, so the laughter is always unexpected and delightful.
I love a clear, mid-range high baritone / low tenor, when it slows down to a dominating pace, insistent without getting louder or deeper or angrier, just lustier, needier, stronger somehow. I can picture myself mesmerized in a boardroom, fantasizing during a presentation about being ravaged on the soft mahogany table.
I love sweet, faltering questions from tenors, whose sighs sound like descants on top of my melody.
I love a soft, tender voice dropping down into huskiness as desire rises to the surface.
I love when terms of endearment flow naturally: darling, baby, sugar, princess, sweetheart, precious, lover, honey. My Inner Feminist hates all of those, but in the throes of passion, fuck her, she's useless.
I love when words retreat and leave behind ragged breaths, cut-off exhalations, rough groans, seemingly involuntary exclamations, moments of silence building tension for an explosion of sound and energy that will fill me and nurture me.
And last, but certainly not least, I love, love, love, love, love to hear my name - sighed, barked, moaned, growled, stated, or spit out while laughing - I crave all of them. I chose the name Galiana for a ridiculous number of reasons, as I explain here, and although it is not my birth name, in some ways it feels like a truer name than the one I was given. So please, use it. It catches my breath to hear, "Galiana...?" and I sometimes I savor the sound so much that I almost hate to break the spell by answering, "Yes?"
I've always been orally fixated. Seems now I'm becoming aurally fixated as well. What's the hearing version of, "Yum"?
Monday, September 20, 2010
Yawning
I yawn a lot.
When I'm nervous, when I'm scared, when I'm sleepy, when I've been in the same room too long with the door closed, when I give speeches... Yes, it's true, when I teach classes or give speeches, I yawn.
I think it comes from my theater and voice training as a kid - yawning is GOOD for your lungs, and I always feel more clear-headed and awake right after I yawn. I don't think I've ever offended anyone - it's easy enough to laugh off or explain away.
Until now. Yawning during phone sex is clearly unacceptable.
So I'm trying to figure out how to mask it as something breathy, but I'm not sure I'm succeeding. So if you catch me yawning, please understand: my yawn means nothing, except maybe that I just got a nice shot of oxygen.
When I'm nervous, when I'm scared, when I'm sleepy, when I've been in the same room too long with the door closed, when I give speeches... Yes, it's true, when I teach classes or give speeches, I yawn.
I think it comes from my theater and voice training as a kid - yawning is GOOD for your lungs, and I always feel more clear-headed and awake right after I yawn. I don't think I've ever offended anyone - it's easy enough to laugh off or explain away.
Until now. Yawning during phone sex is clearly unacceptable.
So I'm trying to figure out how to mask it as something breathy, but I'm not sure I'm succeeding. So if you catch me yawning, please understand: my yawn means nothing, except maybe that I just got a nice shot of oxygen.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Words Fail Me
As you may have noticed, I'm ridiculously verbal. I love words. I love descriptions. I love exploring ideas and emotions by naming them.
When I am in times of great transition in my life, I am compelled to write (really? gee, the three blog posts / day wouldn't have given us any clue at all about that), and seeing my swirly conflicting thoughts transformed into stable, trustworthy, playfully squiggly letters has been known to calm me, and help me sort through my issues. I have felt gratitude after writing, to the words themselves, for appearing, and for their assistance.
So on a call with me, you can expect me to be able to pick up details and convey them. Textures, smells, tastes. The position of my hand, how you've made my skin feel, and what is brushing against where.
Until. Ummmm. Then.
I have at least a dozen types of orgasms, and they don't all render my speech centers useless, but there are two or three that do. They're not better experiences, not stronger, not more desirable; for example, I can talk fine through the soft rolling orgasm that I choose most often when I'm masturbating alone. But on the way to building up to certain types of climaxes, I go decidedly non-verbal. I can still think and feel, but thoughts and feelings no longer form words that make it out of my mouth.
It's a combination, I think, of sex-hormones, how much sleep I've had, how much I've talked that day, and what type of sensations I'm having. In other words, frustratingly unpredictable.
So, if suddenly I seem incapable of more than "Yes" and "Oh" and "Oh yes," well, now you know why.
When I am in times of great transition in my life, I am compelled to write (really? gee, the three blog posts / day wouldn't have given us any clue at all about that), and seeing my swirly conflicting thoughts transformed into stable, trustworthy, playfully squiggly letters has been known to calm me, and help me sort through my issues. I have felt gratitude after writing, to the words themselves, for appearing, and for their assistance.
So on a call with me, you can expect me to be able to pick up details and convey them. Textures, smells, tastes. The position of my hand, how you've made my skin feel, and what is brushing against where.
Until. Ummmm. Then.
I have at least a dozen types of orgasms, and they don't all render my speech centers useless, but there are two or three that do. They're not better experiences, not stronger, not more desirable; for example, I can talk fine through the soft rolling orgasm that I choose most often when I'm masturbating alone. But on the way to building up to certain types of climaxes, I go decidedly non-verbal. I can still think and feel, but thoughts and feelings no longer form words that make it out of my mouth.
It's a combination, I think, of sex-hormones, how much sleep I've had, how much I've talked that day, and what type of sensations I'm having. In other words, frustratingly unpredictable.
So, if suddenly I seem incapable of more than "Yes" and "Oh" and "Oh yes," well, now you know why.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Dirty Words: Request For Help
I need your help.
I was never a particularly dirty or mean person before I was a phone sex operator, and now people are asking me to say dirty, mean things all the time. I mean, sure, I could get the basics, "Harder. Faster. Deeper. More. Don't fucking stop," but now, looking back, I realize I was in the amateur league. I was always willing to go dirtier, but never actually called upon to do so.
So now, I need you to tell me what I'm missing. Nouns and adjectives, please. Well, heck, any part of speech if it fits.
Potentially mean dirty things to call men, off the top of my head: prick, asshole, pig, jerk, bastard, dick, psycho, sociopath, loser, nerd, dweeb, son of a bitch, fucker, wanker... (and is asshat just amusing or actually mean?), stupid, useless, dumb, inadequate, flaccid, fat, chubby, pudgy, tiny, weak, pathetic.
Potentially mean dirty things to call women / myself, off the top of my head: bitch, slut, whore, cunt, stupid, useless, hole, baby-maker, breeding tube, cumslut, cumrag, ragdoll, fat, chubby, pudgy, thick, inadequate, weak, pathetic.
And the big one for American women... cow. Oh yeah. That's right. I said it. I said the new "C" word right fucking there. I am off. the fucking. chain. /giggle
Silliness aside, I need a wider repertoire. I'm two months in and already feeling stale. Here, I'll repeat the phrase from Kiss Kiss Bang Bang that has been bouncing around my head for two days for no apparent reason, with one word changed:
I was never a particularly dirty or mean person before I was a phone sex operator, and now people are asking me to say dirty, mean things all the time. I mean, sure, I could get the basics, "Harder. Faster. Deeper. More. Don't fucking stop," but now, looking back, I realize I was in the amateur league. I was always willing to go dirtier, but never actually called upon to do so.
So now, I need you to tell me what I'm missing. Nouns and adjectives, please. Well, heck, any part of speech if it fits.
Potentially mean dirty things to call men, off the top of my head: prick, asshole, pig, jerk, bastard, dick, psycho, sociopath, loser, nerd, dweeb, son of a bitch, fucker, wanker... (and is asshat just amusing or actually mean?), stupid, useless, dumb, inadequate, flaccid, fat, chubby, pudgy, tiny, weak, pathetic.
Potentially mean dirty things to call women / myself, off the top of my head: bitch, slut, whore, cunt, stupid, useless, hole, baby-maker, breeding tube, cumslut, cumrag, ragdoll, fat, chubby, pudgy, thick, inadequate, weak, pathetic.
And the big one for American women... cow. Oh yeah. That's right. I said it. I said the new "C" word right fucking there. I am off. the fucking. chain. /giggle
Silliness aside, I need a wider repertoire. I'm two months in and already feeling stale. Here, I'll repeat the phrase from Kiss Kiss Bang Bang that has been bouncing around my head for two days for no apparent reason, with one word changed:
Readers, use your awesome might to save me from this hopeless plight.Leave 'em in comments or Thanks!
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Good Girls Gone Naughty
I love being surprising. In high school, I made straight As, dressed as a clean-cut preppy with simple makeup and comparatively natural hair for the 80s. If I had a reputation, it was as a good kid, officer in choir and theater, and one of the first two people in the school to make a perfect score on an International Baccalaureate exam (the program had just started).
So when people saw me out with friends, at a party, or at the inexplicably densely populated yet utterly uneventful parking lot where teens gathered, and they saw me smoking, the reaction was often one of shock. YOU smoke?
I loved that reaction. I loved the attention, the fact that someone would feel like they knew me, and the fact that they didn't know everything. And I loved the confused lingering glances as I felt them wondering what else I did...
(FYI: I haven't smoked in several years, thankfully)
So imagine my delight with the outcome of this luscious fantasy:
I was a college student, working my way through school as a prostitute, and I hang out in nice hotel lobbies looking for lonely business travelers. Once I discover their fetishes, I use that knowledge to close the deal and get them to the hotel room.
This particular client was a well-educated gentleman, with a soft vocal demeanor, and polite word-choices, so I matched his tone and his tenor. I was sweet, smart, inquisitive young woman, who drew out of him that he has an oral fetish, and a fantasy about being with a hooker. I combined the two by letting him know I was for rent and then sucked his finger slowly into my mouth - it was almost too simple.
Up in the room, I was ripping his clothes off him, leaving a trail of red lipstick stains down his chest, on my knees unbuckling his belt, when:
Him: (stammering) I ... ummmm...I also kinda like...
Me: (pausing) Yes? You can tell me. It's okay.
Him: When, if... getting an educated girl, a nice girl, to say... ummm... like...
Me: (grinning) To say shit like, "I need you to face-fuck my dirty whore mouth, and use me up like the cumslut I am?"
Him: (whimpering) ohfuckohfuckohyes
The surge of shock and lust and gratitude that poured through the phone at me was deliciously gratifying. I had to stifle a giggle.
I love that image of myself: Galiana Chance, good girl turned naughty, blowing away expectations for over 20 years. It's a little long for a tagline, isn't it?
So when people saw me out with friends, at a party, or at the inexplicably densely populated yet utterly uneventful parking lot where teens gathered, and they saw me smoking, the reaction was often one of shock. YOU smoke?
I loved that reaction. I loved the attention, the fact that someone would feel like they knew me, and the fact that they didn't know everything. And I loved the confused lingering glances as I felt them wondering what else I did...
(FYI: I haven't smoked in several years, thankfully)
So imagine my delight with the outcome of this luscious fantasy:
I was a college student, working my way through school as a prostitute, and I hang out in nice hotel lobbies looking for lonely business travelers. Once I discover their fetishes, I use that knowledge to close the deal and get them to the hotel room.
This particular client was a well-educated gentleman, with a soft vocal demeanor, and polite word-choices, so I matched his tone and his tenor. I was sweet, smart, inquisitive young woman, who drew out of him that he has an oral fetish, and a fantasy about being with a hooker. I combined the two by letting him know I was for rent and then sucked his finger slowly into my mouth - it was almost too simple.
Up in the room, I was ripping his clothes off him, leaving a trail of red lipstick stains down his chest, on my knees unbuckling his belt, when:
Him: (stammering) I ... ummmm...I also kinda like...
Me: (pausing) Yes? You can tell me. It's okay.
Him: When, if... getting an educated girl, a nice girl, to say... ummm... like...
Me: (grinning) To say shit like, "I need you to face-fuck my dirty whore mouth, and use me up like the cumslut I am?"
Him: (whimpering) ohfuckohfuckohyes
The surge of shock and lust and gratitude that poured through the phone at me was deliciously gratifying. I had to stifle a giggle.
I love that image of myself: Galiana Chance, good girl turned naughty, blowing away expectations for over 20 years. It's a little long for a tagline, isn't it?
Tuesday Off Line
I'll be off line Tuesday (Sept 7). It's not because I'll be going back to work like most of America, because I did not take the weekend off. In fact, my weekend work was lovely - thanks to some of you calling!
I'm going to the dentist, which means the whole day off for me, because I have big fat dental phobia. So when I go to the dentist for anything more than a routine cleaning, I have to give myself knock-out drugs. Like a Rufi, but prescribed, where I can't remember anything afterwards.
Seems like I'm over-reacting, doesn't it? But I've heard enough things like: "There's no way you should be able to feel that with as much Novocaine as you have" or "There shouldn't even be nerve endings there anymore" or "Between your anti-anxiety drugs and the laughing gas, how are you even awake, much less in pain?" ... So, really, if there's a good reason to say things like that to me ever again, honestly, I just don't want to remember it.
But for the up side, when I'm not going to the dentist, having a mouth with too many nerve endings has advantages. Like, I have more sensation on the roof of my mouth than most people seem to. I explain that more here. And in general, my mouth is a pretty happy place as long as it's remaining occupied, which I look forward to it being again Wednesday.
I'm going to the dentist, which means the whole day off for me, because I have big fat dental phobia. So when I go to the dentist for anything more than a routine cleaning, I have to give myself knock-out drugs. Like a Rufi, but prescribed, where I can't remember anything afterwards.
Seems like I'm over-reacting, doesn't it? But I've heard enough things like: "There's no way you should be able to feel that with as much Novocaine as you have" or "There shouldn't even be nerve endings there anymore" or "Between your anti-anxiety drugs and the laughing gas, how are you even awake, much less in pain?" ... So, really, if there's a good reason to say things like that to me ever again, honestly, I just don't want to remember it.
Pthththth. That pretty much sums up my extraordinarily mature response right there. Pthththth indeed.
I'll be back Wednesday, right as rain, with only minor discomfort (which I can easily avoid aggravating, even during oral calls), having gotten more than enough sleep, and with zero traumatic memories. Hooray for modern medicine, and an understanding and accommodating dentist.
I'll be back Wednesday, right as rain, with only minor discomfort (which I can easily avoid aggravating, even during oral calls), having gotten more than enough sleep, and with zero traumatic memories. Hooray for modern medicine, and an understanding and accommodating dentist.
Friday, September 3, 2010
The Best Little Laugh
I think I have about a dozen laughs, a hundred quirky facial expressions, and a thousand little sounds that spring out of me in ways I can never predict.
Everyone makes different sounds, and I love causing them, those spontaneous noises. That little breath catch. That little moan. That little growl.
But I admit: I have a favorite. Every once in a while, when a man has just climaxed, especially if it was long or powerful or surprising in some way, just after the initial intensity passes, there's a little laugh. It's usually followed by a big exhale, then a few words of gratitude, but really, thanks aren't necessary at that point -- I heard it in that fucking awesome little laugh.
Everyone makes different sounds, and I love causing them, those spontaneous noises. That little breath catch. That little moan. That little growl.
But I admit: I have a favorite. Every once in a while, when a man has just climaxed, especially if it was long or powerful or surprising in some way, just after the initial intensity passes, there's a little laugh. It's usually followed by a big exhale, then a few words of gratitude, but really, thanks aren't necessary at that point -- I heard it in that fucking awesome little laugh.
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