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.

Talking About You

Giggling

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)

The Best Laid Plans

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!

Kiwi Candy, the Crossover

The Hollywood-gorgeous Kiwi Candy and I were chatting today about callers we've shared in the nine months since she has skyrocketed to NiteFlirt fame. Background: she found my blog when she was first starting out, and at first I mentored her a bit, but we became friends as she kicked my ass in the ratings, and now I ask her advice as often as she does with me.

It's easy to bond in that vulnerable time of night that is made for fucking, that 10pm-2am window when both our defenses are a little lower and our minds are both set in sexy mode. We often keep each other company between calls.

She's as genuine as I am: she really loves phone sex, she really wants to please her callers, and she really is that adorable. But more important to me than her beauty and cuteness, she has the thing I require in my truest of friends: she genuinely cares about doing the right thing. Hell, if you generalize further, it's still true: she genuinely cares. She gives a shit. She's good people. I feel fortunate to know her.

Candy and I have never met in person, although I'm certain we will some day. (You'll get videos of us doing naughty things with each other if you fly me to her! Not kidding!) But we recommend each other a lot on our blogs and on our calls, which has led to us having 15 or 20 callers in common.

So today, we were talking about some of the Candy+Galiana fantasies our callers have played out with us, and we decided to do crossover blog posts about them. Because we're both giant dorks who amuse ourselves a lot. And this sounded fun, so we're doing it.

The Maid: He and I are married, and Candy is our maid, who probably never actually cleans anything other than my pussy with her tongue, while I'm guiding her head with my hands, and he's fucking her from behind. Oh, and my juices off his cock after he fucks me while Candy and I 69 with me on top. But not so much with the *dusting*, really.

Fembot Assembly: The Candy-bot makes a superb to help assemble a brand new Galiana-bot to test her pleasure thresholds. How does one test a new Galiana-bot? Have the Candy-bot lick and finger it when she is being fucked from behind, of course! Gosh. All the good technicians know that.

The Fembot Cat Fight: The handy thing about androids is that you can always wipe their memories and repair them, and they're as good as new! So, y'know, if the Candy-droid and Galiana-droid had their jealousy levels increased, we could rip each other to pieces... literally. It's obvious her chest panel is more delicate than mine, it's not my fault she can't function without this handful of wires. Oh, well, maybe it is. Oops. But what do I care? That'll keep her away from my man!

The Struggling Submissive: Since she admitted she's capable of having an orgasm without touching her pussy if the mental / visual stimulus is strong enough (as am I), he could tie her into an X and make her watch while he fucks me, and she can be released when she comes that way ... maybe twice ... if he's feeling generous ...

The Two-Girl Blowjob: The guy with the 11" cock (seriously, we've both seen him on cam, and he's not exaggerating) wants us both to slide our tongues and lips over him. Good, because I'm not sure either of us could take care of that thing on our own!

The Exhibitionists: Two different callers want to masturbate in front of us, as we're watching them, and possibly playing with each other, but the important part is that we're both watching him masturbate. We both honestly, genuinely love watching men stroke themselves, and we feel like we learn new techniques. We both especially like watching that guy in California with the full beard who does that overhand squeeze thing ...

The Strap-On: He wants to feel her pounding me with a strap-on because it shoves his cock deeper into my throat. Or me pounding him with a strap-on while he has his lips wrapped around her clit. Or one of us fucking him while he's fucking the other one. Or...

Oh good grief almighty, now I can't think straight. Surely someone has plane fare to spare, don't you? Pretty please?

Summer Fling

I Heart Summer Flings

I started my non-mainstream sexual explorations as a submissive, and have morphed into a switch-leaning-dominant. This week, I invested a tremendous amount of energy and passion in my femdom identity, defending and celebrating male submissives not only on my blog, but also on comments on other blogs that were apparently intelligent enough to be requoted.

So what was the perhaps inevitable response of the universe to ensure my life remains in balance? I had one of the craziest, most intense whirlwinds ever with ... wait for it ... a new dominant male caller.

Everyone who saw that coming, raise your hand. Hmmm, everybody, huh? In retrospect, the only surprise is that I was surprised.

The day we met, he called me twice, for a total of (never remind 'em how much they've spent on you) minutes. He greeted me warmly enough, but when his voice changed to tell me what to do, I felt my Inner Submissive shove her way to the front of the bus to drive, giggling and clapping like a lunatic.

He asked me if I can come without touching myself. When I groaned and laughed a little, he asked what I meant by that, clearly intrigued.

Me: Because if I tell you I can, you'll make me do that, but I really want to be touching myself already, but I haven't because I know you haven't told me to, but you probably won't let me shove this vibrator inside myself if I tell you I can come touchless...

Him: And what gets you over that edge?

Me: Ohgod that's not fair. (he laughs) Don't laugh at me. (we both laugh) It's... ummm... the command, you telling me to, the intensity of it, the intention behind it, if it has enough energy behind it... if I'm there in my mind...

Him: Well. That's a pretty red flag for you to wave for me, isn't it? How long do you think I'll wait before I give you that command? Will I make you beg to have an orgasm like a bitch in heat?

My Entire Inner Cast: OH FUCK.

He had me stand in front of the mirror, wearing only my panties, hands behind my head, appraising my own flesh, when he gave the command to climax, and ordered at me to keep my eyes open and watch myself come. It didn't feel like a script, it felt like something he was inspired to do by my responses.

It only got more intense from there.

I went to bed exhausted and dizzy, but happy.

We spoke again early the next afternoon, soon after I woke up. His first words, obviously full of genuine concern, "I read your blog. Be honest. Did I make you dizzy last night?"

My Entire Inner Cast: Awwwwww /sniffle

During that call, I hoped sincerely he had read this blog post about Love, The English Language, And Not Completely Pretending, and this one about the ways sometimes words tumble out of my mouth If I Call You "Love" because at one point he asked me how I felt, and I mumbled the crazy answer that was bouncing around in my head...

"When you call me a whore, it sounds like you're telling me you love me..."

Seriously. I said that to him. We had been talking for less than 24 hours. Fucking insane.

Thankfully, he seems to be a version of lunacy which is compatible with mine, because his response was to tell me say it again. Louder. And again, even louder. And again. Louder, you fucking whore, again. Each time, I grew more horrified and embarrassed at the ridiculous words I was shoving out of my throat, and simultaneously, more thoroughly convinced that the sentiment was true. I paused, my voice ragged, shaking to hear his response.

"Listen to yourself. A brainy sub trying to get a single sentence out, forced to enunciate it clearer and louder even as the sentence grabs your pussy and your heart and squeezes for all it's worth? How could I not love you?"

It wasn't a commitment to a future together, to any traditional use of the word love, or to anything at all other than a mutual appreciation of a really fantastic connection at a truly amazing moment in time.

Well, no, that's probably not true. There probably was a commitment, just a bizarre one: that both of us will probably always remember the way we were able to crash into each others' desires and feel delightfully alive in the wreckage we somehow created in each other.

I wrote him afterward, telling him the rest of the story I only partially told this blog post about my first BDSM lover, I Know Why:

... but what that entry doesn't explain is that moment when I was tied to a door frame, flogged bright red across my ass and back, with a vibrating egg trapped in my panties to ensure I was being properly conditioned to associate pain and pleasure, when he pressed himself against me, my entire backside on fire from the touch of his skin after the flogging, slid one hand around to my breast, and with the other hand, held my head up in a bit of a choke so I could feel him whisper-growl into my ear as his fingers pinched electricity through me,

"good girl"

... and I felt the world go black and I felt a wave of power, of certainty, of pride. I knew I could take it, more than I knew I could stand, and more. Much more. I knew I was strong. I knew I was adventuresome. I knew I was sexy. And I felt huge, as if I had grown, and I wanted more with a hunger that made me feel like I could eat the world.

... and that was the moment I knew that I would be okay, no matter what.

His response was to tell me to find a publisher. Isn't that sweet? Wait, how can I associate the word sweet with anything at all in this fucked-up blog post? Oh, I know, I can call this sweet, where he quoted a paragraph from that blog post:

I had worked so hard in therapy to take responsibility for my feelings and my actions. I had worked so hard professionally to teach myself technically and be in a position of leadership. I had worked so hard socially to choose friends who gave as much as they took, and treated me with respect. And I had worked so hard personally to admit to myself that I needed to leave the man I thought I’d be with for the rest of my life.

And he told me "This Galiana that you created shows your work."

I totally didn't cry when I read that. I mean, it's not like I had been fucked loony for hours on end or anything, so why would that make me cry?

He only plays with phone sex every once a while, in little bursts like this, then he disappears. For weeks. Or months. When he told me he was going away, probably for a good, long time, it made absolute sense to me.

It was the perfect end-of-summer fling: passionate, intense, a lovely stroll down the sensory memory lane of my submissive roots, and cut short by logistical limitations before we ran out of the juice to sustain it and started disappointing each other. (That's totally where it would have gone, right? I mean, I'm not just being cynical here, am I? Don't crazy intense firestorms always end that way? Can I tell myself that anyway, even if it's not true? Thanks.)

There are times I appreciate my life so much that I ache with joy.

Hypno Revolution

I first opened erotic hypnotism listings last fall, but let them lie dormant for a while, because I didn't think they reflected me very accurately. Frankly, they were too bitchy.

So I rewrote them and started turning them on a couple of weeks ago now. If you're interested, check out the new look here: http://www.niteflirt.com/hypno+galiana

Since re-opening, I've had a few awesome successes.

The most dramatic has been with a caller who called me a good deal last fall, but seemed a bit frustrated, as if he wanted me to take him further in some direction that neither of us could exactly put our finger on. Somehow, the combination of the last six months of experience, my relaxing horse tranquilizers, and my reading further on NLP (neuro-linguistic programming) techniques managed to hit the spot. Before, he kept encouraging me to be "more dominating" and this time around, he's encouraging me to "do exactly whatever it was you did last time." Yay!

I've had a few role play calls, not looking for real hypnosis, which used to confuse me, so I would attempt full-length inductions and they would hang up on me. Now I recognize the signs more clearly, so I'm able to jump in and do a fake-mini-induction and then fulfill requests like "can you find out what the trigger word is that my girlfriend is using to get me to want to suck cock so I can stop it?" Suuuuuure. Oh look, if I say that trigger word, you talk about how much you love sucking cock, and the more I say it, the more you want it. What a shock!

The success that sexually frustrated me the most was the gentleman with the steady, smooth voice, who told me he just wanted to be tranced, and given mind-fuck post-hypnotic triggers, but didn't feel the need to have an orgasm. After 30 minutes of brainwashing and planting parlor-trick mild amnesia triggers, I brought him out and checked. Not only did the triggers work, but he was delighted. And wanted to serve me. In fact, wanted to do anything I wanted him to do, if only I would put him under again...

Ohhhh reeeeeally. Like, for example, what if I wanted to bring you to the edge of orgasm multiple times but not let you climax? Astonishingly, he agreed, and his groaning and pleading cemented the fact that yes, I have, indeed, developed a begging fetish. Holy. Crap.

I was a good hypnotist, though, you should be proud of me. When we approached the amount of time originally agreed upon, before I brought him out that last time, I suggested that he would feel fully satisfied, and he did. But me? Satisfied? No way - I needed a big fat vibrator and fresh batteries. Fuck.

Then tonight, someone called me for only the second time (the first was an introduction conversation), after having bought my hypnosis mp3 (this one here) and listened to it a few times. It is simple simple simple, with triggers for pleasure, and sure, a bit of suggestion that the sound of my voice is awesome, but nothing I'd call heavy duty hypnotic programming.

The sound of a man whimpering is just. so. luscious. Thankfully, he wanted a mix of hypnosis plus phone sex, so I got to get off with him. I might have let my NLP out to play a bit during the teasing portion of the conversation, and maybe he said afterward that he had not been aware that he had been begging to taste me, for me to fuck him, to be allowed to come. But oh, dear, sweet, delicious goodness, he had.

So how is this a "hypno revolution"? Or have I forgotten my blog title?

Don't be silly, I haven't forgotten. The revolution is this: I feel more integrated as a hypnotist now. I see hypnosis as a tool to be used in a much broader variety of settings. I see hypnotic techniques sneaking into my topping sessions. I see domination feeling comfortable in my hypnosis. It's like peanut butter and chocolate, but in a thousand flavors instead of just one.

Okay, ummm, that last sentence? Mmmmmaybe I need a snack after the powerful, rippling orgasm I enjoyed with that last caller, the man who whimpered...

The Cat Came Back

September 12, 2010 - almost a year ago - was the last I heard of Inception guy from my Heartbreak II post. Eleven months later, on August 12, 2011, he called me again.

So much has changed with my internal landscape. When he found me last year, I was just starting out. I was learning my limits. I was expanding my horizons. I was exploring undiscovered countries in myself, boldly going with callers where no man had gone before, time and time and time again.

And now, while I don't feel jaded, with hundreds more hours of phone time under my belt, I do feel prepared, educated, and perhaps a bit better equipped to care for myself.

During the year, I had found him on FetLife, because he had given me his profile name when we talked last year. Once I joined, I read his profile, which made me miss him, and I tried not to worry about him.

A few months ago, I saw his username and call history show up again in my customer list, but I resisted contacting him for months, in case I tugged a tripwire in some unhelpful way. I assumed, correctly as it turned out, that his name reappearing meant that he had reinstated his account. More than once I kissed my fingertips and touched his name on my screen in a blessing.

(no, I don't actually touch my screen, because I am somewhat of a neurotic geek, but y'know... almost)

Then Aug 2, in a moment of weakness, I suppose, I broke down and wrote to him with a link to the heartbreak blog post. I admit, it was a selfish thing to do. I had thought about doing it dozens of times, and for some reason, that day, I didn't resist the urge.

"Please introduce yourselves," said the automated voice of NiteFlirt, in a rhythm frustratingly slower than when the voice said it eleven months ago. He said his name - just his name, not his name plus his town like he used to say - and I laughed and stammered and felt the emotions wash over me in waves: relief, concern, amusement, guilt, lust. Lots of lust.

"I guess you remember me." Typical of him: understated, wry, terse, and a tiny bit vulnerable underneath.

As it turns out, he had read the heartbreak blog post, back when I had written it, and he never thought I was genuinely mad at him. I mean, sure, I had been furious with him more than once during play times, mostly for denying me his cock when I was begging for it, but he knew I wasn't mad outside of play time. That was a huge relief.

Our unfortunate communication had coincided with his decision to quit phone sex cold turkey for a while. Maybe they were unrelated, but I prefer to think that when I couldn't keep playing that day, perhaps something in the intensity of our exchange helped tip his scales. It is more likely that he was pushing me harder than usual because he knew the scales were tipping that way anyway; it was the last drinking binge of someone about to check himself in to rehab.

He said the blog post was touching, and that he had re-read it more than once when he wanted to feel good about himself. My tears in response to that statement were not the sexy tears of desperation he had caused before, but they were heartfelt nonetheless.

We had a lovely, tender, playful, caring conversation, catching up on the events of our respective almost-year. I said something slightly smart-assed, and he took a long, deep breath, his voice changed, and he asked me, "Did you forget how to address me, bitch?" My heart got so happy it skipped a beat - we were going to play.

And play we did. It was delicious, nourishing, rough and tumble, fun, and just exactly degrading enough for my Inner Emotional Masochist to curl up into a delighted, bruised ball and sleep, satisfied to have her playmate back, even if only one more time.

(Irrelevant and distracting side note regarding the title of the blog post, I remember seeing Rowlf the Dog singing this on The Muppet Show: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ltlPINPn8UU. The content of the song is utterly non-applicable here, because I am not trying to get rid of him, but the title made most of me happy, so I kept it, and Inner Editor will have to get over it.)

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?

A Year and A Fortnight

Galiana A Year and A Fortnight ago

I started taking phone sex calls July 15, 2010, a few days after my husband took this picture of me in our kitchen to test the camera on his new phone. I hadn't yet started writing my first version of my listing, because I didn't yet know about NiteFlirt, but I had applied with a couple of dispatch phone sex services.

I wrote blog posts about my quarter anniversary and my six-month anniversary. Then on July 15, 2011, I completely forgot to write about my 1-year anniversary. When I realized it, two very socially busy days later, I figured I'd wait until my blog anniversary (8/15) and do something then.

On July 24, 2011, I got an email, with the subject line, "No?" and content of, "No big, one-year anniversary blog post?"

I felt so loved. When I saw the email on my phone, I was having lunch with my mom, casually checking to see if anything time-sensitive had happened in the past hour, and she immediately said, "Well, THAT got a reaction, what was that?" I got choked up while explaining it to her. Although she certainly wishes I were physically able to do other types of work, her response was a very supportive, "Awwww. That's very sweet. I like him."

So much has shifted since I started being a phone sex operator.

A year ago, both my husband and I were working from home in Austin, where he could be in charge of letting the dogs in and out of our quarter-acre back yard. The big yard also meant that ensuring they had enough exercise was as simple as taking a 15-minute break to play fetch, or rile them up via tug-of-war until they chased each other along the well-worn path around the perimeter.

My husband also took care of all the shopping for groceries and necessities. So I was free to lounge in the Fuckatorium for 10-12 hours a day, waiting for the phone to ring, writing blog posts, and hanging out on IM chat in case I could entice someone that way. We had friends in Austin, but I rarely went out socially more than twice per week, so most of my time was free to feel sexy and take calls.

Since then, we've moved to Houston, where I am more social, because my family is close by, which is awesome and emotionally nourishing, but puts a strain on me vertigo-wise. My husband got a fantastic job which requires a lot of travel, so I have much less financial pressure, but more responsibilities: chores, groceries, dog parks.

I started taking horse tranquilizers, which has obliterated my capacity to multi-task (thus the death of my casual IM chatting), but has helped ease my vertigo symptoms drastically, allowing me to go from about 30-40% pre-vertigo capacity to 50-60% pre-vertigo capacity. My increased ability to get stuff done means I regularly overshoot my medicines and wear myself out like the overachiever dork I am. Silly Galiana.

So these days, I'm logged on for phone sex less often. Although there still are bills relying on my income (including the extremely motivating category of "my spending money"), the reality is that I'm not a full-time phone girl anymore.

I think one reason I missed my anniversary is because I couldn't figure out what to put here. It seems anti-climactic to say I've gone from full-time to part-time. I still can't tell which story needs to be told. So I'm making this up as I write, feeling my way along, hoping it turns into something coherent here soon. (We can tell, it shows)(Oh hush, there's no need to be rude to yourself)(Ummmm, too late for that).

Plus, I wanted to have something special to offer, or announce, like a commemorative picture set or a "if you do this then I'll send you free minutes" kind of a thing, but nothing stood out to me as The Perfect Celebratory Offer.

In fact, I meant for this blog post to end a few paragraphs back until I figured out The Perfect Celebratory Offer, but now my Inner Therapist and Inner Writer have conspired, and have momentum, and well, who am I to stop them on the principle of posting an anniversary blog post on an actual anniversary date? Pffff. Details. So on we go.

Of course, there are numbers I could share, because I'm a data girl:

* Callers I've blocked (which means they can no longer contact me): 4 - I am happy that number is so low.

* Customers: 781 - although people who delete their accounts don't show up, so it's actually a tad higher than that.

* Most times someone has called me: 57 - I am supremely confident in my ability to get him aroused and leave him satisfied.

* Highest amount I've made from one customer after NiteFlirt's percentage: $2707 - and it is a different guy than my 57-calls customer, and about a quarter of that amount is from pay-to-views and tributes. Not bad for a girl who doesn't advertise for financial domination, right? And if you're wondering if it's you, then no, it's not you, because he knows his financial totals with me, because the money is part of his fetish.

* Verification of the 80/20 rule (80-ish% of my revenue comes from 20-ish% of my customers): yep, almost exactly.

* Overall Revenue from non-calls: about 5% - pretty good considering I don't do nearly as much to advertise my pics and videos as I could, and I never ask for tributes unless I'm doing something custom.

* Times I have rewritten my main listing: 18. Well. That's just embarrassing.

* Calls: 1840, which technically averages out to a little less than 5 per day, but I've taken off a lot of days (Slacker)(Shut up)(No, you shut up)(No, you shut up yer shuttin' up)(/giggle), so really it's a bit higher than 5. (And yes, these parentheticals are real conversations I have with myself)(Psycho)(No YOU!)

Although numbers can sometimes tell a story, in this case, they don't do justice. Not by a long shot.

A year and a fortnight ago, I thought I was more submissive sexually than dominant. After repeated exposure to the raw, powerful lust I can inspire by bringing my leadership and management skills into the bedroom, I now find the thought of a man kneeling before me, offering his mind and body as my plaything... distractingly, exquisitely, deeply arousing.

A year and a fortnight ago, I thought I would never find sexual stimulation in humiliating another person, and even if I did, I wouldn't be very good at it. After making someone come twice in ten minutes from scathingly deriding his lack of sexual adequacy, leading to an adrenaline-fueled big fat POW of an orgasm for me while I told him he could never get me off that well, I concluded I had been mistaken.

A year and a fortnight ago, I thought I was pretty savvy about kinks. After weekly exposure to new fetishes and the fetishists who crave them, I am no longer surprised when I am surprised.

A year and a fortnight ago, I wondered if my size XL body would keep me in such a small niche in the market that it would not be worth the effort to be a phone sex operator. After being begged to get on cam, produce photos, and shoot videos, I have found even more to appreciate about my body.

A year and a fortnight ago, I didn't know if I would ever be able to financially provide for myself in case of an emergency. After I knew I could, the relief and sense of empowerment has been profound.

A year and a fortnight ago, after a year of not working and not being able to go out in crowded public spaces very often, my circles of social and professional connections had contracted, and I missed the feeling of meeting new people. After developing at least a dozen crushes on callers, and at least a dozen mutually supportive co-worker relationships, and making so many connections that I have to turn off chat because I can't multi-task enough to keep up with the barrage of friendly interaction requests, my social meters are pleasantly full any time I wish.

A year and a fortnight ago, I deeply missed feeling useful. I can't explain how frustrating that was for me, and how much energy I spent trying not to feel useless.

Now, after a year and a fortnight of listening to confessions, playing catch with complex balls of emotional and sexual energy, gaining proficiency in dozens of kinks, and - most importantly - helping hundreds of callers make the transition from "I'm so horny I can't fall asleep, but I'm too distracted by thoughts of my crappy day to finish myself off alone" into the far more pleasant "Oh, wow, that felt good and /yawn and /stretch and /whew, finally I can sleep! Thank you, I needed that", now I feel extraordinarily useful as a buddy, a confessor, an outlet, a supporter, and very clearly, as a sleep aid.

(Oh, no, really, this blog post does not need the Galiana Sleep Aid commercial now playing in my head. Please turn that off. Seriously.)

You, and you, and you, and you, and especially you, you all made my first year and a fortnight as a phone sex operator possible, and fun, and exciting, and enriching, and sexy as fucking hell. Thank you.

(So what's the special offer gonna be?)(Oh, for fuck's sake, I just wrote a lovely little ending. Can we leave it at that until I figure out a worthy offer later?)(Sure thing... ya slacker.)(NO, YOU!)

Memory and Notes and Meds

Don't you trust me?

I wrote about how much I remembered vs how much I wrote in this blog post (Memory and Notes), but when I went on my horse tranquilizers mid-May (2.5 months already?), I wondered what the effect would be on my memory.

The other day I had a delightful call from a gent who has been keeping up with my blog (awwww, thank you!), and left me this feedback - I blame the typos on the ludicrously intense session he had just had with me:

"Im so glad your feeling better and I'm so so glad I got to talk to you. I would beg for you anytime if the day. Thank you again"

(side note: I shamelessly stole the idea to incorporate feedback into blog posts from Kiwi Candy, who I briefly mentored, but who now blows me out of the water and does pretty much everything better than I do. So out of mock petty jealousy over her success, now I'm stealing her good ideas. Good thing she thinks I'm cute, and I've shared at least seven callers with her, or she might get mad.)

I found with him, as I have been finding with callers lately, that my memory of past calls seems unaffected. Sure, I get a helpful boost from a specific in a note if I have one, like "a sensual hand job can beat penetration," which can give me lovely, naughty, teasing, ideas with just a slight twist of my wrist near the top of the stroke... oh wait, where was I? Oh right.

Even if I don't have great notes, or if I'm in a different room than my computer, as long as there was a connection, even if it's been six months or more, I can often remember plenty.

Examples: The guy who started the conversation wanting to be exposed? By his voice, I remembered how big that cock was, the first one he ever sucked, in a car in a parking lot just after the sun had set, even though I'd never written that down. The guy with the thick mob-underling accent who wanted to be told how to masturbate? I remembered to ask him if he had his vibrating egg and nipple clamps, which was in my notes, but my computer was rebooting when he called, so they were inaccessible.

And the guy above who left me that sweet feedback? I remembered that he liked his sensuality mixed with a splash of domination, so, armed with my new, deeper understanding of tease and long-term denial, I let all kinds of torturous thoughts plague him before he found out whether or not I would ever finish my countdown from 10 to... that magic number he was dying to hear, but not sure he'd get to...

Five Blowjob Night

The other night, I had five calls, and I realized after the last one, they were all about blowjobs. Deeeeelicious.

I just had to stop writing for a moment to go get a lollipop. I will clearly need something to suck on while writing this. Hooray for oral fixations!

The first call was a nice, slow guided masturbation, but he was in the mood to tease me through my clothes, dammit. He was gently talking smut in my ear while telling me how to stroke myself, and I started begging for him to touch me, fuck me, shove his cock in my mouth, anything more than this tormented non-touch, please... He was standing over me, enticing me, and eventually gave in to my pleadings and slid himself to the back of my throat as he allowed me to cum, which tipped him over the delicious edge as well.

I like begging so much more before I start begging, and later when I think about it, than I enjoy begging when I'm in the middle of it. Funny how that works.

The second caller has fantasies of using me as a whore, as impersonally as possible, just meeting in a hotel room, getting sucked off, and then tossing me on my way. He wanted to hear stories about times I'd given head when the guy couldn't have cared less about my pleasure, when he just used my mouth like a glory hole.

As it turns out, I have a few of those stories: college spring break when my friend brought home a random hookup and his friend, I got stuck with the friend, and I obliged him with oral sex so he'd let me go to sleep; the drunk boyfriend who fucked my face while I hung my head off the edge of the bed and then passed out; my husband and I completing our sex-in-every-room tour of the new townhome with an unreciprocated blow job on the back porch, loud enough to meet his "slurpy" preference, but quiet enough to hide from the people in the nearby pool.

You'd think that guy would be the type to hang up right away after coming, wouldn't you? But no, he's surprisingly cuddly and chatty afterward, and wants to know all about my life. Such an amusing juxtaposition.

The third caller was in a tender mood, and wanted "something languorous, luscious... like the most sensual fellatio you can imagine." So I covered his body with kisses and massaging caresses, worked my way to his cock, and then took my time, enjoying the heat, the scent, the taste, the feeling of the rhythm building, the pulsing of his flesh under my tongue, the intimacy of him looking down into my eyes as I swallowed him whole time after time.

He was slurring his words from sleep or alcohol when the call started, so his sleepy, satisfied "Mmmmm, g'night Galinana" was hardly a shock. So cute.

The fourth caller told me a story, of why he had hung up on me last time he had called: because I was describing a three-way I had with a couple in 2002, where both of us girls were going down on the guy, and the caller had been driving during our previous call, and had gotten turned on, so he had pulled over, in the middle of nowhere, to masturbate while I described it in vivid detail... and a cop pulled up! Yikes! He got his dick back in his pants and convinced the policeman he was napping on a multi-hour road trip, thankfully. But wow, yeah, that's a valid excuse to hang up suddenly!

So for this call, thankfully, he was not driving, and he wanted me to start the story over from scratch, and give every lascivious detail. Since that weekend I spent with that couple is one of my favorite erotic memories, I was happy to oblige.

Then the fifth and final caller of the night wanted me to rim him while jacking him off, but it morphed into him guiding my head with his hand in my hair, me deep-throating him, while I fucked his ass with my finger to the same rhythm. He said he shot clear up to his neck he came so hard. Awww. That made me so happy. Isn't that what every girl wants to hear?

Then I logged off and looked over my notes to make sure I hadn't left anything out, and realized I'd had an all-blowjob evening. My fingers were pruney from sucking on them so much, my husband was frustratingly out of town, and my panties, uncharacteristically still on my body at the end of the evening, were soaked.

Why, hello, there, favorite vibrators with fresh batteries lying by my bed. Do me a favor and help me out with a little fantasy I've been working on, would you? It involves me on my knees...

New Cam Red Bra

In May, I got a lovely gift from a caller of a new camera, and we spent the evening taking low light test pictures in my Fuckatorium. I would send them to him, along with a description of which cam setting I used, and we decided on the optimum settings after it was all said and done.

I was wearing a red bra for all the pictures, and a red thong for about half of them (the other half I'm naked from the bra down). Most of them are from the back, because that is clearly his favorite view of me. /blush

The flash got overzealous in some:

Flash Washed Out

In others, there wasn't enough light at all:

Too Dark

This one was our second-favorite setting:

Runner Up

But the winner of the best resolution, detail, and actually my favorite picture of the night was like this:

The Winner

 That version of me looks like a hell of a lot of fun. I'd hit it.

There are 41 pictures in the set, all of which are at least 1024 pixels high or wide, some are larger.

Just $10 via Niteflirt:

Happy

A long-time caller, one of my very first, and a good friend, wrote to me, with a subject line of, "Happy". He opened the email by saying "I was reading your blog and I read about your new medicine. I smiled a lot. I'm still smiling. I'm incredibly happy for you."

What followed was a long email, with fun pictures embedded, detailing some wonderful days he has had recently, and some moments that had given him great pleasure: treasured times with loved ones and new friends. He's a fantastic storyteller, so it was a delight to read, and I felt honored that he had shared his private moments with me.

He closed it with, "Still, none of that compared to the joy I felt when read you felt better."

I keep re-reading that sentence, and it keeps making me cry. I think I'm starting to let myself hope that my new medicines might work out long-term. Somehow, this sentence helped make it real for me: I might be feeling a little better.

Thank you for being happy for me, love. And thank you for telling me.

Special Thing

"It's a special thing to be able to tap into someone else's fantasies like you just did. Thank you. God, seriously, thank you."

~ a new caller, apparently satisfied, almost moving me to tears with his sincerity and gratitude

edit / update: he followed up with this in writing, "Tapping into someones fantasy is a powerful gift. Thank you for sharing it with me."

Wow.

Unpredicted Responses

I have an idea what the response(s) will be when I post something on my blog, or when I rework my listings, but I'm almost never right.

I wrote about all my crazy limitations and crazy considerations with my crazy life situation if I were to think of Meeting In Person. I feared people would think I was crazy and be turned off. Instead, I got:

• three people told me how well-organized and well-written it was, complimenting me on my presentation of such a complicated subject
• one caller told me to plan on packing my bags this summer to visit him (I dunno if he was serious, but it was sweet)
• two callers told me that my approach was completely reasonable, and they would love to do that for me some day
• about ten people told me it was cool and reasonable, but they could never afford it (obviously I understand - I couldn't afford it either!)
• a bunch of people empathizing about my complex life situation (thanks!)
• one caller told me that he thought, "Either she's being real and honest and explaining a complicated situation, or this is the most brilliantly devised red herring ever written" which cracked me up - I don't have the energy to sustain those kinds of lies, but thanks for thinking that I'm that clever!
• and then, I have to admit, I had a favorite response: one caller had me use my vibrator on myself hard and fast, and listen to him at the same time, while he told me, "You said in your blog post that my boner would be at risk... Do you have any idea how fucking hard it made me to read the words 'sustained... vigorous... fucking...' and think about being with you?" I will never forget how good that call made me feel. 

Then I wrote about my six-hour phone call, and I expected people to be upset with me that I had cut them off at 60 minutes, and instead, I got:

• a woman who passed the story to her husband, who spent the next day at lunch with buddies discussing male orgasm denial: looking up cock cages on their phones, since none of them would admit to having heard of them before, and heatedly discussing the psychology of it - too funny.
• two requests for "light financial domination" by regulars who have never played with it before, but had been curious - too fun.
• three regulars tell me that they totally understood why I imposed time limits on them, because "I work you hard" as if they were proud of themselves (and they were all correct!) - too cute.

I wrote about my husband getting a job, which I didn't think would cause any response at all, and I got a new caller from a long-time blog reader who has extensive cuckolding fantasies, who had to call me to talk about how I'm going to be running around town, building a stable of daytime lovers while my husband is at work. Good idea...

So there's your meta post for the day, blogging about blogging, instead of actually blogging. Feel free to accuse me of slacking and come up with a suitable punishment!

A Thousand Times Yes

He'd been away for a while. He asked if I missed him; of course I had. After all, every blog entry is always secretly about him in some subtle way, isn't it? It is, and always will be, according to him.

"We're in such different places tonight," he said. I was all bubbly and bouncy and happy to hear from him again. He was, in his words, darker.

"It doesn't matter what you want to take out on me... how are you going to take it out on me?" I asked. He described himself beating me into sub space, leaving every inch of my skin tingling and alive to the touch, but his heart wasn't in it, I could tell.

"Or I could curl up inside your mature, worldly-wise, seductive imagination..."

"... and lose yourself?"

"...mmhmm..."

Well then.

Sometimes, taking a man's balls in my hand and his cock in my mouth feels like raw, unadulterated power. Sometimes, I can feel his vulnerability, know his desire, taste his need. In those moments, I know that when he empties himself into me, it will release more than fluids.

"Yes," he said, after he gave me every last drop of whatever burden it was that he needed to unload, "yes... yes... and a thousand times yes..."

I hope you slept well. I know I will.

Follow-Up Mea Culpa

I'm over a month behind on my follow-up notes, because I was already behind when I started the process of moving, and once I got moved and rested enough, I chose to finish up some even-more-overdue picture sets.

Sorry they're so late. I'll do my best to make them worth the wait this round.

For new clients, let me explain my follow-up notes: they contain at least one large picture of me, and sometimes more. Often I send an additional extra-naughty picture for people who have left me official feedback.

And my follow-up notes include your name and a personalized thought, so you know it's not bulk mail (unless I don't know your name and you bought something from me without us talking, in which case, I don't know enough about you to personalize the follow-up).

So if you're in the mood to get a special Galiana note then next time I send them (next week, hopefully - fingers crossed...), then call me or send me a Tribute, or buy something (there are currently 37 things to choose from here) if you haven't done so for the past month.

And if you have a special request about what kind of picture you'd like to see in your thank-you note, let me know, and I'll do my best to accommodate!

Galiana 2K!

Go, go Galiana! My "Sex" listing just hit a rating of 2,000 points! Yay! And for those of you keeping track, yesterday was exactly 8 months since I took my first call.

The milestone doesn't mean anything in terms of callers finding me more easily, but it's been fun to watch it climb over the last few days and wonder who was going to push it over the edge.

Turns out, it was a new caller, on for 17 minutes, who wanted a humiliating cuckolding girlfriend role play. I surprised him on his birthday by setting up a threesome, and when he arrived at my apartment, looking forward to having two women blow him, I was tangled up naked in bed with a gentleman with an enormous cock, I had come all over my belly and in my pussy, and I informed my boyfriend that a few things were going to be changing since he wasn't adequately equipped to satisfy me by himself... Happy birthday, darling...

On a related note: my Inner Bitch fucking loves this job.

So, congratulations to me, and to my Inner Bitch, for getting the job done right.

Another Reason to Love the Job

If you've been following this blog, you know a few things: (1) I've been inconsistent lately because I've just moved and (2) I have a mysterious neurological vertigo that makes me feel like I'm drunk all the time, and makes some things tricky for me. Some things like... moving, for example.

Yesterday, I'd had a day where it felt like there were too many decisions coming at me from too many directions, and the feeling of chaos increased my vertigo significantly. I didn't do well collaborating on tasks, even collaborating with people I love a lot, and I ended the afternoon by drawing the only-sort-of-kidding conclusion that I no longer know how to play well with others.

It was not surprising that I had a difficult day; difficult days happen. I'm adjusting to a new home, a new rhythm, and being close to family who love me a lot, but who haven't been with me day in and day out with this crazy brain-drunk thing I have going on, so they're not sure what I need yet, so we're all learning together how to be in closer proximity and make it work for all of us.

It was very surprising, however, to feel how strongly I wanted to get into my not-quite-fully-set-up-yet Fuckatorium and turn on the phone sex lines. Really? That seemed illogical... I should have been wiped out and cranky, but no, there was an almost overpowering urge to have sexy time on the phones.

When my first caller said hello, I consciously understood what my sometimes-not-so-addled subconscious must have already worked out: it felt fucking fantastic to narrow the whole world down to the energy of one person.

On the phones, I can do: just. one. thing.

Turns out, that after a complicated day of having to fight with myself, and sometimes with others, to remember to keep my focus, keep my cool, stay on target, use the Force... after pulling out all my Jedi mind tricks to try to figure out whether or not these were actually the droids I was looking for...

He said his name, and it felt like the rest of the world melted away, and I found myself with just one thing to do: talk with him. Just one thing to focus on: his lust. Just one thing to concern myself with: this exchange of delicious emotional and sexual energy.

Wow. I needed that.

So, to all six gentlemen I talked with last night: thank you. You were exactly what I needed. You reminded me of why I can do this whole crazy phone sex gig, even when there are other things in my life that I can't do as well as I used to. You reminded me of why I feel stronger and braver and more whole now than I did eight months ago. Thank you.

I Was On, Sorry (Several of) You Missed Me

The plan for Thursday night was:

* see how I felt all day, and if I felt good enough, log on for an hour or two tonight

* when I had everything set up and ready, log on for phone sex as Smart Fun Galiana, but not Mistress Galiana or Hypno Galiana (to get SFG back up in the listings rankings) 

* as I waited for my first call to come in, post a "Hey! I'm back!" blog post -- but I didn't want to post one before I logged in, just in case the situation changed and I didn't get on

* between calls (if they came in), draft a "Hey! I'm back!" email to send via in-system mail to (hopefully) drum up calls

The reality for Thursday night was:

* I was out to dinner when I got notification of an in-system email from someone (we'll call him First) asking if I'd be on tonight. I emailed him back that I thought I'd be on about 9:30 -- I actually logged on at 9:37 and shot him an email letting him know I was on.

* At 9:42, the phone rang, and it was not First (...it was Second, of course), and we talked for 176 minutes -- yay for interesting people who are into edging and tease and denial! 

* At 1243 am, when I was done and logged out (I know the minutes don't add up exactly, but there was some time non-billed while recharging his account), First sent me an email to let me know he was still available if I was! I definitely needed a break after such a long call from Second, but I loved the elaborate fantasy that First wrote out for me while he was waiting, and I knew First would probably be closer to 30 minutes than 100, so after I caught my breath and a bit of a second wind, I logged back on and let him know I was still there...

* And Third called instead of First! He was wonderful and fun and welcomed me back with a bang, even patiently bearing with my probably-incoherent explanation about First and Second -- fantastic as always to hear his familiar voice.

* When we were finished, I wrote about five words of this blog post before the phone rang, and it was First! Finally! Yay! We had a lovely chat, then played his delicious slut-genie-in-a-bottle fantasy, and then I could log out happy with myself...

Well... mostly happy with myself... I'm deliriously happy for every moment that I got to spend with First and Second and Third, no doubt. But there were two others who emailed me while I was busy, and I'm sad I missed you guys.


Plus, there were several gents I intended to write on my first night back, and none of that got done at all.

However, overall, I'm relieved and ecstatic that the evening went as well as it did.

I was afraid I might be pushing it and trying to come back too soon (I know, it's been almost 2 weeks, how could it be too soon?). I was afraid I would be rusty. I was afraid my voice would give out (well, it got pretty ragged on that last call). I was afraid nobody would call. And I was afraid that phone sex couldn't possibly be as much fun as I remembered it (thankfully, dead fucking wrong on that count).

Silly fears, you can go away now.

Welcome back, me.