Becoming Lady Angela / Staying PlaySmart

I wrote this for friends on FetLife. It contains information bombs for blog readers:

1. My first name is Angela.

2. My username for my personal profile on FetLife is PlaySmart.

When I was first starting phone sex, around my 40th birthday, I wrote about choosing the name Galiana, and whether or not Galiana is my real name in some sense.

Along the way, I told a few callers my legal name, for various reasons. The guy I met real-time with sugar daddy tendencies. The first caller I told that I loved him, and from the same blog entry, the man who fell asleep to my voice for a while. The one who helped me start accepting my Inner Whore. The guy in a wheelchair who has become a great friend. The one who fleshed out the non-flesh part of me.

But ironically, I had not yet told the man who is secretly the real reason I'm still writing blog entries - according to him, anyway - the one who helped me know I could do the job of phone sex. He would have gotten my name from me sooner or later. He has his ways.

Now I'm wondering who's gonna get pissed that I never told them, or that I told them and then left them off the list. In my defense, my memory has been well-documented as terrible. But no, I'll leave the list there, with all its almost-certain-to-result-in-a-complaint awkwardness, because it's interesting to me to get lost a little in those memories.

When I told someone the name Angela, it was always a matter of trust, that they didn't wish me harm. It was always a matter of respect, especially respect for my marriage and my life situation. It was always a moment of intimacy, when I believed that they would feel something in their gut in a deeper way if I told them.

But these days, it's only complicating to have such bold lines drawn between Angela and Galiana. The truth is, I would welcome any of my old callers as FetLife friends, and I am secure enough in my guard dogs, my marriage, my kinky community which includes a policeman, and my crazy home where people irregularly come and go (anybody trying to case our house would be quite frustrated) to trust that I am at least as safe as other public-facing kinksters who give away equal amounts of information. Plus, I don't have kids to protect, so my stakes are lower. Much lower.

Besides, I'm not producing things as Galiana anymore. I never log in to FetLife as Galiana, and the thought of keeping both FetLife profiles maintained is overwhelming right now. So this blog, and my FetLife handle of PlaySmart are the best ways to keep in touch with me. I've been wanting to open that up for months. I haven't talked myself out of it. This blog post is a good excuse to open that up.

So, anyway, I wrote this for some friends on FetLife. I thought a few of you might enjoy it.

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It started as a joke of sorts. Our domo house servant for the Formal Dinner asked what I wanted as my place setting name (calligraphy done by hand, of course), and since I was playing the role of "Lady of the House" for the evening, being served by literally a dozen willing servants, I answered "Lady Angela". We giggled a lot about the name. So everyone called me Lady Angela for the evening, even though I left a trail of accidental sequins from my clearly-not-well-made dress wherever I went.

At Spanksgiving the weekend before, someone had called me elegant. I believe my response was to guffaw. Maybe I snorted. Me? What? No.

I see myself as dorky, goofy, geeky, and klutzy. Oh sure, I can be fun and smart and sexy, too, but in a cute dorky way. At best, I'm the eccentric, nutty professor; at worst, one of those coltish young women in the Girls Gone Wild video commercials falling over and crashing into things (and why is there always at least one of those?!? what is the appeal?).

But the name stuck, even after the party. I assumed it was kind of a loving teasing thing, like my childhood experience of being a tomboy who fell out of trees a lot - new bruises and scrapes were usually greeted with a grinning, "Way to go, Grace" from my dad. The phrase "Way to go, Grace" still makes me roll my eyes.

Shortly after the Formal Dinner, I had a couple of new offers to provide service to me. Like fetish service. To me. I mean, yes, sure, I already have a cross-dressing fetish servant, but I consider him an anomalous reminder of my abnormal life, and a practical bit of help, not a sign that I am overall deserving of Service in some way. Because I honestly don't think I am. I mean, I'm able to receive Service and understand why it feeds someone and appreciate it as a gift, but I don't deserve it.

So then people who know me and love me started seriously suggesting I change my Fet name. Really know me. Really love me. And... they weren't making fun of me. They were honestly seeing some good fit between me - bumbling clumsy me - and the term "Lady".

Lady? Really? A college roommate had a publicly stated goal to "turn me into a lady" our senior year, because I was such a goofy tomboy. She has since often declared me one of her greatest failures, because I still curse, and knock things over, and cross my legs wrong, and prefer to wear comfy pants, and turn and start walking and run into walls (even before the vertigo!). I literally publicly failed at being ladylike in any way in my formative years. That's how much not "Lady Angela" I am.

So I started asking my loved ones why they liked the name for me. They pointed out ways I graciously allowed others to assist me (which caused me to ask for more assistance, which further reinforced the idea). They pointed out ways other people irrationally went along with my narcissistic suggestions (like me hijacking someone else's New Year's Eve party so I could get smooches an hour early). They pointed out strengths I took for granted ("you always seem to have a plan, even if you're making it up" and "you almost always stay calm even when others are freaking out" and "you don't get flustered when people say no, so it makes people want to say yes to you" and "you're good at being grateful and saying thanks, so people want to help you" and "you give a lot, so people want to give back to you").

I would never go so far as to call myself elegant, because that implies I wouldn't burp out loud (I totally do), or get my hands dirty when there's work to be done (I totally do), or enjoy lowbrow things like velveeta-based queso (I totally do) or eating spoonfuls of peanut butter straight out of the jar (I totally do, all the time).

But I guess I can see that I'm gracious sometimes, that I tend to expect the best from the people around me, and that expectation of goodness frequently ends up bringing out the best in people. It's amazing to me how that works.

So although I have been uncomfortable with being called Lady Angela because it feels pretentious or demanding, I hate rejecting an idea purely out of insecurity. I try to treat insecurity was a sign, pointing to something I probably need to ponder.

I think maybe the name "Lady Angela" reflects parts of me that I love, that I strive to be, but that I often dismiss or undervalue. And yet, the reality is, in this kinkster world, I've tried to give people spaces to get questions answered, to encourage people to explore their desires, to give gentle nudges and mischievous grins to bolster courage, to set an example of seeing myself as sexy eye candy (even with a heavier-than-average body shape), and to encourage others to embrace their sexy, too.

It started as kind of "well, since I can't play very often because of my physical limitations, at least I can help others have fun." And that focus has reinforced my compersion, my ability to enjoy the joy radiating off others. And the more transitive joy I develop, the more I want to encourage others' joy... I can see how my compersion is a little Lady-Angela-ish.

I have opened my home, and I have opened my heart, as wide as I can without overextending myself (well, okay, sometimes I overextend, but I try not to). I can see how that's a little Lady-Angela-ish.

And before my December party, I found myself saying things like, "I told guests that if they arrive early for the party they'd be put to work, so don't worry about the disassembled Christmas tree in the living room - the minions will take care of it" ... and realizing that I honestly do have willing minions to help me set up my home. I mean, not full-time, but certainly for community events I'm organizing. So yeah, okay, that's definitely Lady-Angela-ish.

But then there are utterly practical considerations: I intend to re-activate my professional life as Galiana Chance when I can. One profile will stay my personal one, and Galiana will be my professional one, but I have decided to link the two, and explain the differences on each profile. My professional foray will be a podcast, I think, and right now, I want to call it "Play Smart with Galiana".

I love the idea of having my personal, community, real-life profile named PlaySmart, and my professional, link-to-all-my-podcasts-and-blog-posts profile named Galiana, because then in order to get the full picture of everything I'm doing, you'd have to have PlaySmart with Galiana. Get it?

See? Dorky. I told you.

But then there are introductions. How do I introduce myself if I'm a sex podcaster with two Fet names, neither or which are Angela? PlaySmart? Galiana? Angela? Lady Angela? The Girl With Too Many Frikkin Names? Thankfully, I think the scene is used to people having multiple personalities, so I think everyone will figure it out eventually.

Ultimately, at a gut level, I love it when people choose to call me Lady Angela. But I don't think I'll ever ask anyone to call me that. I love it as a pet name, a term of endearment, or even friendly kidding when I do something supremely unladylike.

But for those of you who have thought of me that way, thank you. You've held up an interesting mirror for me to look into, and I have enjoyed the view. And I look forward to continuing to discover parts of myself there. And I very much look forward to doing what I can to help my minions be the best they can be as well.

Galiana as Lady Angela

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Then about a week after I wrote all that on FetLife, a local friend gave me this:

Lady Angela's peanut butter

It's a jar of my favorite brand of peanut butter, labeled "Lady Angela", with a spoon taped to it. I'm saving it forever. I mean, not the peanut butter - I'm eating that! But the labeled jar with the spoon.

I have the bestest life ever.

Woman of Leisure

It's been about seven months now since I felt like I was physically capable of sustaining a phone sex call in a manner worthy of charging for it. My current neurological makeup seems to favor activities which provide a lot of joy, but require very little concentration, and if either of those aren't true, I run out of steam quickly.

Writing for this blog has been oddly difficult as well. There are stories I want to tell, but I haven't been able to figure out how to tell them here. I write things on FetLife, for my in-flesh kinkster friends who have become my community and local family of choice. Some day I'll figure out how to translate them here as well.

I was talking last night with someone who has also had an online "persona" which dropped off his radar when he got busy or overwhelmed. I don't think Galiana is a "persona" in the traditional sense, because Galiana is all honestly me (except the name), but Galiana is ... filtered me, focused me, a version of me that has been seen through a filter of "ready for the world and ready to please", and maybe that's the filter that I haven't been able to sustain lately.

Thankfully, though, in the midst of this season of not being able to focus on someone else's energy and match it consistently or for any predictable length of time, we settled my disability claim, which has provided significant financial breathing room for now. It would make me nuts not to do anything financially productive forever, unless I really couldn't come up with anything I can consistently commit to.

Also thankfully, I have ample opportunities to do activities which provide a lot of joy, but require very little concentration.

Indulge me, if you will, fine ladies and sirs, as I describe to you the life of Galiana Chance, Woman of Leisure.

Throwing Parties
There's an odd phenomenon with hosting a party. On one hand, yes, having a party requires a lot of concentration, especially with as picky as we are about the physical setup and the cheese selection. It's important. Don't judge.

But my home has the giant advantage of an easy escape to a comfy bed. It's unrealistic to expect other people to set up a separate vertigo station for me. The ability to take a break for an hour or two makes it much much easier to throw a party.

Also, our guests are good about helping clean up, bless their sweet hearts. I think it's a pity thing. And I'm okay with that.

So, every month, we've been throwing a shindig for 15-30 of my closest friends. And I've been attending a few shindigs that others throw, although I wish I could attend all of them.

Hosting a Meet n Greet
I felt like the local kinkster scene was missing a monthly event specifically geared for (a) people who get vertigo in crowds to have an escape hatch, and (b) to help newcomers feel welcomed and give them a way to meet other local kinksters. So I started one. It's a munch / meet n greet / open public meeting, whatever you want to call it.

It's extremely simple, and the layout is such that I can sit outside the room where the crowd is gathered, and I can talk with the few people at a time who are hanging out by the bar, under the auspices of "I'm watching for people entering so they can get a name tag". But really, it's way easier on my vertigo to be out by the bar. Shhhh. Don't tell anyone. We're averaging 30-40 people per month, which wildly exceeds my expectations.

When the Meet n Greet is on the same weekend as the parties we host at our house, I spend the whole week reserving energy for them. By the end of the night, I'm either sacked out upstairs with a cuddle buddy, or I'm endlessly grazing in the snack room, glassy-eyed, giving hugs and encouraging people to make fun of me. I'm useless for two days afterward, but it's fun, and it's worth it.

Halloween Season
We attended one kinkster costume-encouraged Halloween party, and we threw one. I went the lazy route with store-bought costumes from a local lingerie boutique / sex toy shop.

At home, I was the referee, where people kept offering to blow my whistle, and then offering to play me some horrible song about whistle blowing which I am clearly too old and grumpy to properly appreciate.

The one someone else hosted, I was "Major Tease" as it said on my name thing on my costume, but it was hotly debated whether I was a "tease" or a "slut" if I let multiple people grab my boobs. There was empirical testing done.

It was during this season of spirits that I decided my primary role at most parties is to be the best eye candy I can be, plus encourage my friends to grope me, and each other. Also, I engineer hookups for other people: play partners, smooching buddies, and cold girls with my eternally-warm-handed lover. I like the kinds of trouble I cause.

Spanksgiving

I know at least two people in St Louis who are going to be super mad to discover this information this way, but ... The week before Thanksgiving, I went to the StL3 Spanksgiving conference, where I changed outfits far more often than was necessary.

I forgot to take pictures of at least two outfits at the conference. The costume changes were seriously out of hand. But super ridiculous fun. Cameras aren't allowed in the main area, so the pics were in side areas or bathrooms, but that was the best I had. I felt like a stripper about to go onstage all weekend, but people kept telling me they loved my outfits, so what was I gonna do, disappoint them by staying in one outfit? Pffff. Clearly not.

I spent a wonderful, affirming weekend learning, smooching, getting groped, getting spanked, and distracting the off-duty cops working security. It's not my fault one of them is 6'8" and gorgeous and has a British accent! What was I supposed to do, let him feel neglected? When he works so hard to protect and serve? Noooooo, clearly the right thing to do was to bring him women and let him whisper naughty things in their ear so he could watch them melt. And maybe offer to let all the cops grope me, including the woman cop. It's not my fault I was raised to be friendly and inclusive.

But seriously, the presentations were amazing, the company was spectacular (Devant also had an amazing weekend - she got her name cut into her shoulder with a scalpel! Yeouch! She loved it), and the energy was fantastic. By the end of Saturday, I was a loopy weirdo space cadet, but I was getting so much happy energy that I just kept wandering around soaking it up. Thankfully, nobody expected me to be coherent. Whew.

Thanksgiving & The Formal Dinner

We had Thanksgiving dinner with several friends who did not have family-of-birth plans, and it ended up being a delightful family-of-choice time, with mind-blowingly delicious food and lovely conversation. I realized I was still recovering from Spanksgiving, which had ended four days earlier, when the spirited multi-way conversation going on around me no longer made sense, as if everyone was speaking gibberish.

That was when I understood for the first time that my vertigo crashes had adapted to stimulus of pleasant social overload by blocking my cognitive processes instead of giving me overwhelmingly unpleasant whirling sensations. Oh, silly Brain. Thanks for the adaptation. How about you work on adapting to not be dizzy at all? No? Okay, well then, I'll take "pleasantly confused" as a consolation prize.

A mere two days later, we had a Formal Dinner at our home, where people who wanted to be in service/submission for the evening literally served the rest of us, as if the ones being served were Victorian lords and ladies. I was asked? forced? encouraged? to step out of the limelight and let other submissives in the community organize and arrange everything. It was harrrrrrd! I kept wanting to help with stuff! But they were all mean to me and made me sit back and relax and be served! Crazy!

Our home looked amazing, with table linens and individual menus made especially for the event, and I honestly had to do very little in support. It was easily the most delicious dinner I have ever had outside of a fancy restaurant. And honestly, more delicious than some Zagat-rated meals I've had. Each of the four courses caused at least one foodgasm. And how do you top the memory of having flaming bananas foster in your house?!? It was so amazing that it felt like a dream. Was I really served ... in my home ... by a bunch of willing submissives ... exquisite pork loin and perfect mushroom risotto and creme brulee that brought tears to my eyes? In my home? I'll never forget it.

Then we went to someone else's home for a lovely play party afterward, where I got spanked a bit. It was a mild scene in terms of BDSM culture, but it was enough to melt me into a pile of useless vapid staring and giggles, so I became the after-care zombie cuddle buddy, which suited me quite well.

And More

That was just October and November. In December, I went to three kinkster holiday parties, one of which we hosted, and traveled back to Texas to see my awesome family. There were a lot of outfit changes. And I smooched a lot of girls. And I made my teddy bear servant cum without touching him (heh, that was fun). And my husband and I rekindled some mischievous energy. It was a fantastic month.

I got to confirm my growing understanding of my limits without the pressure of wanting to save energy for work, and the truth is that I can go a long long way socially, as long as nobody asks me to calculate a tip, remember the name of anything or anyone, or solve a puzzle involving rearranging objects in a limited amount of space. I would be utterly useless without my phone chirping reminders and storing lists for me, but I've figured out how to use it to manage around the lapses in my unfortunately spotty memory.

What I Can't Do These Days

Thank you for all the emails and twitters of concern over the past few months. The truth is, my vertigo isn't doing particularly well. I'm often confused. I often feel unable to drive safely, even short trips in town. I spend a lot of days on my own, snuggling with my dogs and limiting my sensory stimulation.

I thought maybe I'd be able to start up a podcast. I'm sure I would have a modest, loyal audience if I launched it. So for most of January, I slowed down my social calendar and tried to build enough juice to make it happen.

It turns out, I can't. It's not that I don't want to, I just can't. I can't sustain the concentration I need to do even short bursts of podcasting, because there are so many other technical pieces which go along with the podcast, other than just the recording, and I can't get myself from here to there. Not yet. I hope someday, but not yet. That's been understandably disappointing.

And clearly, I can't write blogs very often. This one took me two weeks. I'll keep doing it, as I can, because I like keeping in touch with the few readers who continue to pop in. And I like having it to return to when I get better again. Hi! Thank you for still checking here! Mmmmmmmwuh!

What I Can Do These Days

I am obviously finding ways to enjoy myself in this season. Clearly, I'm not suffering. I'm attempting to let go of the shame and sorrow of not feeling productive. I'm over-compensating by telling my friends on FetLife my opinions of their personal issues way more often than I probably should.

And sometimes, I have given people a different perspective on their situations in ways they have found helpful. Or at least they've told me it was helpful, which was nice. So I'm doing best to be an encouragement to my in-person friends and family here.

Since I can't figure out how to do financially productive work anymore, I have gone back to trying new anti-vertigo medicines. The first one was hopeful at first, but after 4 days, I had horrible rebound, so that was an unfortunate no. It made me go back and try a few fast-acting ones that had worked in the past, but they all had the same effects as before.

Today is Day 4 of a new medicine that needs to build up slowly in my bloodstream. I can't tell what it's doing exactly, but I did have the urge yesterday to talk like a hick all day. Really. This big, fat Texan twang kept coming out of my mouth. It was deeply amusing. It seems to be gone today, but it certainly counts as the most bizarre and hilarious possible side effect yet.

So I'm doing the best I can do with what I have in this season. It is good enough. I am extraordinarily grateful that if I have to be in a season where I can't be financially productive, at least I don't have to worry about bills being paid. It's a good life, and I'm glad I get to live it.

As always, feel free to drop me an email (see the Contact and Links page) any time to check up on me, tell me your good news, tell me your sad news, whatever. I'll write back when I can, but it often won't be right away.

First Stand Up

I happened to be at an open mic for stand-up, so I decided to try my hand. I've suspected I wouldn't be horrible at it, and sure enough, it wasn't horrible (except for about 45 seconds near the beginning, which I edited out).

Enjoy :)



And if anybody feels like transcribing it so I can have the whole text of it at the end of this blog post, please feel free to do so and send it to me.

Summer Solstice Kaboom

It's been a good week

I wrote to my lover yesterday, "So apparently I'm having a little explosion of energy at the moment. Happy Summer Solstice... Here's a potential new lover and a potential new submissive. Kaboom."

The rest of this blog post is the Galiana-length version of that unusually-well-summarized paragraph.

Although I'm not primarily pagan, I do enjoy recognizing seasonal celebrations, and taking the opportunity to examine my life and its cyclical patterns. Summer Solstice is a time to remember the tending and waiting and watering of prior seasons, and to celebrate new growth.

I think it's obvious from my recent upward trend of blogging volume that I'm feeling a bit better than I was March-May. I worked hard to heal my back from its injury, which is finally paying off with fewer muscle relaxers, which leaves me far more energy and mental clarity and libido.

In addition to my energy return, my husband recently negotiated his annual contract renewal with great success. Now I am officially responsible for none of our shared expenses at all. One hundred percent of my earnings are now going to me: plane tickets for family visits, spending money, Galiana's hosting expenses, charities, saving up for a newer car.

However, the raise was not enough to pay for regular maid service. I mean, we keep up with dishes and laundry and trash and surface wipe-downs, so our home isn't gross. But between me, my husband, and our roommate (aka his live-in girlfriend aka Devant), we never choose deep-cleaning, vacuuming, or dusting. So at our last roommate dinner, we agreed we'd all rather pitch in a little spending money than do it ourselves.

But of course, nothing is simple with our kooky life these days. We have sex stuff everywhere. My red room has a lingerie bar and my favorite vibrators out, the guest bedroom has a sex toy bookshelf, all three beds have bondage rope or chain, and the dining room and garage look like workshops for building leather and wood BDSM gear because... well... they are.

So we could hire a regular maid service, but we'd have to pack everything away before each visit, because the town is small and enough to warrant some caution, given my husband's very mainstream job (which, did I mention, is paying all our bills now?). A better choice would be someone from the kinkster community.

Which leads us to the polite, respectful emails I've been getting since I moved here from... well, we'll call him teddybearslave. He doesn't come out to community events, but he's very interested in serving. Requests for details only reinforced that he wants to serve.

Frankly, his emails were so simple that I had no sense of the guy as a human being. So the thought of negotiating for real-time domestic service filled me with a slight sense of dread. I pictured him being super-noodly and repeating, "anything you want, Mistress" while secretly resenting me for not reading his mind and for not magically producing his deepest fantasies, which he would never actually voice to me, which would then build up into some awkward situation where he felt taken advantage of, and I felt lied to.

I'd rather pay someone than have that.

But he mentioned housework, and he has been respectful, and we need someone to clean our home, and I'm going to be exchanging sexual energy with someone in order to make the money to pay to get the house cleaned, right? It would be lovely if it were a straight-up exchange with the person cleaning, wouldn't it? I figured it was worth a brief in-person, in-public interview on Thursday, with all my usual safety first-meeting protocols, even though it felt like I was playing the lottery.

I like math. I'm good at math. So as a rule, I don't play the lottery.

But within five minutes, I knew I'd hit the jackpot. I cannot believe my luck. He's adorable, articulate, shyly amusing, and once he relaxed a bit, he has this fantastically mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He's got the teddy-bear ex-lumberjack type build of a guy who was a manual laborer for 20 years before being promoted into blue-collar management. He may be a tad pudgier now than in his heyday, but I wouldn't bet against him in a deadlift competition.

He exudes calm. And strength. And a desire to serve. It's not a chickenshit answer for him: his fetish really is as simple as serving; when he knows he's making someone else happy, whether sexually or logistically or whatever, he's in his bliss.

I told him we were negotiating as equals, peers, two adults figuring out if we had overlap. Although we may play with the dynamic, in reality, I know I am not superior to him. I don't want to be served by a thing with no inner life; I want to be served by a person who is capable of explaining what he wants and needs. His grin and nod felt like the contract handshake of a gentleman.

He's married, and his wife knows he plays, but they have a "don't ask, don't tell" agreement, so he has to fit play time into weekdays. He has seen pro Dommes before, but he can't afford it regularly. He had fantasized about trading service for play time, or heck, even just providing service, but others been too inflexible for his offer. Or, maddeningly, they were too disrespectful of his relationship with his wife to accept his limitations. Their loss.

Speaking of flexible, he said he loves the idea of not knowing what to expect ahead of time. He got slack-jawed when I said I would love to decide what to do based on my "whims of the day". He feels it's easier to trust that I'm really letting him serve that way, if I choose on the fly, instead of following some kind of script.

So our regular pattern will be an hour of cleaning followed by an hour of playtime, every week or every other, as we can schedule.

Play time could be him pampering me with a foot rub or massage. Or it could be me teasing him until he begs, denying him an orgasm, and sending him home all worked up. Or it could be me putting on a strap-on and grabbing a cane, tying him to the bed and reducing him to a man-puddle by striping and fucking his ass until he comes screaming.

Have I mentioned my variety fetish lately? He's perfect.

Oh, also, it would be super-erotic for him to wearing frilly girly things while he cleans, and would I mind if he left them at my place? HolyShitThat'sFuckingAwesome.

So. It seems I have a domestic servant. Y'know, like you do. Oh, wait, no, not at all like I've ever done before. Not even close. Whose crazy life is this?

Then Thursday night, after Devant and my husband went to bed, the thing finally happened that I've been waiting to feel for months now: I was bored and frisky. For the first time in months. My to-do list wasn't overwhelming me. I wasn't muddled up or dampened by medicine interactions. It was fantastic.

I could have opened up my phone sex line. I could have reached out to any one of several dozen people who I feel like I neglected all spring. I could have tested the appointment-making widget for the blog (coming soon, I'm sure). But no, this was a delicious, golden moment - a solstice gift - and I wanted to be selfish with it, because it wasn't just bored and frisky, it had a certain edge to it...

I wanted to hunt for fresh meat.

That's an urge I haven't felt since last September, in the middle of my moving stress. But I haven't felt a huntress urge in such a celebratory way since probably 2003. I certainly wasn't gonna squander it on doing anything sensible. Fuck that.

My match list on OKCupid was full of faces who weren't there the last time I checked it. Well, hello there, mister 98% match, 0% enemy, with a geek-hippie profile and the implication you want to explore BDSM from both sides of the power exchange. Don't mind if I do. We'll call you GeekSwitch.

One fun message led to another, which led to chat, which led to cybering. Having text-sex over chat, fer fux sake! How did I magically get transported back to 2003? It was right after my divorce, when I was rebuilding my sense of self by indulging in sexual exploration with people I met online in Austin. Online + Austin = a dating pool teeming with geeks and engineers. So, yeah, a big cheer for programmers who can type one-handed. It was fucking luscious.

Tuesday, I'm topping teddybearslave for the first time. Then GeekSwitch and I might hang out Tuesday night. My toes keep curling in anticipation for both of them.

Happy summer solstice to me. Kaboom indeed.

Smooch Slut

mmmmmmmwuh!

I love kissing. I love it a lot. It's so intimate, so easy to slide into a place of wanting this moment to last forever. The taste, the scents, the touch. Feeling someone respond to the slightest of movements, matching pressure, exploring.

And when it's someone new, it's a huge rush to initiate sexual contact for the first time. I'm pretty sure I can tell whether or not I'd enjoy having sex with someone based on three minutes or less of kissing. And I'm irrationally happy for a couple of days after I kiss someone new.

I'm a bit of a smooch slut. The day I left for college, I'd kissed 36 people (and by kissing I mean making out long enough to have a sense of how someone uses their tongue). Most of my friends had kissed that many people too. It was common to make out with your date to a party or a formal and not expect anything to come of it. I didn't realize until later that most people's high school cultures aren't that open. Lucky me!

I slowed down significantly in college and my 20s (kissees 37-48), had a big rush in my early 30s with a few in my late 30s as well (kissees 49-78), and then had another smoochsplosion, especially since I moved here in October: 10 people (kissees 79-88).

I love being a slut.

A few weeks ago, I had an incredibly fun kissing experience. I visited family in Houston with an extra day in Chicago afterward. I got to chatting with an attractive Australian before my Chicago flight. I texted my husband I was probably going to smooch an Aussie to calm my nerves before the flight, and he texted back, "Have fun, mile-high girl."

Although we didn't kiss that day, I managed to tell him I was a phone sex operator, which opened up fascinating conversations for us. After the flight, there was a lovely hug, and I told him I'd be in town unaccompanied the next day between 1 and 5 pm, and although I'd likely still seem drunk from the vertigo, did he want to meet me for coffee?

Coffee turned into hanging out at the Chicago Cultural Center, which I hear is beautiful, but I wouldn't know, because we only saw the cafe. We holed away on comfortable lounges in the back and talked about life for our little stolen hours instead of seeing the glass domes and artwork. Silly me.

He hasn't explored his dominant side as much as he'd like to, but he thinks if he did, he'd focus on tying up a woman and pleasing her orally until she begged for him to stop. "Why yes, I think it's possible for you to get involved with kinkster/BDSM groups and find women to take you up on that. No, I promise, I'm not lying." Silly Aussie.

Our time was drawing to a close, my head had settled down a bit, and I told him I thought we should kiss. He seemed genuinely surprised, but happily receptive, so with my body shielding us from the other cafe patrons, we did. There it was, the thrill of a new connection, the fun of learning another's responses. It didn't even take one minute, much less three, to know that the next time we're in the same city, I'm bringing silk ties and finding a bed and a couple of hours of privacy. He was my 88th.

When I told my local in-person lover about the Aussie, he replied, "The kissing fairy strikes again! Good for you!" and then told me about research he'd read about the positive hormones dumped into your system when you kiss a new partner. He's wonderful.

I've only had sex with my husband and my in-person lover since we moved here, but I've kissed 5 men and 3 women, including the Aussie, my photographer, and my husband's live-in girlfriend. My husband and I now have standing permission to kiss whomever we wish at scene / play parties. I briefly contemplated throwing a party to get me from 89 to 100 (call it a Dirty Dozen party), but I think I prefer to let my numbers rise organically.

I think my most memorable necking session was in my early 30s, during my post-divorce rampage. I had met this guy online, and we realized via chat that we wanted totally different things from a relationship, but we had good buddy chemistry, so we kept in touch over a couple of months via lazy, friendly chatting. He hadn't gotten laid since his divorce, and I was crazy horny one evening, so I said, "We should break your celibacy streak to take the pressure off your dates, y'know. As a favor for them." He laughed at me and invited me over with a "Why the hell not?".

And yet, even with that introduction to the evening, knowing I was there to fuck him, he still insisted on starting on the couch and making out with our clothes on, like teenagers in the living room, for at least 30 minutes. Probably 45. I was in heaven. I remember the sex only vaguely, but I remember the kissing as if it were yesterday because it went long enough to make me hyper-aware of every movement: the skin on my cheek sensitive from his 5 o'clock shadow, the way his fingertips traced the hollow of my neck, the feeling of his tongue enjoying my lips...

I think it's fair to say that for anybody I had connected well with via phone sex, I would at least be willing to kiss them in person, for at least three minutes. I'm looking forward to someone taking me up on that some day. Maybe you'll be my #100!

Impregnating Galiana

I'm WHAT?!?

From an animal, biological perspective, it makes sense that people fantasize about getting a woman pregnant. The sex drive was created for creation, after all. Planting your seed deep inside to start a new life with your imprint... it's a primal urge.

In case you're wondering, no, I don't have kids. As far as I know, I've never been pregnant. I have, however, used dozens of pregnancy tests when circumstances were theoretically right to make the plus sign, but I always got a minus. In reality, since I got vertigo, I'm grateful it never happened. Kids are wiggly buggers.

But in fantasy, none of the potential disadvantages of a pregnancy surface: no child support, no lifetime of contact with a crazy baby mama, and no midnight grocery store runs for pickles and ice cream for an "irritable walrus", as my best friend described herself while pregnant.

Galiana. Honestly. Do you even try to turn people on anymore? Or does the whole world only exist to amuse you? /sigh

Oh, don't worry. The fantasy turns me on tremendously. And I know I'm not alone.

Of course, I'm never on the pill. And you know I hate the condoms we use as much as you do, so you get an idea that if you tease me and get me really close to orgasm, you may be able to talk me out of it when I'm fuck-crazed.

Or I'm extraordinarily drunk and horny and one thing leads to another and you mean to pull out, but then I'm begging you to come inside me... and really, then, whose fault is it exactly?

Or it's my wedding day, and you sneak into the church in that quiet hour before the ceremony begins, and you catch me alone, and I reluctantly admit I'm hoping to get knocked up tonight on my wedding night with my new husband. This is exactly why I hadn't invited you to the wedding, you bastard, because I never could say no to you, especially at this time of the month...

Often, though, it's not about the scenario or the role play. If I know you have the fantasy urge to multiply with impunity, even if the rest of our time together has nothing to do with getting me pregnant, I can beg you to "fuck a baby into me" and ka-boom! The intensity of our orgasms go through the roof, knowing the future will change forever when we climax.

And then, the delicious changes in my body... /grin

Writing While Pondering

(Warning: this blog post contains irrational capitalization and emphasis, because apparently that's What Needs to Happen Today as if my thoughts are the titles of published articles, or as if I were writing in the 19th century. I assume the urge for caps case will fade, but apparently I couldn't write today without it.)

I don't feel quite THIS helpless today,
but it certainly conveys a need, doesn't it?
Plus, I love my boobs in this picture.

I've been traveling for two weeks (decadent of me... the last hurrah from my windfalls from March), visiting family in Houston (which was comforting and nourishing as always), and seeing a friend in a show in Chicago (I am ashamed that I only seem to support the arts when I know participants, but I guess it's better than never supporting the arts). It was an absurd amount of travel for someone with motion sickness issues.

My mode of operation on the trips was, "Fuck It, I'll Probably Be Fine". Practically speaking, that means I didn't save any energy for tomorrow's activities, instead choosing to recover when needed. It was the equivalent of asking for forgiveness rather than permission between me and my Inner Energy Tank. I did indeed need some recovery times, but I think the anti-worrying approach served me fairly well overall. We'll see if it leads to me working more often (/fingers crossed)

So now I'm back at home, with no injury-level back pain anymore (yay!), with some good fuel in my tank of sexy energy (yay!) and ready to Start Taking Calls (yay!). Exciting!

In theory.

I mean, that's what should be happening, right? It should be my top priority, right? Getting back in the game? Kicking off my summer with a bang of being available 50+ hours / week like in the good ol' days when I first started? Enjoying the luscious boost of energy of being discovered by someone new?

In theory, yes. Absolutely. In theory.

In reality, I'm scattered. And I'm not sure why.

I can easily justify some of the tasks I'm choosing to do today while decisively Not Taking Calls: updating bills and budgets, going grocery shopping, taking out trash and recycling, washing travel clothes, that research favor I promised my friend weeks ago, updating my blog. These are urgent things, necessary things, easy to justify, easy enough to do.

But for 2 hours after I woke up, I did things I cannot justify: Looking up literary agents who represent both erotica and non-fiction to propose a book including some of my more popular blog posts. Researching hosting providers for podcasts. Playing with backgrounds and lighting in case I want to do a video Q&A podcast.

Hmmm. These activities are suspiciously not the same as Taking Calls. These activities are suspiciously not helping move me toward Taking Calls. No, these activities sound like a to-do list for someone who does not want to be Taking Calls at all. Interesting.

It seems that I am now officially Writing While Pondering. Hopefully it's not as dangerous as Dialing While Drunk, but my audience is theoretically larger than one phone call, so it could be even more catastrophic. I'll pretend it'll work out all right. Can you please bear with me while I try to figure out what's going on in my sometimes-non-linear-and-irrational mind? Thanks.

What would have made far more sense: answering the dozens of NiteFlirt emails which have now grown into a Massive Reminder of My Failures In Life so overwhelming that I pretend they're not there. That would get me back in touch with callers I know I love...

But scattered in my NiteFlirt emails are reminders I may not entirely enthusiastic about. Either they are coworkers who send me customer mailings which can drive me into feeling inadequate because I compare myself to Every Single Thing I Am Not Currently Doing, or they are callers who ask me to do things I don't yet feel the energy to do.

(By the way, none of the customers I'm currently avoiding read my blog. Even though it sounds like a lie, I really do like all my blog readers. I think I find it much easier to have energy I for people when I think they might care about me as a person, and not just as a service provider. And let's be honest, at this point, my blog has so little phone sex in it that the only readers I have left are people interested in me as a person, right?)

I have said many times that it is far easier to take a call with someone I know than it is to log on for The Whole World. Logging on blind, not knowing who will call or what they may want... that takes guts. Courage. Self-assurance. Energy. That is, I think, the hardest thing about my job: being ready to answer the phone for The Whole Wide World With All Its Craziness. And courage, self-assurance, and guts are probably in a bit of short supply at the moment after three months of trying not to pressure myself while recovering from a seriously unpleasant back injury.

I'm not quite ready yet to convert humiliation aimed at me into erotic energy. I'm not quite ready yet to make up multiple stories in a row about how I accidentally shrink and swallow someone while the caller remains silent, withholding his responses while I spin tales into a feedback-less abyss. I'm not quite ready yet to hang up on someone for violating the terms of service, my personal limits, and my overall interest in interacting with humanity by blurting out, "And then I bring in a horse to fuck you, and you're all tied up, so you can't stop me!"

I just... can't quite get there yet.

(Thankfully, the day the horse call actually happened, I was in a great mood - I laughed out loud and hung up, then mocked the caller to my husband. The phrase "And then you fuck a horse!" said with a raspy, nasally East Coast voice, is still a common source of laughter in our home.)

(FYI: In general, I don't resent people who have fantasies about taboo subjects, but I need those to be respectfully negotiated to ensure I am on board. If I am not on board, the caller needs to find someone else who is. Taboo subjects sprung on me mid-fantasy, clearly hoping for a shocked response, deserve a good *hahahaha*click*.)

(Also, for the record, being non-consensually tied up and violated by a horse is not a fantasy I am willing to participate in. My apologies and regrets to all you nice guys stuck with unpleasant fantasies you would rather not have. I wish you luck in your search, I do, and sometimes I can be a taboo girl, and some taboos I genuinely love, but not that particular one.)

Okay, so I'm not quite ready to take on The Whole Big Bad Crazy World quite yet. That's understandable, right? Yes. Yes, it it is. It's understandable. My Inner Therapist can deliver that message with a lot of sincerity: It is absolutely understandable to be not quite ready to take on The Whole Big Bad Crazy World.

You know what I think I need to get my head back in the game? Appointments with callers I know and love.

Well. That was simple. Why exactly did it take me all this time to reach that conclusion? No idea. It seems so blatantly obvious now. Share a few luscious orgasms with people I trust -- easy!

So if you've been waiting on me to return, please email me. And please include a few date/times that you would like to talk, and what you'd like to talk about, and I'll make a time for us to hang out. I won't even require a 30-minute minimum to make an appointment - let's say for the next 2 weeks. Other than my chiropractor, and other people taking me up on this offer, I have no time commitments.

Also, if we have never spoken yet, but you've been looking for me, drop me an email describing what you want to talk about - it would be fantastic to have a Fun New Caller Boost if we share things in the center of my Lust Landscape, like... ummm... You guiding my masturbation. Or you describing what you'd like to do to me to make me come. Or you begging to be allowed to climax while I masturbate and tell you keep holding on.

Well, now, all of a sudden, I'm short of breath and wondering where my fresh batteries are. That is lovely indeed.

I'm sure after a dozen or so calls, I'll wonder what the hell my problem was, and fall back into a routine of availability again. I look forward to it, in fact. Very much. I don't like feeling vaguely afraid. It doesn't suit me. I'm more of a Grab Life By The Horns and Don't Let the Crazy People Get You Down kind of a gal. I look forward to being so again very soon.

PSO FAQ

I've been asked a lot of questions about being a Phone Sex Operator, so I thought I'd pull together a Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ). Enjoy!

What does PSO stand for?

Phone Sex Operator, which I've been since July 2010.

Why did you become a Phone Sex Operator?

I was a theater major (1988-1992), who became a self-taught learn-on-the-job programmer/data analyst/tech consultant/business analyst/IT manager (1995-2009), then I came down with a mysterious neurological vertigo that makes me feel drunk all the time and prevents me from managing geeks (2009-present).

When I found a medicine that balanced my brain chemistry enough to allow me to talk on the phone, answer emails, and write blog entries now and then, I realized I had the skills to try being a phone whore, so I tried it, I love it SO MUCH I CAN'T STAND IT, and I'm still doing it!

Why did you choose NiteFlirt (and MyPhoneSite, which I started doing later)?

I researched phone sex companies by doing something brilliant like googling "phone sex jobs", and talked with my friend who had done NiteFlirt.com (which works the same way MyPhoneSite.com does in terms of starting up). Here's what I found:

- The Basics : NiteFlirt, MyPhoneSite, VIPWithMe, TalkSugar, and a few other similar sites are essentially platforms for independent PSOs (I'll lump them all together as "NiteFlirt" or "NF" for the rest of this post, but I probably mean all of them unless I specify otherwise), so you set up your own ads (listings), and you don't report to anybody. When you work with a phone sex company like LDW Group or one of the 800 numbers in the back of porn mags (which I'll call "a company" or "companies"), they set up your listing for you, and you report to someone.

- Schedule : Many companies require 40 hours a week, or for you to maintain a set schedule. I am incapable of committing to any type of regular schedule (see vertigo above), so that disqualified most of them for me. NiteFlirt lets you log in and out as you wish. Typically, the more time you're available, the better you do.

- Traffic : Companies drive their own traffic by putting out ads, etc, but some of them also require you to drive traffic by participating in chat rooms, blogging, or other activities. You should be able to quickly build a full shift of calls with a company. NiteFlirt specifically has tremendous traffic (in the top 100 adult sites on Alexa - by far the highest of any phone-sex-focused website), but also has thousands of active providers, so the competition is fierce. Many independent PSOs choose to help drive traffic by having blogs, twitter, taking out ads, etc, but you don't have to. I've heard anecdotally that many people take three to six months to build a full shift of calls, and even then, it's much less steady and much less of a sure thing than with companies.

- Time-to-income ratio : Many independents (NiteFlirt, etc) spend 2-4 hours being available for calls for every hour they spend actually on a phone call getting paid. From what I understand of companies (although I've never worked for one), it's more like 1 hour of available for each hour of talk, and that improves as you build regular favorites.

- Pay Rate : On NiteFlirt, you set your own rate and make 60-65% of the rate you set. Other independent sites go as high as 70%. The exact NF formula is: (YourRate - 0.20/min) * 70%. So if your rate is $0.99/min, you'll get $0.55/min and if your rate is $1.49/min, you'll get $0.90/min, and if your rate is $1.99/min, you'll get $1.25/min. Companies typically pay 30-70 cents per minute of talk time.

The most I made in a week was $1,700, and my rate was $0.99/min at the time - but I was available about 80 hours that week, and that included tributes (like tips, and you get to keep 70%) and Amazon gift cards (which I count as income). However, most weeks when I'm available at least 50 hours, I usually make between $600-$1000. The less I'm available, the less predictable my income. I know women who make more, and women who make less. Your mileage WILL CERTAINLY vary. For planning purposes, I guesstimate an average of $20/hour when I'm available.

- Taxes : Independent sites DO NOT take out taxes, so you have to send in self-employment taxes quarterly (if you're in the US). I don't know about companies.

- Pay Schedule : NiteFlirt wins this one hands down: if you set up direct deposit, they sweep your earnings out of your account EVERY DAY and send them to your bank, where they are usually directly deposited about a week later, depending on your bank and other logistics -- that rocks. Most independents and companies pay one or two times per month, although some more frequently.

- Getting Customers : The easiest way to build customers as an independent is to start cheap -- if you're $0.99/min you will get calls once your listing is started. The irrational thing about getting your listing started on NiteFlirt is that you don't show up in searches until you have at least 2 points (you get points by having a 15-minute call or from someone leaving you feedback). So, to get your listing started without breaking any rules (because you are NOT allowed to call yourself or leave your own feedback), your best bet is to have a friend or lover make an account and call you (spend at least $2 so s/he's allowed to leave feedback), and then leave feedback. If you have a couple of willing friends, then "seed" your account this way up to 10 or 20 points - after that, the calls will come in on their own. Yes, this is ethically questionable, but as long as there isn't a way to search for new listings, it's the best way to work around a broken system.

If you're above $0.99/min then you'll just have to wait - one of the top providers on NiteFlirt started a listing at $2.49/minute on a whim (she was unemployed, but a lifestyle Mistress in real life), and left herself logged in for three months, totally forgetting about it, but remembered when the first call came in, and she got lucky and that guy stayed on with her for two hours and sent her tributes and helped rocket her to the top of the listings, where it's easier for people to find you.

Twitter, blog, ads, chat, skype -- your mileage may vary on those. Some people swear by each of them, some people got nothing from each of them.

If you're with a company, they should be driving calls to you, or telling you what to do to drive calls.

Either way, as an independent or with a company, your best way to get customers is to make your existing callers happy so they return. Repeat customers are the easiest, by far far far far far. I can't stress that enough: the easiest way to get phone calls is to please the callers you get.

- Availability : If you're independent, the best way to drive more calls is to be available more often. If you're available at the same time most days, guys start building you into their habitual routines, which is how to make good money. You can't log in for a different 10 hours each week and expect to be busy. Consistency and availability are your friends.

- Multiple Characters : Some PSOs create multiple characters, where each character has a different look and feel. If you're using your own pictures, wigs and outfits and camera angles can do wonders, as can colors and fonts and word choices on your listings. If you're buying someone else's pictures (also called "content") then you can just buy a different set. Since I've never bought content, I'm no help there, but I understand most PSOs guard their content sources as if it were the arc of the covenant... It's very difficult to find models that nobody else is using.

I did, however, create another character using suggestive pictures of my eyes / lips / decolletage, and I had a different speech pattern and a fictional back story for her. Logistically, I found it dizzying (literally) to be logged into multiple characters at once, because you have about 20 seconds from the time you pick up the phone to when the phone call starts to log out of your other characters. But it is clearly true that creating more characters, and having your listings on multiple services, drives more traffic. In the end, I can't do it well - I feel guilty and awkward about keeping details straight on a fictional persona, and I find the logistics stressful when I'm logged into multiple services or multiple characters.

I know some industry people might be shocked or angry that I put this information on a public blog, because it reveals the "industry secret" that sometimes the pictures on a listing are not the actual pictures of the person you're talking with. However, I'm okay sharing it because (a) it's not a well-kept secret (b) not everyone uses content - I know lots of providers who use their own pictures (c) the PSOs who use content pictures often have good reasons to do so, like having school-aged children at home and a crazy ex-husband who would sue for custody if they were discovered, (d) it's clear that many providers using content pictures are amazing at their jobs as well as doing the right thing to protect their family, and finally (e) phone sex, to me, is best when two people are mutually experiencing the energy of a fantasy, and I think that is primarily about the connection - you can have amazing phone sex with someone while picturing their voice coming from someone else's body. So it doesn't matter to me, and I know it doesn't matter to a lot of phone sex callers.

Other Thoughts

- Creepers and Safety : Yes, you'll get creepy calls, but I've talked with over 1,000 men, and I've only blocked 5. Other PSOs have much higher ratios, but still, most callers are genuinely nice people. Your phone number and your identity is protected by the service, so they can only find you if you give them enough information to find you (from your blog, twitter, what you say). Your phone number is protected because they call the service and then the service calls you, but there is no way for either of you to see the other person's number.

- Video : The highest per-minute rates are usually for women who are willing to do videos or go on camera by the minute instead of just over the phone. But obviously, one of the appeals of being a PSO is that you can be anonymous, so if you need to be anonymous, you absolutely can make it to the front page of NiteFlirt by using someone else's pictures... in fact, on any given day, probably at least one person has.

- My Blog : I have blogged ridiculous amounts about being a PSO. If you look at the Categories and click PSO and its subcategories, you'll get more complicated thoughts, and be able to see how my ideas have evolved over time.

More Questions?

I actually kinda love talking about this, so feel free to comment if you have more questions, and I'll try to incorporate the more common ones I may have missed by editing this post.

The truth is, I love to help new PSOs, and help people who are considering becoming PSOs, when I can. Other people helped me when I first started. It's good karma!

Galiana and Devant

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Listings Rework

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A Holiday Message

A little video holiday message from me, even though there are just a few applicable days left:

Or, in case the embedded player doesn't work, here's the link to YouTube: Galiana's Holiday Message

Or, in case you don't feel like seeing me in motion, here's the text (without a few ums and y'knows stripped out, and with a few words added in for clarification):

Hi world! It's Galiana Chance, and although I am wearing an excessively silly Santa hat (and I recognize that it is excessively silly), I have a somewhat serious thing to say about the holidays which is that:

The holidays are rough for a lot of people. And if the holidays are rough for you, first of all, I'm sorry. Secondly, if you're not necessarily in a state where you're going to hurt yourself or where you need a suicide hotline or something, but you want somebody to tell good memories, or hard memories, or why you don't feel good about going home, or what that whole experience is like, or whatever... but if you just have some holiday thinking that you want to do [with someone], feel free to call [me].

Unfortunately, I don't have the time, space, and energy to process every person in the whole world's holiday thoughts without getting paid for it, but if you've been a blog reader and that seems like something that would be interesting to you, feel free [to call my phone sex lines].

I'm not a therapist, I'm not going to pretend to be a therapist, but I will do my best to listen. And if you wish, I will share complementary stories back with you about my own family craziness and all that jazz, and let you know that I'm sorry that it's hard.

I hope that you enjoy every piece of the holiday season that you can enjoy, and that you savor the most out of the rest of the year as much as possible.

I wish you all the best. Mmmmmwuh! /blow kiss