Groggy Warning

I have a new pattern of grogginess: midnight to noon.

I try to counteract with caffeine, and sometimes that helps, but most days, the deeper I am in the midnight-to-noon time frame, the more I behave and sound like I live in California and have a medical marijuana prescription.

The odd thing is, it doesn't necessarily mean I'm sleepy. I can be wide awake and groggy, which is occasionally annoying, but usually it's more dreamy and relaxing for me as long as I'm not trying to problem-solve or intellectually analyze anything. My groggies have often been amusing to others who have witnessed it.

Last night, between about 8:30 pm and midnight, I was having a lovely time with a series of callers, when the start of the groggies hit me. I logged out, assuming that would be the end of my night, then I got an email from a favorite regular requesting time, so I logged back in to connect with him. We got on the phone, and he said, "You sound sleepy, or maybe a little stoned." Oops.

Thankfully, he thought it was cute that I was slightly incoherent, and since his normal modus operandi is to tease me until I'm begging to come (at which point I'm rarely totally coherent anyway), it all worked out fine.

But just in case, I thought I'd warn you: I turn into a pumpkin with a smooshy brain at midnight, and only get gigglier and dreamier from there.

Adjustments

I took a while off from blogging (several of you dropped me a note to ask if I was okay - thank you!) for a few reasons, which can be summarized in this statement:

I had a bit of an adjustment disorder

(the wikipedia article is pretty good for explanation)

In the two months before Feb 15, we knew that we might need to move, and that my husband might need to find a different job. In the three months between Feb 15 and June 15:

• we found out we would need to move (adjustment to new home)
• we moved - not just into a new home, but from Austin to Houston, which was somewhat unexpected (adjustment to new city)
• I had to figure out how social I could be living closer to my family without trashing myself vertigo-wise (adjustment to changes in social opportunities)
• my husband got a job which required him to be mostly in Austin, even though I was in Houston, so we went from spending almost 24/7 together for two years to being in a long-distance relationship (adjustment in primary support relationship, adjustment in living arrangement logistics, adjustment in finances)
• after a week on the new job, my husband got a better offer for a better job which requires him to frequently be out of state, which required a whole host of logistical adjustments (adjustment in primary support relationship, adjustment in living arrangement logistics, adjustment in finances)
• I started a new anti-vertigo medicine which seemed for a while like it might give me a life free of vertigo crashes, so I significantly ramped up my level of physical and social activity (adjustment in health and activity level)
• I had a severe vertigo crash on the new medicine, which was, to put it mildly, hugely disappointing, and it helped me realize I needed to re-think the level of activity I had been attempting to maintain on the new meds (adjustment in health an activity level)

It was a lot to adjust to. Apparently I needed a bit of time to obsessively play DungeonRaid on my iPhone and wander around Houston dog parks engaging other pet fanatics in long conversations about training tips and breed-specific behaviors.

I am in week six-ish of my "new" horse tranquilizer anti-vertigo medicines, so I will now stop calling them "new" and will heretofore simply refer to them as my medicine. 

I am absolutely delightedly grateful that my meds my have allowed me to go from an activity level of about 40% of my pre-vertigo potential to about 60%. I thought for a while that I was gonna get 80% and I won't lie, I didn't take it particularly well when I found out that 80% was out of reach. 80% would have been nice.

But 60% is a damn fine improvement, and I plan on enjoying the hell out of it, now that I seem to be mostly recovered from the shock of losing the dream of 80%.

The most peculiar change, is what happens when I push it too far: before I get dizzy, I get sleepy, as if the sedation effects of the horse tranquilizers kick into high gear, accompanied by an intense craving for baked sweet goods like donuts and cupcakes. If I don't rest immediately, I'm out of commission for a while with dizziness and nausea. Well, maybe the nausea is caused by convenience-store-quality pastries, like plastic-wrapped honey buns and powdered sugar donuts. It's hard to say, really.

But I am a lucky lucky woman indeed: I can do more, my recovery rest periods are shorter, and I am more productive overall.

Well, as long as I don't reinstall DungeonRaid...

New Lover Warning Labels

I should have the following warning labels attached to me when meeting with new lovers in person for the first time:

• I tend to avoid looking directly into people's eyes for more than just a brief moment at a time because it makes me dizzy faster (eyes are wiggly)
• Although I go limp and submissive when some people get all rough and tough and toppy with me, other people inspire giggles when they attempt to be growly
• I need to take a break about once an hour; thankfully, I've never been with a lover who can go for longer than an hour straight with no break, either, even without vertigo
• If you are in from out of town with no rental car, and I am providing your local transportation, my car will probably smell like dogs who went straight from a dog park pool to my back seat, because I will probably forget to get my car washed or detailed
• I will probably get a manicure and pedicure before your arrival, just to feel pampered and pretty, but I will probably guess completely wrong whether you prefer women to look natural and neutral or vamped up and slutty
• Our first moments together spent in person, adjusting to each others' energy, might be spent at a grocery store to ensure there are beverages and snacks in the hotel room, and it might not occur to me until later that some people may find this bit of practical planning utterly unromantic
• I'm the type who figures things out by trying, which sometimes results in the jacuzzi jets positioned for the middle back to spray me unceremoniously in the face
• If you insist on trying the whole spend-the-night-together concept despite my repeated attempts to explain my extraordinary levels of sedated grogginess before and after sleeping (anti-vertigo med side effect), I will feel free to use the phrase "Go away now" liberally
• Conversations attempted before noon sometimes result in me staring at you in silence for an inordinately long time; if this happens, please know that I am trying to figure out if I still retain the ability to speak
• I lose track of time in the shower, especially before noon, so if you postulate that "45 minutes should be enough time for you to shower before they close down the breakfast bar", I might stare at you like a grumpy child and shake my head "no" with no further explanation
• If you talk me into seeing where I live, and I do not straighten and clean before your arrival, I will spend at least an hour in an utterly non-sexy "getting stuff done" mode where I straighten and clean, during which any attempts to interact with me around sexy topics will be met with confusion at best, and the phrase "Go away now" at worst
• If I forget to stay caffeinated enough after 11 pm, I may slip into a nighttime version of the pre-noon grogginess which would work fantastically well for someone with Real Doll fantasies, but perhaps might not work as well for people who primarily find stimulation from intelligent interactions with coherent human beings
• If we are staying at my place, and I slip into my Real Doll imitation about midnight, but wake up to go potty in the middle of the night and remember that you have no idea what to do for breakfast, I might leave a bowl, spoon, packets of instant oatmeal, measuring cup, and insane amounts of Splenda in front of your room so you will trip over it in the morning, and neither of us will be able to figure out how any human being could ever require that amount of Splenda in that sized bowl
• If you want me to wear an outfit that you have seen in pictures and do not inform me of this ahead of time, it may not have been worn or washed since I took those pictures, which will certainly cause delays
• If you want me to cook for you... no, no, no, really, honestly, you don't want that, just trust me on this point

None of this is to imply, of course, that I have been a bit preoccupied with having a new lover visit me from out of town for multiple days in a row. Pffff. That would be ridiculous.

Time Limits Vs The Six Hour Phone Call

In this post about time limits, I explained that some types of phone sex calls have the unfortunate tendency to accelerate my dizziness to the point where I have to draw a line and impose a time limit, especially calls where I do most of the talking, or where more than one orgasm per person is required.

Last night, I spent almost six hours with one caller, from 6:53 pm to 12:46 am. Because of the time he spent re-charging his account, and one unfortunate disconnect, it worked out to 346 minutes of billable time. Wow.

Now, if you would have asked me yesterday at 6:52, "What is your prediction for your stamina tonight? How long of a call could you take right now?" I would have guessed maybe 90 minutes. I never would have guessed 346. No way.

So how was 346 minutes possible?

A few factors caused the perfect conditions:
* I was well-rested
* He did most of the talking
* We were talking, not fucking


I was well-rested: He was my first call of the evening. I had enough sleep, I hadn't tried to do too many errands, and I had taken things at my own pace all day. It was a lovely day, in fact.

He did most of the talking: The way the conversation goes with this particular caller (nicknamed "The Wanker"): he shares his thoughts about wankers / losers / beta males, the psychology of sex, the insistent physiology of the cock, the emotional complexities of trading sexual energy for money, and the simultaneously pleasurable / tormenting activity of paying an attractive woman to talk with him about sex when he knows he won't actually be getting laid.

The words come tumbling out of his mouth. I almost have to interrupt him sometimes to interject with a thought. For every thing I say, he probably says five things. So I'm listening, paying attention, adding my perspective, and coming up with good questions, but if I need a mental break, I can take one and just let him go on auto-pilot for a minute or two. It's handy.

The difference between "I am almost always talking" and "I am almost always listening" is huge -- I can go way longer if my caller is doing most of the talking.

We were talking, not fucking: For almost the entire call, neither of us were heading toward an orgasm. He had just gotten his first-ever chastity cage over the weekend, and he'd been wearing it for about 52 hours when we started talking. When he hit 72 hours, it would be the longest he had ever gone in his life without masturbating to orgasm.

So the fascinating thing to him about the call was how much more aroused he could get without having to end the call because he had climaxed. So topics that normally would send him over the edge? Keep exploring those, and push hard, because he can't come.

Exploring the psychology of financial domination? Listening to graphic details about me and my lovers? Hearing about how a couple transitions from flirting to fucking? All of those were deliciously stimulating for him. And honestly, I got a huge rush of power and pleasure from hearing his breath catch in that way that usually means he's about to climax, but knowing that this time, I could keep on keeping on and just mess with his mind for all it was worth.

When I realized I was getting tired, finally, I dropped the double-bomb on him: would he be willing to pay me extra to masturbate while explicitly explaining to him what I was doing? He never could have done that without a chastity cage; he would have climaxed in five minutes. And the mind-fuck of asking him to pay extra for me to masturbate, knowing that it was included for other calls, was based on my knowledge of his hesitant interest in financial domination.

I made him come up with the dollar amount (which was a fairly vicious trick on my part, if I do say so myself), and then explained every detail of what I was doing and how it felt. It was a slow build, first with my fingers, then with my vibrator (which I called "the cock" to emphasize that he was not fucking me, but that I love being fucked).

When I came, hard, leaving me scrambled and breathless, he sounded like his brain had exploded instead of his balls. "There's just... there's no mistaking that sound, is there?" he finally managed to say, while I laughed at his obvious mind-melting level of frustrated arousal.

Dear Galiana, 
Remember how once upon a time, you thought you wouldn't be any good at financial domination, or humiliation, or tease and denial? You were wrong on all accounts. And just think: the world is still full of fun new things for you to learn that you love! All it takes is finding the right partner to do them with. Have fun!
Love, Galiana

Heartbreak and Phone Sex, Part VI

This time, the heartbreak is for me.

As I've explained vaguely elsewhere on the blog, I have mysterious neurological vertigo which makes me feel drunk all the time. And every now and then, it causes other glitches as well, as if my brain's electrical systems got fried: I mix up words, I can't finish a sentence, or writing no longer translates into words.

Or, in extremely rare cases of extraordinary exhaustion and vertigo combined, I have little episodes where I don't make sense for a few seconds, as if I've drifted into another reality, and I hallucinate a bit, as if I haven't slept for days.

The basic theory behind my vertigo is that my neurons in part of my brain aren't recharging fast enough, so once they fire, they need more time than normal to right themselves. So when I do certain tasks which require certain types of concentration, those neurons wear themselves out and become unable to fire after a while. As neurological impulses are re-routed to pathways which are not designed to handle those processes, chaos ensues.

In the flesh, sex makes me understandably dizzy -- fucking is a wiggly thing to do with a lot of sensory and visual stimulation, but as long as I'm rested when I start, I can have satisfyingly rambunctious sex for about an hour before I need to take a breather. Each round gets a little shorter until I give up completely after about round four. It's not ideal, but it works.

Writing, doing data analysis, and riding in cars work about the same way.

Phone sex has the advantage of mostly just being wiggly in my head -- I can keep fairly steady when I masturbate (although I do thrash some even when I'm alone, and when I'm on camera, I thrash like I do in the flesh, because I find masturbating on camera so ridiculously sexy).

So phone sex almost never triggers the deepest kinds of vertigo for me: most conversations don't last an hour; I almost always have time to rest between calls; one call is almost never cognitively similar to the next call, so different neural pathways get used, so the part of my brain that got tired on Call 1 can rest up during Call 2. So I often can go a whole night without needing to log out to grab a breather at all.

All of that is good - I can do this phone sex job because it almost never dizzy-fries me.

... almost ...

That's such a persnickety word, isn't it? Almost.

I've had three callers who trigger my vertigo to an unfortunate depth. They have the following things in common:

• they like to talk for more than an hour at a time
• they like it when I do most of the talking
• what they like is repetitive in some way
• they like me because I bring freshness and creativity to their somewhat repetitive request
• their request does not focus on trading orgasms or engaging in direct sexual activity

For example, I have a caller who loves to talk about a woman having orgasm control over a man: cock tease and denial, blue-balling, and forcing interrupted orgasms when the male is allowed to climax, to ensure male sexual frustration remains high. He likes to repeat topics and questions, because he says the repetition helps enforce his will to remain in chastity, yet he loves that my answers are slightly different each time I give them.

Emotionally, I love talking to him, because I have to search for new phrases and metaphors, and I feel creative and smart and powerful to be able to play with him in such a specific niche space.

But physically... well... I hallucinated with him once. I don't think he knew that's what it was. It might have sounded like I drifted to sleep and starting having one of those dreams that was somewhat based on reality. I apologized for drifting and said I'd spaced out, and let him know I needed to head to bed at the next time we got the one-minute warning.

I felt guilty and weak for not being able to give him what he wanted. Then I felt angry for beating up on myself. Then I realized I was beating up on myself for beating up on myself, and that made me sad. And then I decided if I was too uncontrolled to stop having feelings about my feelings, I should call it a night and go the fuck to sleep already.

He's doing nothing wrong. I'm doing nothing wrong. It's just an unfortunate series of events, a peculiar twist of circumstances, the exact unforeseen set of parameters that cause the program to start throwing errors.

Another one is new. He's adorable, happy and fun. He wants to do role plays where I objectify him. I get to be creative, and bitchy, and have fun with the situations and the characters and the descriptions... and he wants long stories, at least half an hour long each. And he wants two. Or three. Or four. I've told him I'm running out of ideas, but it's not true. After two stories tonight, I found my cognitive processes in a rapid downhill slide, and the situations themselves no longer made coherent sense to me.

I don't know how to tell someone, "I'm so sorry, but fulfilling your fantasy accidentally makes me stupid."

It's fucking... unfair, dammit. Or, as one of my favorite callers says, usually in amusing contexts, "Dammit so much." But that's seriously how I feel. Dammit. So. Much.

I want to feel like a badass. I don't want to be fragile. I love the gusty, lusty, go-hard-or-go-home attitude that I almost always have when I'm on the phones. I want to tell one more story, answer one more question, repeat that patter one more cycle, and not have to rest. I don't want to have to feel so damn human so often, with all the dumb limitations that dumb humans have. Can't I be a robot or a machine that never breaks down?

Yucky.

And yet, I know I need to keep myself off of the slippery slopes that lead to real downtime. I'm not helping anyone with those.

So. If I send you here, to read this blog post, and I tell you that you are one of these types of callers, I will have to impose time limits on you. I'm sorry.

I don't want you to worry about me: (a) worrying is the opposite of sexy and (b) I know how to take care of myself and stop the slide from happening, that's not your job. Your job is to enjoy the time we have together, and not take it personally when I have to go.

Please, please, please, believe me: I wish, I wish, I wish, with all my heart, that I could hang with you as long as you wanted me to. If I didn't enjoy our time together, I'd break up with you and tell you to find another provider (yep, really, I've done that several times), but I'm not doing that.

I want to share the thing we have. I do. I just need to do a little less of it.

I'm so sorry. I know it's for the best, and yet, it breaks my heart a little for both of us.

Reluctantly Considering Time Limits

The business of phone sex is wildly unpredictable on an individual level, as I've proven by my unsuccessful attempts to find trends in my calls, and as backed up by the anecdotes of other phone pros.

So I was pleasantly surprised Thursday night by having an almost-3-hour call (cock-teasing and the philosophy of orgasm denial). Whew! That's a great way to come back online! Plus I had a couple of shorter calls (a guided masturbation and a fun "pleasure genie" fantasy), all from regulars who had been awaiting my return.

Last night started with a common rhythm: a 34-minute call, followed by a short break, followed by a 10-minute call, followed by a short break. That's a pattern I can easily sustain, especially since the callers were people I already knew I enjoyed talking with.

I was pleasantly surprised when the third caller was new - he had found me while I was away, and we'd emailed back and forth, but it is always encouraging to attract new friends. Imagine my surprise when I realized we'd been on the phone for three hours! The time was flying getting to know him: he's a delightful mattress-humping humiliation junkie who shared his exquisite fantasies of extraordinary emotional degradation. I had no idea we were going to go that long! 

(side note: understandably, once again, I did not send out a mass email on the phone sex system announcing my return. Nor did I double back and send a more personal response to the nice emails I got while I was gone. I will send those emails some day soon, when my schedule is a little more consistent, and the phone isn't ringing steadily, because I'd hate to send that email and then be completely unavailable - it seems (a) rude and (b) counter-productive as a marketing technique.)

When we were done, I flopped into bed, happy, but exhausted, and I stayed there for 13 hours -- sleeping, then being brought "breakfast" in bed by my hub, then snuggling with the hub and the dogs, and then, unbelievably, going back to sleep! So although I didn't feel like I was pushing too hard, last night, I was probably was pushing a bit too hard. Phooey.

(side note: "breakfast" was a Gino's East deep dish pepperoni pizza, sent by a friend as a housewarming gift -- YUM -- I have the most awesome friends)

I usually sleep 9 hours at a time, tops, and when I'm fully rested, my average is more like 7.5 hours. Because of the vertigo, I have to rest more than most people, but even so, 13 hours is crazy, even for me.

A possibly contributing factor: my husband and one of my nieces is fighting off a sore-throat version of The Crud (my nickname for flus and colds and other unpleasant short-term maladies), so it's possible that my body is fighting off an impending crud attack as well (so far, I'm blessedly crud-free, but sniffly from mild dust allergies, so I'm monitoring my health).

So. I'm considering imposing a time limit for a while to ensure that I rest enough. But I hate the thought of it. But I probably should.

I'll never answer the phone if I can't talk for at least an hour - that's my minimum limit. But even at the beginning of my evening, I'm considering a 90-minute cap for a while, until I feel like I'm 100% post-move back on my feet, and free and clear of threat of the crud.

Part of me despises the idea of time limits. Ugh. A long call is the very essence of using your time efficiently: with a multi-hour call, you're not wasting time being ready, waiting for the phone to ring. And since my long calls tend to be people I genuinely enjoy spending time with, having conversations I genuinely find interesting, it's also somewhat emotionally painful to cut the conversation short -- I don't want to convey personal rejection! I have had a time limit caller call back after I took a break, and that worked out fantastically, but I feel guilty... entitled... princess-ey... grrrr.

Plus, enforcing time limits sucks. If the caller is someone who I know likes to talk for a while, I can say up front, "I need to take a break after 90 minutes" but then it's up to me to keep an eye on the clock, and I hate having to tell someone, "I'm sorry you haven't finished yet, but I have to go."... so I tend to push for a finish, which sometimes just backfires into both of us feeling frustrated... Byuck. Pthththth. I don't like it.

But long calls have down sides: you don't get to take a break to catch your breath, go to the potty, get a drink, get a snack, check email, and breathe deeply and ask yourself honestly if you have the energy to keep going.

Blarg. I hate having to have boundaries and limitations. Can't I be Superman and simply fly a little closer to the sun to recharge back to full? Surely I don't have to do anything icky like admit that I'm human, do I?

This is the best kind of problem to have as a phone sex operator -- people wanting more of me than I have to give at the moment. I totally understand that I am very fortunate to have such a concern.


I also understand that a day / week / month from now, with no explanation or warning, I'm likely to be feeling full of energy, staring at my phone, wondering why it's not ringing, and thinking I was crazy to ever think of imposing time limits on long calls.

In conclusion: if I tell you that I can't talk for more than 90 minutes, or 60 minutes, I promise promise promise that it is not at all personal. And I will trust you to ensure that you get what you want from me in that time.

Moved, Safe, Not Quite Up Yet

I'm safely moved into my new digs. Yay!

They're bigger than I remembered. Yay!

We were pretty well-prepated for Move Day. Yay!

Due to severe underestimating by movers, even after a visual walk-through, the truck wasn't big enough for all our stuff, so arrangements had to be made. Boo.

Our "10-hour move" took 16.5 hours, finishing at 2 am last night/this morning. Boo.

My husband took great care of me, asmuch as possible given the situation, and I got to do almost nothing today to start recouping. Yay!

I'd hoped to try to be back on the phone Wednesday, which ain't gonna happen. Boo.

I still have high hopes for Thursday. Yay!

Good thoughts and well-wishes have been most appreciated. Please keep them coming. :)

Moving, Science, and My Availability

As I let you know in this blog post, I am moving from the Austin area to the Houston area on Feb 28. Because of the circumstances of the move, we didn't start making arrangements until Feb 16, so it's insta-crunch-time for sorting and packing.

Saturday, I did Scientific Experiment One: stay logged in for phone sex and take calls according to my normal schedule, and see if I can get a few things packed between calls.

Outcomes for Scientific Experiment One:
* study methodology: wild success - outcome was crystal clear
* ability to log in: miserable abject failure - I got nothing packed at all

Basically, my logged-in pattern for taking calls is that between calls, I rest, answer emails, browse interesting links from my Twitter feed, and maybe do a thing or two for the rest of my life. Turns out, I can't change that pattern on the fly at all.

Sunday, I did another Scientific Experiment Two: pack a few hours in the morning, rest, then pack a few hours in the afternoon, rest again, then see if I have the energy to log on and take phone sex calls in the evening.

Outcomes for Scientific Experiment Two:
* study methodology: wild success - outcome was crystal clear

* productivity: packing productivity exceeded expectations, log in productivity inadequate


Basically, I was too dizzy to feel sexy all evening until I fell into that vertigo-coma sleep where I have vivid dreams and wake up unsure if I feel rested or not. I haven't tried to pack or move since I came down with my mysterious neurological vertigo, so I didn't know for sure how it would affect me. Now I know. Not fun. 

Byucky.

So, since I don't log in for phone sex calls unless I feel rested and sexy, I doubt I'll be logging in until next Wed or Thu (Mar 2 or 3), when we've been in the new place long enough for me to unpack a bit and feel settled.

I hate having limitations. I really, really, really, genuinely hate having limitations. I want to be Wonder Woman, and be able to do everything plus some.

Thankfully, my desire to be a superheroine doesn't make me try to act like one, and it doesn't lead me to self-abuse for having un-super-power limitations. I am doing pretty well at caring for myself. I'm resting often, saving energy when I can, interacting with people who are life-giving to me, eating well, and sleeping as much as my body will let me.

I've managed myself through seasons of limitations before, and I feel confident that I will tire myself, but not break myself, and I'll be back on target soon enough.

But in this particular season of limitations, I have a new problem: I have become accustomed to having at least 3 good, solid orgasms per day fueled by the luscious lust of a wonderfully imaginative caller. What the FUCK do I do with all the lust building up inside me?

I miss you, and I look forward to you helping me work off all my lust when I can safely return.

Heartbreak and Phone Sex, Part V

He found my blog, then my Facebook, and asked if we could do pay-to-view emails instead of phone calls, to help him get to know me first, and because his funds were limited.

I've been in a writing mood lately, so it seemed like a good fit: I could write, and productively fill time between calls with guaranteed income. I told him not to expect immediate turnarounds, but I was in.

His first email described me giving him a back rub, encouraging him, and then sucking him off before he fell asleep, neglecting his promise to go down on me, overwhelmed by sheer bliss. He wanted my reply to be me, the next morning, helping him make good on his promise by showing him exactly what I liked.

And then the story part of the email wrapped up. And he explained that he is in a wheelchair. He has cerebral palsy. He has very limited sexual experience, so sexual actions don't come naturally to him. He needed someone to understand his circumstances, but not let those circumstances define him for me.

Wow.

I was sooooooo so so so so grateful I had said yes.

He's not my first customer in a wheelchair. I love feeling helpful, encouraging, attentive to restrictions (or directions to ignore restrictions), and the feeling that I am adding a bright spot to a hard day. 

I poured my heart into the response, playfully but calmly showing him what I liked. And much to my surprise, the me-character in my head changed up the action a bit halfway through. That saucy Inner Slut, she's not one to be pigeon-holed, is she?

He liked it. He loved it. He loved it a lot. He caught all the happy energy of it, and lobbed it back at me, and I was elated.

And then he explained that he was seeking the help of a professional (oh wait, that's supposed to be me? yikes!) because he had a lot of fear and anxiety around sex. But he thought about sex all the time, and he was tired of being afraid of his own thoughts, so he wanted to build some good thoughts. Sure, that makes sense, but why...?

Because he had been sexually assaulted. More than once. And had post-traumatic stress about it.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK. Are you fucking kidding me?

Fuck the world. Fuck it in fucking half. How the FUCK could someone who had already been dealt a pretty crappy hand physically then also be dealt the crappiest of hands in a physical-emotional connection? What. The. Fuck.

I don't pray in traditional ways. I don't speak sentences, or words even, or not often. The way I pray has more to do with making mental pictures, feeling feelings, and opening myself to an exchange that I cannot find other ways to express.

I opened myself, doors blown wide, and wept. And the energy which poured back into me, the energy of a warrior, and of a muse, and of a healer, more than made up for the energy I gave. 

Then I couldn't write. For almost two full days. His requests were sitting in my inbox, begging for attention, and I would get 1 sentence in and freeze up. Grrrrrr ferrrrr fuxxxx saaaaaake... Why can't I put words together? Why can't I do his next fantasy? I can see it in my head. I know how I'd do it if I were on the phone...

/ding. /light-bulb. Ohhhhhh. I should record it. Give it to him as an mp3. Right. I knew that. /wink. /finger-gun. I'm totally following along here. Not slow on the uptake at all. No, sir, not me. /face-hide. /blush.

So I did an mp3 for him. I had a blast doing it. The orgasm was absolutely real, and it absolutely delighted me. He was happily overwhelmed with the result.

He gave me permission to share with you, my dear blog readers, a passage which I will give to you with great joy, and deeply amused respect, but without comment:

=====
I am Sexually Accessible (a freebie comic riff response to a serious question)

Feel free to quote me directly when I tell you "People in wheelchairs love having sex!!!" (The exclamation points are very important - LOL)

Seriously, the number one reason I want to stop being afraid of sex is: I think about it all the time and I'd prefer to not fear the thoughts in my head, considering that sex shouldn't be feared.

The way I'm going to explain this is going to sound racist.  Please believe me, I'm not, and I'm just trying to communicate clearly.  I own every label of my disability the way black comedians own "the N word".

MY COMIC RIFF ON THE SUBJECT

I'm crippled, handicapped, disabled, a half-man, a gimp, and I'll even except "retarded", on the first meeting, if you don't mind me knowing that you're a narrow-minded simpleton who likes to group people before saying two words to them.

I'm NOT handi-CAPABLE, dis-ABLED, Physically Challenged (I don't climb mountains every day, I go from a laying down position, to a sitting position.  I don't stand often because I don't like falling over that much.  This might qualify me as a lazy bastard, It certainly doesn't qualify me as PHYSICALLY CHALLENGED).  I'm not Mentally Challenged (unless you call me retarded, at which point I'm trying to calculate how many times I can run you over with my wheelchair before you realize I'm doing it. 
f(ouch) = Size of your stupidity/Size of your brain  Ouch = As long as it makes me laugh (usually forever -- I'm an ass)).

And one thing I'm definitely not is able-bodied, but then again neither are you.  Your condition on this earth, like all conditions in the material plain, is temporary.  Put another way, when you're in your 70s shitting your pants, I will have had decades more experience than you.

END OF RIFF

=====
My heart isn't broken for him any more. Now it's just full of excitement with him. I get to be part of co-creating happy sex memories, and reveling in the knowledge that they mean even more than just making a rough day a little lighter. Maybe, in some way, they are making a rough life a little more joyous. I hope so.


I'm so very much looking forward to our long and mutually gratifying relationship.

Meeting In Person

Because I am non-monogamous, I've had callers ask if I would ever consider meeting them in person. For a platonic lunch? Sure. For hours on end of rambunctious sex? That's tricky.

A favorite caller of mine is going to be in town this summer, and asked me to write out my realistic caveats and expectations for meeting in person. I've been musing about the topic since I became a phone sex operator, so it's about damn time I put together a blog post already.

The trickiness boils down to this: because of the combination of (a) my mysterious neurological vertigo and (b) my dependence on phone sex to pay the bills, I protect my time and energy very carefully to ensure that I am available to work as often as possible.

So I limit my activities in life, including regularly missing out-of-town events which I would eagerly attend if I did not have that unfortunate combination. Don't get me wrong: I love my life, my life is worth living even if I have to miss a few celebrations, and I love that sometimes I can say yes and join in.

And I love being with a new lover for the first time - I love that a lot. And I love the idea of meeting a new lover by having them be a phone sex caller first -- the chance to get to know how we turn each other on that way is pretty damn sexy. And I'm comfortable with my ability to discern who I would be compatible with meeting in person -- remember, I was a slut before I was a phone whore, and I've hooked up from the internet after writing/chatting/talking on the phone plenty of times, before I got vertigo. My experience suggests that the longer I know a lover before we meet in person, the better the sex is.

Warning: this blog post is ludicrously long, and chock full of unsexy, fantasy-draining unpleasantries and logistics. Your boner is seriously at risk.

VERTIGO
The uncomfortable truth is: there is no way for us to meet in person and have sex without it making me dizzy.

I've written about some of the issues with my vertigo (in this early blog post, and then also more recently), but here's a summary: I feel drunk all the time. Many things make me feel more drunk, including motion, concentration on complex mental tasks, and being in crowds. The only thing that makes me feel less drunk is spending time being still.

The basic theory behind my vertigo is that my neurons in a few parts of my brain aren’t recharging fast enough, so once they fire, they need more time than normal to be available to fire again. So when I do activities with certain types of stimulation, those neurons wear themselves out and need to recharge. As neurological impulses are re-routed to pathways which are not designed to handle those processes, chaos ensues, which manifests as me feeling progressively dizzier.

What I haven't yet mentioned on the blog is that, out of the 32 medicines I have tried so far, there are two medicines which allow me to be relatively dizzy-free for several hours a time, helpful enough to take now and then, but they have side effects and drawbacks.

The big drawback is rebound: As a drug wears off, I almost inevitably have a rebound effect, which is different for each medicine. The most common rebound experience is approximately like having a sugar crash, after eating ten times more ice cream than you should, on a day when you were already desperately hung over, from taking tequila shots until you puked. So it's not fun. My head feels woozy, my tummy is upset, I'm confused, I'm light-sensitive, and I'm cranky about it.

At its most severe, it feels like someone is holding my skull like a snow globe and shaking my brain inside it. And just like settling a snow globe, the only way to calm back down is to be completely still.

During a rebound crash, I need to be totally alone in a dark, quiet room. No, you can't lie on the bed next to me, because if you so much as move a muscle, I will want to kill you, so for the protection of our relationship, you can't be there when I'm rebounding.

Remember: you were warned about the non-sexy in this blog post. And there's more coming. Sorry.

Ritalin:
Neurological stimulants seem to reduce my dizziness by speeding up the recharge rate to allow my neurons to fire again. I've tried a few uppers, and Ritalin has the most tolerable combination of side effects for the amount of anti-dizzy time I get. But, like most stimulants, the effects degrade with repeated use.

Behaviorally, I am irrationally talkative on Ritalin, and I'm convinced all my funny stories are hilarious.

Assuming I'm well-rested and haven't taken Ritalin in at least a week, so I have a nice, fresh brain, here's what happens:

* 1st day: I'm euphoric and comparatively dizzy-free for 6-8 hours; I can do almost anything (including sustained vigorous fucking); the rebound crash lasts about 1.5 hours.

* 2nd day: I'm euphoric and comparatively dizzy-free for 4-6 hours; I can do almost anything (including sustained vigorous fucking); the rebound crash lasts about 3 hours.

* 3rd day: I'm comparatively dizzy-free for 2-3 hours if I'm lucky, but jittery feelings drown out euphoria; I can do most things, but fucking would have to be gentle; the rebound crash lasts for 4 hours; my blood pressure rises to unhealthy levels.

* 4th day: The entire experience is basically one big rebound crash for hours on end, and my blood pressure rises to get-to-an-emergency-room-right-fucking-now levels. Not good.

* the day after: even if I just take Ritalin for 1 day, the day after I take it, I feel hung over most of the day: I have low energy, I am easily confused, and I am less interested in social interactions.

I love taking Ritalin for things I would not otherwise be able to participate in very easily (like Christmas morning with wiggly children, or my friend's wedding last October), and it is worth the rebound + hangover for such events. Better than not having those memories.

Xanax:
Neurological anti-anxiety drugs like Xanax seem to reduce my dizziness by relieving my mind of the background process of anxieties and worries, leaving more neural networks free to focus on the task at hand. Plus they block dizzy signals from the inner ear (which are clearly scrambled in my case), which is why they are often used for motion sickness.

The effects of Xanax degrade less than with Ritalin, but the side effect of making me lethargic and sleepy progressively strengthens.

Behaviorally, while I'm on Xanax, I act sleepy, giggly, stupid, and stoned; I have very little impulse control, so I say insane things, and should not be out in public for fear I'll take off my bra and toss it at someone like I'm a groupie at a Tom Jones concert in the 1970s. Therefore, I have to trust someone a lot to take Xanax with them, because my judgment is clouded, and I won't do heavy BDSM or bondage play on Xanax.

Also, when I'm on Xanax, I need a constant influx of caffeine just to stay awake. By "constant influx" I mean I need to drink significant caffeine every 15-20 minutes. This results in frequent potty breaks, so suspension shibari would be out of the question anyway.

(side note: I'm uncommonly sensitive to drugs... these effects are from the lowest possible doses, and I split pills in half)

Assuming I'm well-rested and haven't taken Xanax in at least a week, so I have a nice, fresh brain, here's what happens:

* 1st day: I'm delightedly stoned and comparatively dizzy-free for 5-6 hours; I can do almost anything (including sustained vigorous fucking); the rebound crash lasts about 1 hour.

* 2nd day: I'm delightedly stoned and comparatively dizzy-free for 4-5 hours; I can do almost anything (including sustained vigorous fucking); the rebound crash lasts about 2 hours.

* 3rd day: I'm comparatively dizzy-free for 3-4 hours, but the urge to sleep is increasingly difficult to overcome; I can do almost anything (including sustained vigorous fucking); the rebound crash lasts about 3 hours.

* 4th day: The entire experience is basically one muddled and unmotivated rebound crash until I go to sleep.

* the day after: no matter how many days in a row I've taken Xanax, the day after I take it, I feel sluggish and unresponsive, easily confused, and I am less interested in social interactions.

Ritalin and Xanax combined:
Doesn't help. I tried. All the side effects, none of the benefits. Rats.

With my daily medicine:
After I first wrote this post, I discovered a daily medicine, phenobarbital, which I affectionately refer to as my "horse tranquilizer" because it is more often used as a veterinary medicine these days, which allows me to do more on a daily basis, with less dizziness, with the side effect that it makes me groggy.

If I'm fully settled, I can do dizzy-inducing activities for a while, but then I need to rest, and the ratio of activity-to-rest keeps degrading. If I don't rest in time, the degradation speeds up exponentially, as if my vertigo were rolling downhill and picking up speed. So having sex off meds looks about like this, even if none of it is overly vigorous:

* fuck for about 90-120 minutes then rest for about 60 minutes
* fuck for about 45-60 minutes then rest for about 90 minutes
* fuck for about 30-45 minutes then rest for about 120 minutes
* fuck for about 15 minutes and then I'm done for the day

The day after I did that full of a pattern, I'd feel dizzier than usual, and less social than usual.

FINANCIAL CONSIDERATIONS: THOUGHTS
When I feel anti-social, easily confused, or have problems completing sentences, it has a profound effect on my ability to earn money. There is no vacation pay as a PSO - either you're being paid to be on the phone or you're not. So when a day goes by and I'm not logged in, I forever lose the income potential of that day.

I would only take a new lover if I were attracted to them, no matter how much money was involved. Really, if someone I was not attracted to took me to the Bunny Ranch, registered me as a legal prostitute, and offered me $25,000, I would say no.

But assuming there is enough attraction for me to consider enjoying you as an in-person lover, romping with you in the flesh will knock me off the phones for a day or two.

It's complicated, right? Because if I'm attracted to you and want you to be my lover, then in some ways, that's like any other life-thing, and I shouldn't be compensated for it.

However, I am extraordinarily picky about how I spend my off-phone, social time. Honestly, I'm pickier about that than I am about who I would theoretically have sex with. There are lots of people I would love to fuck if I had all the time and money and non-dizzy energy in the world, and yet, I've only chosen to have two in-person lovers other than my husband since I got vertigo.

Another factor: while I'm not morally opposed to prostitution, I am opposed to breaking the law, so I won't take money for sex unless we're in a legal brothel and I'm registered as a legal prostitute.

However, money does make it possible for me to be away from my job as a phone sex operator.

I realized that if I had all the money in the world, and I had a friend in the same situation, and I wanted to visit with my friend, I would happily give her a gift of a few days' earning potential to spend one day with her wearing her out doing something she loved, so she wouldn't have to worry about the financial impact of her time off.

Once I realized that, I accepted that, although I won't take money for sex, I would take a gift which allows me to take worry-free time off work.

Sex would not be guaranteed, just as sex would not be guaranteed for anyone I would be meeting in person for the first time - chemistry would have to align, I'd have to feel safe, and I'd have to feel non-dizzy enough. Those caveats not only keep me legal, they are just plain true.

For safety and sanity, as with any potential partner I haven't yet met in person, we'd meet in public and share a nice meal first to mutually decide whether or not to become lovers.

Just in case we do mutually decide to become lovers, we'd both bring recent STD test results showing we're free of anything unpleasantly contagious, we'd both bring condoms to show our commitment to remaining STD-free, and if we became lovers, we'd use condoms during penetrative sex.

If several days in a row were an option, here's what I think would work best for my vertigo, but this theory is untested, so the degradation of my vertigo may be more severe than this:

* Day 1: Ritalin - 6-8 hours together
* Day 2: Xanax - 5-6 hours together
* Day 3: Ritalin: 5-6 hours together

I would not be willing to try more than 3 days in a row, mostly because I can't spend that much alone time with anyone without going a little bonkers, and unfortunately, we can't break up the time with museums or movies or concerts, because those are just as non-restful for me as having sex.

FINANCIAL CONSIDERATIONS: THE NUMBERS

So, what is "a gift which allows me to take worry-free time off work"?

* My highest 24-hour take (my portion) was $356.

* My lowest 24-hour take where I was available full-time (at least 12 hours) was around $100.

* My goal on a normal full-time day is $150.

* I make my goal, or more, about 90% of the time when I'm available for 12 hours.

* Realistically, it would take $250 for me to feel totally stress-free about taking a day off work.

Bunny Trail:

Here's some info about my overall earnings, in case you're curious, because I don't mind sharing:

- Although I get $54 / hour at my current rate when I'm talking, I am logged in and waiting for the next call for approx 3-4 hours for each hour spent talking - if you count all my logged in time as "working", I average about $15 / hour.

- If I were available full-time every day (I'm not), and hitting my goal all the time (I don't), I'd be available about 80 hours / week, and make about $1,000 / week.

- Other operators (based on people I trust revealing their earnings, and some extrapolation from hints): My earning potential is lower than Mistresses who require regular Tributes, and lower than operators who produce a lot of content which sells well (pictures and videos and recordings), but higher than many other phone-only women who don't seem to attract as many repeat customers or long conversations as I do. I'm probably smack dab in the middle.

- My guess is that most people who work 60+ hours / week at phone sex average between $750 and $1,200 a week (before taxes, with no benefits, and with wild unpredictable fluctuations week-to-week). I'm sure established high-end Dommes can average $2,000 / week. I imagine outliers make more, but the odds of making $5,000 / week doing phone sex are about the same as the odds of getting a multi-million-dollar contract in pro basketball.

* Realistically, I would need a "set up" before meeting a new lover in person: one day off before we meet to rest and prep (which would include getting a manicure-pedicure to help me feel relaxed and pretty, but that would be included in my day of rest), and one day off after we meet to recover.

* Realistically, on day(s) we meet, I would need to board my dogs ($75 / night).

FINANCIAL AND VERTIGO CONSIDERATIONS: CONCLUSIONS

MEETING LOCALLY

It's simpler to meet on my turf in Houston, of course.

* You pay your way to get to Houston. You get a car for yourself. You get a hotel room for yourself.

* My set up: (day of pampering and rest before, day of rest after): $500

* 1 day together ($500 set up + $250 for the day off for me + $75 to board the dogs): $825

* 2 days together ($500 set up + $500 for 2 days off for me + $150 to board the dogs): $1150

* 3 days together: ($500 set up + $750 for 3 days off for me + $225 to board the dogs): $1475

(Math you don't have to do: 3 days is the best per-day rate at $491/ day. You're welcome.)

TRAVELING

Traveling is more complicated, because I need to take off the day I travel, plus the day after to recover- traveling is by far my most dizzying activity (which is a heart breaker because I love to see new places!).

So, for example, if you wanted to meet Friday-Saturday-Sunday in Vegas, I would need to travel on Wednesday, recover on Thursday, play Fri-Sat-Sun, travel back on Monday, and recover Tuesday. Even though it's only 3 days of play, I would be off work for 7 days, and boarding my dogs for 6 nights.

So if you wanted to meet me somewhere other than Houston, and you wanted me to have no anxiety about taking plenty of time off work, you would need to give me a gift of:

* You pay my airfare, and you pay for a hotel room for me - if you also are in a hotel in town, I need my own hotel room, or at least my own bedroom, to ensure I can be completely alone when I'm recovering.

* My set up: ($1000 for four days off - day of travel before, day of rest before, day of travel after, day of rest after + $225 to board my dogs on travel days): $1225

* 1 day together ($1225 set up + $250 for the day off for me + $75 to board the dogs): $1550

* 2 days together ($1225 set up + $500 for 2 days off for me + $150 to board the dogs): $1875

* 3 days together: ($1225 set up + $750 for 3 days off for me + $225 to board the dogs): $2200

(Math you don't have to do: 3 days is the best per-day rate at $733/ day. You're welcome.)



CAVEATS
As with anyone with an unpredictable physiological condition, if we meet in person, I reserve the right at any point to bow out of any activity and take care of myself physically at any time in any way I see fit.

Since dollar amounts are simply gifts to allow me to take anxiety-free time off work, and no specific activities are guaranteed, there would never be refunds.

Ugh, I worked as a consultant too long... I can think of a bazillion other caveats, but I think I'll stop now before I get my lawyer ex-co-worker friends involved.

CONCLUSION
This topic is mind-bogglingly complicated for me when I try to make the leap from fantasy to reality. Hopefully this blog post has explained why.

But emotionally, in the world of fantasy, I love the idea of getting to know a caller on the phone, recognizing our mutual attraction and comfort, and meeting in person to become in-the-flesh lovers. What a great way to find potential partners!

Plus, the phone sex after meeting in person would be that much hotter, wouldn't it? Soooooo fun to think about...

Storing Nuts and Striking Irons

A recent chat exchange (edited for readability):

Him: It sounds as if you've been pushing yourself quite a bit lately as well

Galiana: Maybe...  it's hard to say no because I like this work

Him: And I'm sure you're storing nuts for the winter as well

Him: Have to strike when the iron's hot and all that

Galiana: Exactly

Galiana: Perfect way to put it

Him: And as Warren Zevon said, "I'll sleep when I'm dead"

Galiana: Yes

Galiana: I've heard December is busy, January is slower

Galiana: I don't want to push myself too hard

Galiana: But I don't want to miss out either

Galiana: It's trixie

I'm not alone with this dilemma. It is shared, not just with phone sex operators, but with anyone who has theoretically unlimited earning potential, and sets their own hours: independent web designers, consultants of every flavor, small business owners.

I probably spend an hour or so each day answering mentoring-type questions from other phone sex workers, or people interested in potentially joining the profession. I love it - I feel like I get to practice all the fun parts of being a manager (training, encouraging, offering suggestions for improvement), with none of the horrible parts (disappointing interviews, writing performance evaluations for mediocre workers, firing people).

The darling Kiwi Candy has let me live through her vicariously with overbearing amounts of advice about how I would be doing phone sex if I were Hollywood beautiful, in my early 20s, with an exotic accent. I had the pleasure of informing her that she had bypassed me on the front page! It cracked me up, because another Flirt did the same for me four months ago... 

It's happening to her the same way it happened to me back in August when I wrote this blog post - you're used to having all the time in the world between calls, then you get a few back-to-back-to-back and realize you haven't eaten, or gone to the bathroom, or done anything to renew your energy, and suddenly you're wiped out. And then you don't want to whine or complain about it, because you've been hoping to get busy, but now that you are, you're exhausted!

Several callers and blog readers have noticed that lately, my lines have often been Busy or Away or on Sleep Rates. And some of you are a little worried about me. You're sweet. Thank you very much. I truly, deeply, absolutely appreciate the concern.

However, please let me assure you: if I am answering sex phone calls, I am well-rested and feeling sexy. Honestly. I learned how to juggle the energy of this job back in August and September, and I have not forgotten those lessons.

If I'm feeling the need for high-quality sleep, I log off instead of setting sleep rates. If I have to deal with annoying bills or paperwork, I log off instead of answering the phone un-sexy-fied. If I have a long call that wears me out, I log off instead of giving the next caller anything less than my best.

That doesn't mean I'll never answer the phone sounding a little snuggly and sleepy late at night... but if I'm available, it's the sexy kind of snuggly.

And it doesn't mean that I won't push myself. I do sometimes. I will sometimes. Sometimes I will realize I need time away, like yesterday when I didn't log in until 4 to just hang around and be luxurious.

But here's the deal: I pushed myself too hard before phone sex, too. That just comes with the territory of being a perfectionist overachiever pleaser who hates to see myself as weak in any way... If I weren't pushing myself too hard with phone sex, I'd find another way to do it.

Tonight, though, as I'm sitting here on my super-comfy memory-foam-topped bed, enjoying reading new ego-stroking feedback, eating the delicious garlic chicken-and-veggie pasta my husband made me, I feel very far away from "run down". Actually, I feel very close to "spoiled rotten".

Yes, I'm working hard and storing nuts and striking irons, but I promise, I'm taking good care of myself while doing it.

Limits

I just realized that I can list my limits here on my blog and link to that from my listings. I don't want to list my off-limits activities in my listings, because then people searching for those things find me!

The list of what I don't find sexy to talk about lines up fairly well with NiteFlirt's Terms of Service (from the Adult Content Policy). So here are the things that I will not discuss over the phone, and a little explanation about them:

• Bestiality: a hard limit of mine personally - no sex with animals, period. I have no sexy response to it.
• Incest: also a hard limit of mine personally - no sex with family, period. For me, that extends to things like stealing mom/sister's panties, too - I have no sexy response. I don't mind using "Sugar Daddy" or "Daddy-O" or other sentimental mid-century phrases, and I love fantasies about older nurturing partners, but no actual family relationships in my role plays.
  
• Sexual Age Play: I won't role play sexual activity with those younger than 18, or discuss people younger than 18 in a sexual manner. (Although my personal limit is 16, I understand the need for 18 on NiteFlirt, but the thought of younger than 16 disturbs me). Edit: OOPS this sounds like I would have real-life sex with a 16-year-old which... ugh... noooooo - real teens have not been attractive to me for years - my cougar limit in life is about 24. What I mean is: I would be okay in my personal life role-playing a sexy 16-year-old cheerleader or something. However, on the phone, I'll only do sexual role-play down to 18. Non-sexual conversation has no age limits for me.
  
• Sex with graphic violence: that's from the terms of service, and it's vague. My definition: if you're saying you're really doing it, I would never encourage you to cut or pierce or penetrate or injure yourself in any way that runs a significant risk of requiring medical attention. Bruises and well-spanked asses and sore nipples and teeth marks are all fine. Knife play leaving shallow surface scratches is okay, but that's my edge.
• Death: not specified by NiteFlirt, but I think of it as an extension of "graphic violence". Not only does that mean I won't role play either of us killing each other, but it also means I won't help you have an orgasm if you're driving. Pull over, then we'll play, because I'm firmly against you dying while we're on the phone.
• Sex with degradation: so vague as to be useless. I would never launch into humiliation without being asked to provide it, but when it's consensual, I'm fine with it. I categorize name-calling and being mean as "humiliation" not "degradation". However, I won't do any kind of meanness based on race, because (a) I'd be horrible at it and (b) racial inequality pisses me off too much to be sexy for me. 
• Rape sex: harder to define than it seems like it would be. On a personal level, I enjoy playing with "consensual non-consent", where we consensually talk about begging to stop or struggling. Heck, the raw physicality of struggling can be invigorating, even if there's no emotional resistance. I wouldn't do a straight-up rape fantasy, but there are a lot of variations of reluctance and coercion that I'm willing to play with. Discussion required.
  
• Excretory functions / bodily fluids / adult baby diapering: clarified as urine or feces. Adult baby diapering is not sexy for me. Feces are a big turn-off for me, which is a little weird because I do anal and rimming (in life and on the phone - they are allowed), but I need it all to be clean, and when it isn't, I clean up with a shower. I'm personally neutral about urine. I do not understand why these are against terms of service - they seem like preferences to me, and it's hard to imagine them being illegal, but obviously NiteFlirt needs to cover their ass about something.
• Fisting: baffling to me personally. You can have four fingers in someone but not five? What? I have zero problem with this personally. 
• Other content which may be judged as obscene: clearly a "cover your ass" clause. Useless. 

In my personal life, I say: I don't do kids, family, animals, pee, poop, anything requiring medical assistance to recover from, or death.

If you have a question about something that's not clear-cut, drop me an email or call to ask. I'm happy to read your specifics and let you know honestly if I can accommodate without killing my sexy mood. 

Allowed and Encouraged: (font changed to green to indicate yes please!) Here's a non-exhaustive list of things I enjoy talking about that some people might find off-limits: cunnilingus, fellatio, rimming, anal sex, anal toys including strap-ons, vaginal toys, spanking, clamps, paddles, flogging, crops, cuffs, restraints, foot fetish activities, stocking fetish activities, feminization, bimbo role play, cross-dressing, lingerie fetish activities, glory holes, being my servant, cuckolding, cream pies, chastity, tease and denial, guided masturbation both ways, domination and submission both ways, me watching you on cam, big black cock fetish role plays, and humiliation (discussion required to ensure I take it in the right direction). Oh, and the basics: sex! I genuinely love the thrill of a hard cock in a wet pussy in any position I can imagine! 

Simple enough: Off-limits topics are in black, in the bullet list. Topics within my limits are in green in the previous paragraph. I hope this clarifies!

Analysis of a Phone Sex Break Up

I try to keep this blog focused on positive things for a few reasons:

1. The blog should reflect the same aspects of my personality as I reflect on-phone, and I always make sure I'm in a positive space before I log in to take phone sex calls
2. I want to remember the positive things more than I want to remember the negative ones
3. I have other resources to process negative things: family, friends, and a therapist I used to see who I could see again if I wished
4. I don't want negative images of me stuck in your mind, because I want you to see me as: smart, fun, creative, sex-positive, and self-assured-but-with-random-incongruous-bouts-of-insecurity

But I can't shake this call by my usual channels: I think I broke up with a caller.

The story wants to be written and shared here on the blog, and it can't be tricked by being written and saved, or emailed to a confidant. I've written enough in my life to know that when your stories are insistent over time, your mental health improves greatly by just letting the damn things have their way. 

All I have is my perception of what happened. Well, my memory, my perception, and my very non-professional guesses about his psychology (also known at my house as "shrinking") based on about six hours of phone time, spread over seven calls, over about six weeks.
Here's my side of the story. I expect, as with all good breakup stories, his would be wildly different.

CALL 1 (179 min): We spent about 45 mins talking about how other PSOs had rejected him, because he had a non-traditional cuckold fantasy. He emphasized his need for honesty from me, even in the midst of fantasy and role play. I think I understood his unique spin, then we "played" for almost two hours.

The role play was the conversation between a couple where he convinces her to have sex with someone else, during which he had me touch myself, but not climax. The actual sex with another person happened "off stage". The role play wrapped up after the other guy left. Neither of us climaxed, but he said it went well for him.

I was exhausted, of course, from a 3-hour call, and I had a few questions about whether or not I had made the right decisions a few times when he said things that surprised me. But overall, I was proud of myself for hanging in there and helping him with a fantasy that apparently many other PSOs had not been able to perform satisfactorily. My Inner Perfectionist, who looooooves a challenge, was extremely pleased. Great start!

CALL 2 (106 min): I got clarification about the moments of uncertainty from the first call, and we launched into a role play Part B, the follow-up conversation between the couple a few weeks later. As we talked about how our relationship had changed, he had me play with myself again, and this time had me climax, but continue the conversation.

The role play shifted back and forth from this mystery couple to him asking me about my experiences and responses of being non-monogamous. Then, out of the blue for me, he asked me "real name". As I detail in this blog post, I tried to explain to him why Galiana feels more like my real name than my birth name. He cut me off with a comment along the lines of, "So it's going to be like that, is it?" He asked me if I'd gotten off, and abruptly ended the call.

I'll be honest, I was hurt. I'd been genuinely sharing with him, really reaching into some vulnerable places, and I felt like he cut me off without listening to my perspective at all. Plus, he changed the rules mid-stream: my legal name was never offered, and that's not a bargain I would ever make. I have strict rules about privacy from years of finding lovers online, and they're not negotiable.

CALL 3 (7 min): I sent him a link to the blog post about my name, and he called to apologize. It was a lovely call, with great connection between us. Neither of us had time to play for an extended time, so we just made up and hung up. I felt great about it.

After all, people you have never had conflict with? Maybe they're good friends and maybe they're not. But people you've successfully worked through conflict with? They have potential to be good friends for the long haul, no matter what arises. So far, so good.

CALL 4 (31 min): No chat, just wanted to hear me play with myself, and kept instructing "harder" and "faster". Remembering his requests for honesty, after about the third back-to-back orgasm with no pause, no break, I told him I needed a breather because he'd worn me out. I was literally starting to hyperventilate, and I had become very dizzy. I can play for a long time if I have variety and little pauses, but I can't just keep climaxing hard over and over and over with no slow-downs. 

When I said he'd worn me out, he said, "Oh. So you don't want to keep talking to me then. Fine." and as I was saying "No, that's not it, I just to breathe like a normal person for a few minutes so I don't pass out!" he hung up. I wrote him a note explaining, and hoped he'd call back.

CALL 5 (16 min): He didn't have time to play, just wanted to catch up. We laughed that if the worst problem I have is having too many orgasms, I've got a pretty good life. He reiterated that he didn't want me to fake anything with him, and he'd rather me catch my breath than fake it. No static from Call 4, as if nothing had gone awry. Cool. We're good then.

CALL 6 (27 min): Almost an exact repeat of Call 4. He wanted to hear me play with myself, not describe any kind of action with him. Wanted harder, faster, more. Wanted to hear me come over and over. I held out longer between orgasms, but I didn't fake anything. When I got to the part where I needed to breathe for a second, I said, "This is amazing, but I need a break for a sec. Let me breathe and then we can continue", being careful to be as positive as possible.

He told me that I didn't want to talk with him, and hung up -- again. So I wrote to him --again. And explained, in detail, including a reminder about my vertigo, that I have physical limits, and he had reached them. And in that email, I said that I hoped we could have a conversation some day that didn't end with him being frustrated with me.

I had doubts about how I handled it. Sure, he'd said he didn't want me faking, but since I knew how it might end if I didn't fake, should I have just started faking, slowed down my breathing, adjusted on the fly so I could continue to sound as if I were in a constant state of hyper-arousal for some indeterminately punishing length of time? Or did I do the right thing by remaining honest at his request? Was it my responsibility to give him what he wanted even if he didn't know it? Or his responsibility to know what he wanted?


CALL 7 (3 min): 

Him: Hello, girl.
Me: (His name)! Hi!
Him: How are you today?
Me: Good, how are you?
Him: What are you up to?
Me: Oh, you're not answering questions about you today? (pause) Okay, no problem. What am I up to? I'm just puttering around the house, doing chores, writing blog entries, the usual. You?
Him: Are you glad to hear from me?
Me: Oops, sorry, I forgot you're not answering questions about you today - I'll try to remember to quit asking them. Of course I'm glad to hear from you.
Him: What's wrong?
Me: What?
Him: What's wrong?
Me: (baffled) Ummmm, nothing's wrong. (trying to figure out what he meant) I'm glad to hear from you, I'm trying not to ask you questions because you're avoiding answering them, and that's a little confusing. But nothing's wrong.
Him: You don't want to talk to me.
Me: (long pause while I get instantly furious and cool down a bit) I did. I really did. I wanted to talk to you. But now I don't. I don't need to be told that I'm doing something wrong this early in the call. Let's just not do this. (I hang up)
My Notes: Probably broke up with him.

You know what? Maybe I did sound a little weird because (a) I was nervous about not wanting to accidentally piss him off and (b) I had just gotten off the toilet and washed my hands was a touch distracted getting back to the Fuckatorium. Maybe I was nervous. Not resistant, nervous. Can you always tell the difference between those two? No, because nobody can with 100% assurance... which leads me to...

MY THOUGHTS:
Don't tell me how I feel: I hate being told how I feel. I've spent many years and many therapy dollars understanding how I feel, and I'm pretty good at it. Nobody else is. And in reverse, I don't know how anybody else feels, either. The best guess one can make with any accuracy is, "You seem to be feeling ____, is that true?" and if someone says otherwise, I try to take them at their word. But I respond strongly, quickly, and negatively to being told how I feel, so "You don't want to talk to me" was not a smart word choice.

Don't talk with Angry Galiana: It was probably best that I hung up on him. I am not angry often, but when I am angry, I am cutting. It's not nice, it's not pretty, and it's not who I want to be, so I have learned to walk away and cool down until I feel more able to choose my words, instead of just listening to them shoot out of me like ninja stars with frighteningly accurate aim.

More amateur shrinking, and an inexplicable shift to the second person: It is possible to convince yourself that people are rejecting you, and reinforce that idea by reading rejection into people's responses, until you actually cause rejection to happen. There are only so many times that most people will tolerate being asked if they're annoyed before they genuinely become annoyed, even if they were not at all annoyed before you asked. You can convince yourself that you're being intuitive, or perceptive ( "See? S/He really wanted to reject me after all!"), when actually, you made that happen by assuming and reinforcing it. You can assume rejection into reality.

That inexplicably-second-person paragraph is a general thing I believe can be true of anyone, and I believe it is true in this specific circumstance with this caller. The phrase "self-fulfilling prophecy" is about exactly this phenomenon.

My unprofessional opinion, to be taken with a grain of salt: I think he actually has a rejection fetish, not a cuckold fetish, but I don't think he knows it. I think he sets up elaborate rejections by PSOs so he can reinforce some negative idea about himself (he's misunderstood? he's too particular? he'll always be rejected? I don't know). I'd guess that he's waiting on pins and needles for his wife to leave him, and that he's missing out on some amazing comfort and love from her by being suspicious of her.

What I bet he thinks: I bet he thinks that I never wanted to talk with him, that I just tolerated him until finally he uncovered my distaste for him. I bet he thinks it has to do with his fantasy. I bet he would never consider the sentiment I expressed to my friend while discussing the situation, "It's not about the size of his cock... it's about him being a crappy listener!" 

Such. A. Woman: Did I really just boil that whole thing down into "He should improve his listening and communication skills"? Sheesh. Could I be any more stereotypically female? No. Great. Now I'm a little annoyed with myself, too...

Better Now? Writing this all out has clarified the situation. It was helpful to remind myself that he was demanding utter honesty. I can't decide why I'm publishing it, though, other than to get it out of my head so I can move on to other, sexier stories. I hope I'm not being vengeful.

I also hope that he gets what he needs, whether that is another PSO to continue rejecting him and accepting him back endlessly, strings of PSOs to continue rejecting him, the light bulb that he has a rejection fetish, or the perfect PSO who never does anything wrong to finally explore his fantasy to its fullest. I wish it could have been me without all the mad, but if it can't be me, I hope he finds whatever it is that will help him become his best self.

Not Til I'm Ready

This morning, I logged in for 2 minutes, then realized that my allergy medicine hadn't quite kicked in enough for me to feel sexy (Central Texas is famous for fall/winter allergies), so I logged back out.

"Agent Jones" caught me on chat during that 2-minute open window and answered some questions about my listings, which was super helpful. Then he asked if we could play. At the time, the thought of engaging sexual energies sounded like work. Now don't get me wrong, Jones is one of my favorite callers (his role plays have been featured here a lot), and he gives me his opinions on my listings and pay-to-view offerings, so if anybody could have tickled my fancy, it would have been Jones. But I like the happy, easy, comes-naturally memories we have - I don't want to spoil them with the stain of pushing myself or straining. So I said no.

Then I watched an episode of "The Antonio Treatment" - Antonio is an HGTV Design Star winner with an LA rock 'n' roll attitude and an awesome bulldog. I'm horrible at decorating, and since I need to reorganize the Fuckatorium again, I thought a design show might fascinate and inspire me. Thankfully, the meds kicked in, watching all those hunky carpenters build and install amazing pieces was energizing, and the guy who owned the newly-redone bar was grateful enough to leave me all happy and optimistic.

And now I'm thinking, "What the hell was I thinking earlier? Where's Jones? Come back and play!"

Ahhhh yes, there you are, Galiana! Good to have you back.