A Year and A Fortnight

Galiana A Year and A Fortnight ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Variety Fetish

I have finally realized what my fetish is: variety.

The definition of having a fetish that makes the most sense to me is: sexual stimulation which you require in order to achieve sexual satisfaction.

The definition of having a kink that makes the most sense to me is: sexual stimulation that is unusual or non-mainstream which you enjoy.

By those definitions, I don't have a fetish for any particular activity, because the activities of any one sexual encounter may be completely different than the activities of another sexual encounter, and I can find both encounters thoroughly satisfying.
But here's what I could never find satisfying: the same encounter, with the same partner, over and over, with nothing else in the mix. And really, I need to switch both factors regularly to have a sex life that is satisfying to me on the whole: I need different activities, and I need different partners. Because while trying different activities with the same partner is awesome and fun, and while trying the same activities with different partners is awesome and fun, the real big bang of happiness for me is having both.

On a related note, have I mentioned how much I fucking love my job?

Yes, I can hear your question, and yes, I do understand that the concept of variety and the concept of fetish as I have defined it here are fundamentally at odds with one another. Perhaps that contributes to why I love the idea of claiming my variety fetish so much. Not only do I think it accurately describes my sexual proclivities, it is also inherently emotionally and intellectually complex.

Perfect.

And back to the definitions, to explain a bit more fully, I think it is most accurate to say that I have a variety fetish with a wide range of kinks, because the list of kinky activities I enjoy is long and distinguished. Feel free to check out my FetLife profile (membership is required to view my profile, but membership is free, easy, confidential, does not result in spam, and could help you find kinky / educational events in your area and yes, you're free to friend me). I chose from FetLife's list of "Fetishes" according to my definition of the word kinks. By perusing only their most popular 63 choices, I am interested in 42. A quick glance at the complete list suggests I would end up with hundreds if I were being thorough.

Callers often ask me what gets me off, what I like, what is my fetish. Since listing several dozen actions, or launching into discourse about the definition of fetish versus kink seems unlikely to be what most callers want, I developed a bit of a decision tree to help narrow the discussion. But sometimes, even the tree is too much, so if I'm feeling a vibe of "just pick something so I can get off and know I've made you happy", then I choose something that honestly sounds good.

On the one hand, it is not a lie to reach into a bag of truth and pull out one item, but on the other hand, it is not the entire truth. But back to the first hand, it is efficient to pick something and go with it. And it is also good customer service not to chat aimlessly with a man who's ready for action. And if it turns out I was wrong and he ends up in a talky mood, it is easy enough to go back and open up the conversation.

But it has bothered me that I didn't know a concise, simple, elegant answer to the question, "What turns you on?" Whether or not I use the answer in every situation doesn't matter; I wanted to know it for myself. Surely one existed, and on some far back burner, it was simmering.

Then about three weeks ago, I heard myself giving a new answer to the question of what I like: "Whatever I haven't done lately." I guess that caller was giving off the energy of wanting some discourse, because it was an answer that had never popped out of my mouth before, and it obviously needed some unpacking before it would lead to picking what kind of fucking we were going to do. Thankfully, my instinct was on target; we had an interesting conversation about our mutual prurient interests and why we both self-identified as sluts, and then we had scorchingly hot sex.

(side note about that call: it's funny, but I don't remember what actions we did, but I clearly remember calling his name when I came so hard I flipped over and curled into a ball)

While musing after the call, I came up with the term "diversity fetish", but I knew it wasn't exactly right, because it sounds like an interracial thing. And while I absolutely love men and women of every skin tone, it is irrelevant to my satisfaction. I want a package full of enthusiasm and intelligence and creativity far more than I notice how the package is wrapped.

Then a few days ago, I was explaining a slightly condensed version of this blog post to a regular caller who likes to talk theory, and the word variety tumbled out of my mouth, and I saw the shiny glint of gold on the end of my pick-axe, and I rode into town, triumphant, and bought the Inner Cast a round at the saloon and got myself a date with my Inner Whore to rejoice. (Inner Whore was happy to see me again, of course - she's a lovely darling sweetheart, that one is... Wait, why did I just turn Irish?)

So, Galiana, what do you like to do in bed? What gets your motor running? What do you love? Can you answer that in five words or less?

I can. "Variety fetish, with many kinks."

Booyah.

(related news: I changed my tagline from "The Blogged Life of Galiana Chance, PSO (phone sex operator)" to "The Blogged Life of Galiana Chance, a Phone Sex Operator with a fetish for variety" ... I reserve the right to continue mucking with the wording at my whim)

Words, Lies, and Sighs

"The words you choose, they way they tumble out of your mouth, I can feel them hitting me, and they feel like truth." - a phone sex caller

"Words are what we make up, but those sighs, those are the truth." - another phone sex caller, a few days later

Yes.

Seriously, I have the best job in the world. Not only do I get paid to masturbate while relishing someone else's sexual energy, usually several times per day, but also, in post-coital pillow talk, sometimes people say the most interesting things. (Physical + Mental + Emotional) * Stimulation = Win

Oh yeah, I just turned something intensely sexy into algebra. Wow. I can't decide whether to feel mortified or victorious.

But back to the topic at hand... Words, and truth, and sighs, and lies.

Last night, I was role playing a "seduction" scene which had an element of blackmail in it. I said a few things, which, if taken out of context, would be horrifying, like "HR would never believe you that you didn't want me" and "I'm paying you right now to bury your face in my pussy, so eat it like the whore that you are." You can probably figure out the scenario.

I would never, ever, even for a moment, in my real life consider finding anything sexy at all about non-consensual sex. In fact, it turns my stomach. And yet, role playing this scenario with him, I was struggling not to rush the scene so I could freaking come already because ohmygod was I turned on.

The words were lies. But the energy hurling the words at him was raw, unadulterated truth.

But that first caller, we'll call him X, the one who said my words hit him... we had gotten to this place of slow, deep sensuality, a luscious, wandering exploration. He would touch me some place new, and I would find myself asking, "X?" and then he would pause, and I could hear his ragged breath, and he would reply, "Galiana?" and I would have to pause to let the shivers of delight run their course at the way he said my name, and then I would ask him for the next thing my body was dying for him to do. Every word was raw, unadulterated truth.

I remember reading CS Lewis' "The Screwtape Letters" in high school. In case you don't know it, the premise is a senior devil who is writing letters to his nephew, a junior demon, coaching him how best to ensnare and corrupt humanity. In one passage, he described captured souls as if they were wines in glass bottles: most people had bland colorless souls, but the best of them, the truly tortured and hateful, they swirled in agony, with tendrils of delicious regret and rage that you could feel churning in your gut after consuming them.

I think about that mental picture often, of the ribbons of someone else's being reaching toward me, and I relish the exquisite satisfaction of intertwining them with my own, and letting mine reach back and feed him. 

I think I just called myself evil. Or at best, vampiric. But no, because the interaction is two-way with me, and mutually energizing, so that makes me merely naughty at worst. Right?

My callers were both wrong, and they were both right. I think the intention is the truth. Call it energy, intention, emotion, passion, whatever, but that is the thing that is true. And that truth, when it's all flowing exactly right, is what I love. /lick lips

It'll Seem Less Crazy When Your Balls Fill Back Up

Late last night, I told a quivering, panting caller, "Don't worry, love, it will all seem much less crazy when your balls fill back up."

I could hear it in the way he was gasping, "Oh my God..." that his rational mind was trying to come to terms with what his animal urges had driven him to do moments before. It wasn't anything immoral, just something he did not find sexy at all when his brain isn't drowning in a flood of lusty sex hormones.

When your balls are full, all kinds of things sound sexy. It's as if the semen is seeping up into your thoughts, making everything you see wiggle and squirm and potentially give pleasure. Who knows? It might feel great to stroke yourself while wearing that silicon oven mitt with the thick ridges. Or with a weight tied to your balls. Or you might enjoy trying a vibrator up your ass for the first time.

But then starting about fifteen seconds after your testicles empty themselves, the list of sexy things in the world collapses suddenly. For example, eating your own cum - it's hard to do because it requires action in the moment after you have an orgasm, which is exactly the moment when your brain flushes itself the cleanest of all those animal-lust-inducing endorphins.

Don't sweat it. The phenomenon happens to the best of you ball-bearers of the world.

I stumbled across an online article from Psychology Today titled, "Sick Secret Sexual Fantasies" which handily provides some evidence to back up my personal observations:

Do disturbed, conflicted, problematic fantasies really reflect deep-seated psychological disturbance? The building evidence suggests that they do not.

To clarify, I'm not talking about violent fantasies of genuinely causing someone else non-consensual harm -- I think those fantasies should be discussed with a professional, and if they are played out in a sexual way, everyone involved should be very aware of the situation and of the risks.

What I'm talking about are fantasies that press against your rational boundaries. For me, it's anal sex: when I am tired or not in a sexy head-space, butt-sex sounds completely unappealing, potentially messy, potentially painful, and generally all-around not fun. But when my body fills up with the right kind of lust and shoves my rational self into the closet, I have been known to beg, "Please fuck my ass, Sir!"... and mean it. Wholeheartedly.

So if you find yourself stroking to mental images of your wife happily being gang-banged by a racially diverse group of well-hung studs, but baffled as to why since you're pretty sure it wouldn't be her thing, my recommendation is that you not worry about it. It'll all make sense again when your balls fill back up, I promise.

I Love Fucking

I love fucking.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I also love complicated role plays where my mind is just as engaged as my body. And I love spicing up sexual energy with the delicious flavor of power exchange through domination or hypnosis. And yes, absolutely, I love enhancing the hormonal mix of sex by tossing in some adrenaline-boosting pain or struggling.

But I feel like I've talked so much lately about my specializations that I've been neglecting to mention that I simply really. love. fucking.

I love being slammed against a door to close it, before I'm even all the way inside, pinned against it, and finger-fucked to orgasm while I'm holding on to broad, strong shoulders.

I love riding a man slowly, grinding into him, finding all the luscious spots that this particular cock hits inside me.

I love resting my pussy after a mind-shattering orgasm by taking hot, stiff flesh into my mouth and humming with pleasure at the taste of my wetness coating it.

I love luxuriating under exploring hands and mouth from someone taking his time to enjoy each spot and each moan.

I love being fucked from behind against the bathroom counter, facing the mirror, so I can see the animal lust in his face.

I love the scent and feel and taste of a woman's body under my lips and fingertips and strap-on...

Hmmm. Maybe I didn't get enough calls today, which forced me into reading one too many blog stories about gangbangs and hotwives. And maybe watching teaser clips for blowjob videos wasn't the best way to cool down...

Nina Hartley Nails It

I've been a fan of Nina Hartley since seeing "Nina Hartley's Guide to Oral Sex" about ten years ago (it came out in 1994). I learned that men can eat pineapple and kiwi to make their cum taste sweeter (totally true), and I learned that one mental image of a woman's sweet blue eyes absolutely lighting up as she dives enthusiastically onto a cock can stick with you forever in the best way.

But now, I'm an even bigger fan, and also deeply impressed after reading an interview with Nina here, at the Beautiful Kind blog: http://thebeautifulkind.com/columns/fetish-parade/hosting-nina-hartley-community-interview

Nina talks about whether porn is degrading to women, and she makes some excellent points, including some things I've thought, but haven't yet put into words. Her foundational statement is, "Since I don't feel that sex is something men "do" to women, and that I, as a modern woman, have the right to the sex I want ... then the sex I've had on camera has not degraded me."

My thoughts are more about phone sex than porn, obviously, but sex in general as well. A curious wanna-be phone sex worker asked how I "got over" the idea of my pictures being out on the internet, and what if friends of mine found them, and she wouldn't want to know how gross her guy friends are if they found the pictures and masturbated to them.

I told her I didn't think it was gross if her male friends are attracted to her. I think that being sexually attractive, enjoying sexual attention, and deriving pleasure from sexual acts should not be considered "masculine" endeavors. I feel empowered as a woman when I enjoy sex, and when I celebrate the part of myself that likes sex. I don't think it is any different than celebrating my love of art or movies or psychology or spirituality - my enjoyment of sex is one part of me that makes me who I am, and it is okay for someone else to appreciate that part of me.

I find it sad and troubling that so many women give their sexual power to men, as if only men are allowed to crave sex, or enjoy thinking about sex. I hope I am doing my part to encourage women to embrace the pleasure they get from having sex, and from being sexual creatures.
I read a thread about being on dating sites as a male versus being a female, and I remember how assaulted I used to feel by male lust sometimes, that I couldn't leave my house without accidentally invoking sexual attention, despite my best efforts to hide from it.

But I think that was a symptom of me not having accepted myself as a sexual creature, and not yet having embraced the power that can come from being in control of my sexual destiny. Once I figured out what I like sexually, now I love feeling that energy come to me.

In conclusion: Thanks, Nina, for showing me how to love giving great head, and now again for re-energizing my thoughts around claiming my power as a happily sexual woman.

How to Explore Lust Landscapes in Three Minutes or Less

Several of my earliest blog posts mentioned lust landscapes, especially The Best Thing So Far, and this quote from a later blog post:: 

I believe that any two people who are willing to engage emotionally have the ability to create a unique space together. Person X has a lust landscape with 50 things in it. I have a lust landscape with 50 things in it. Our 15 things that overlap become our playground, with unique features, unique possibilities, and a unique feel. I love creating and exploring those playgrounds.

I'm feeling the urge to elaborate. Those explain the concept, but today I want to explain practically how to quickly find mutual ground on each other's lust landscapes with the pressure of limited time.

Deciders/Scripters:
Some callers know exactly what they want, which makes it easy. I listen to their explanation or request, ask clarifying questions about my part (including attempting to redirect anything off-limits for me), and then it's up to me to find the overlapping desires on my own.

The decider/scripter dynamic is less attractive to me when it includes answering the phone to "suck it, bitch" or some other indicator that they're not interested in my real-world responses. Then I do my job, and it feels like a job, by describing something sexy and faking my involvement. These calls are non-draining for me emotionally and physically, but they're boring.

The decider/scripter dynamic is far more attractive to me when someone tells me what they want as the beginning of a conversation, as the starting place for spinning a tale together. I love that.

For example, Saturday night, I had a new caller tell me that he can't feel intimacy without pain. So the choices weren't wide open, because we were going to play with pain, but then he wanted to hear my thoughts as well. The conversation about our interests was foreplay. As we revealed more about what we liked and found overlap, we both obviously got worked up, so by the time we started playing, it was immediately intense. And devilishly fun.

(For the record, I love the physiology of mild or moderate pain during sex -- the addition of flight-or-fight hormones adds delicious intensity to sex for me, but I don't want to have recovery time with anything severe like cutting or branding).

So when a caller knows what they like, and allows me some co-creation wiggle room, I can emphasize aspects which are more appealing to me to ensure my active participation. Many of my favorite calls have been co-created just like this.

Pleasers: 
Some callers want to know what I like, and pick something that overlaps for them. Pickers are easy for  me now, with practice, although it threw me for a loop when I was new. My mentality was so customer-focused that it was hard to turn the attention to myself and honestly believe that someone would call a phone sex line wanting to please me. Silly me. Not a problem anymore!

If a pleaser is leading the conversation, it is super-simple: I answer questions honestly, and let them know if something is turning me on. Sometimes, pleasers get so stimulated by simply discussing my lust landscape that they masturbate to just that. If they admit to stroking, I admit that's smokingly hot (because what's not to love about someone getting turned on by me talking about myself?), and they usually finish to my vividly detailed expansion of their favorite answer thus far.

If a pleaser wants me to lead, I have built sort of a mental decision tree: You in charge, me in charge, or both? Vanilla or kink? Pain? Restraints? Humiliation? There are so many options of things I enjoy that I have to limit myself and try to get just enough mutually exciting components for us to begin, without letting the question period drag on too long. Y'know, unless they're into interrogations...

Submissives:
Some callers say they want me to choose. Out of the blue, with no context whatsoever, they want me in charge, want me to choose. I have no idea if they're hoping I will force them to dress in women's lingerie (yum), tie them down and sit on their face (yum), kneel them in front of me to worship my feet with their tongue (yum), or call them useless pathetic cum rags and describe how my three black friends with huge cocks are going to use their ass and mouth (yum).

I think I've come up with a creative solution for this: I play a little game I call "one or two or both". One: I tease you. Two: you get to have an orgasm. You have to choose one or two or both. Those who don't initially want to choose are reprimanded, usually with the phrase, "That is a chickenshit answer, and I am displeased. Answer me or get the fuck off my phone." That seems to clear up confusion. And it amuses me.

In reality, subs have the same decision tree as pleasers, except I know the first answer: I'm in charge. 

I could probably write out my entire decision tree if someone asks for it. In the meantime, hopefully you now feel more empowered to figure out your sexual overlap in three minutes or less. Class is dismissed. Well, except for you two in the back who were passing notes. You'll need to stay after...

Dozen Orgasms

I have a wide variety of laughs: giggles, guffaws, belly laughs, snickers, an explosive surprised laugh-bang, and short stifled snorts when I'm trying not to lose the food or drink in my mouth.

When I'm laughing my hardest, I don't make sound or breathe for many seconds, followed by a peculiar high-pitched hissing sound as if air is leaking out of me. The hardest I ever laughed was planning my wedding - I was working long days in a stressful crunch time and not sleeping nearly enough. The final catering menu/invoice for approval said "Shrimp Screwers" instead of "Shrimp Skewers". Could. Not. Recover. My now-husband had to guide me to bed, wiping tears from my eyes, to let me rock myself to sleep with sporadically shaking fits of hysteria.

During my early-30s sexual rampage, I was called a "good squeaky toy" by one lover who liked the variety of noises I make during sex. Gasps, moans, sighs, whimpers, grunts, and that encouraging "mmhmm" hum when a cock in my mouth is getting close to climax.

I've claimed that I probably have a dozen orgasms, but I've never categorized them. Until one Saturday after I became a phone sex operator - also known as today - musing idly between calls, I decided to try. In no order (but numbered for my convenience):

1. Soft External: There's a soft rolling kind that requires gentle, constant stimulation on my clit and inner labia -- ideally from a tongue -- and it feels like warmth spreads all over me and all my muscles pulse gently, then release in a way that leaves me feeling relaxed.
2. Soft External Rolling: When I have a #1 orgasm and the gentle, constant stimulation doesn't stop, and I don't resist climaxing, I can sometimes start having orgasm after orgasm, and they start smooshing together until they blur into this one crazy long thrashing breathtaking rolling orgasm that feels like it will never end.
3. G-spot Fingers: When fingers are rubbing my G-spot, with the same kind of circling, pulsing pressure you'd use to polish a silver spoon, I have muscle spasms all over my body before and during the orgasm. They're a little draining, and either I have to rest for a bit afterward, or they make me ravenous for more, and there's no way to predict which it will be. 
4. G-spot Fingers, Clit Tongue: When I have a #3 orgasm but add in a tongue and lips to stimulate my clit, it's a hard, strong, overpowering orgasm that I can't always control, even if I'm tied up and trying not to come. It feels like a big bang from my tummy that hits all my muscles at once. I almost always need to pause a minute or two after these. And not that playful "oh well then I'll just keep going" kind of request to rest, I mean pause for real or you risk a kick in the face from involuntary spasms.
5. Vibrators: My favorite vibrator combination is one inside me that hits my G-spot, and one external that has a diffused, gentle vibration on my clit. My clit is too sensitive for direct hard, strong vibrations - that just feels uncomfortably painful instead of arousing. (I know, what kind of a lousy pain slut am I? Sheesh) Vibrator orgasms build steadily to a climax that I feel mostly in my legs, with a tingling warmth that makes me want to roll into a ball.
6. Pain Slut: To defend my pain slut honor... If I've been flogged, clamped, pinched, spanked, or a combination of those, the orgasm spreads itself through my whole body, as if it's starting everywhere, instead of starting in my pussy. Usually these involve embarrassingly loud noises and require a bit of a recovery pause after. 
7. Girl On Top: When a man is on his back and I'm riding him and grinding my clit into the base of his cock, I can have these crazy-making sneak-up-on-me orgasms. All of a sudden, I'm past the edge, and I don't know when I got close. And from that moment until I climax, every part of my skin gets exponentially more sensitive to touch and pain, so it is intensified with a well-time smack or pinch or grab. When I'm with a partner I trust, I have been known to spontaneously burst into tears after these orgasms, as if it uncorked a bottle of champagne. Wrapping your arms around me and saying "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere" is the best way to help me settle back in.
8. Mixing In Anal: Any of the above orgasms are made more intense and guttural and primal with the addition of anal stimulation, whether it be fingers or a butt plug or a vibrator or (in very limited cases with people I trust deeply) a cock. Primal is the best adjective, but I'm not sure I can explain what exactly I mean by that... it just feels deeper and more raw. 
9. Bound and/or Blindfolded: When restraints or restrictions or sensory deprivation are added into the mix, I become more relaxed, oddly enough, and have much more control over my climax. I love feeling myself involuntary strain against cuffs or ropes - that sensation makes all other sensations more like warm liquid pleasure. Orgasms when I'm bound tend to be more deeply satisfying, even if they're not always as loud or as full of thrashing. 
10. While Struggling: I love the physicality of struggling against my partner during sex (with safe words and someone I trust), and the orgasms I have while struggling feel athletic: strong, swift, and full of adrenaline. They make me feel stronger and hungrier, which is bizarrely counter-intuitive.
11. Slow-Build Overstimulated: Regardless of the mixture of stimulation methods, if an orgasm builds over a long time (30 minutes or more) with pauses, interruptions, teases, and direct instructions not to come, I go to a place where my rational brain no longer feels in control, and I'm shaking with lust. When that hunger is finally released, I feel like I'm exploding, like my body and skin are being shattered and scattered. That kind of orgasm can sometimes cause the rare end-of-Galiana ragdoll phenomenon, where I feel limp, impervious to all sensation, and unable to figure out my safe word for a few minutes. Trust required.
12. My Favorite - Missionary: It sounds boring by comparison, I know, but there's something about being under a man, with his whole chest against my whole chest, nuzzling into each others' necks and shoulders, when I'm urging him deeper with my hands and legs and hips, and he's pressing himself completely against me, that grinds into my clit and pussy perfectly. I love feeling trapped when I arch against him, and feeling him respond to my tightening when I come. I've been told sometimes it's a struggle to stay inside me because I clench so hard like that. I feel like my whole body floats and swirls. I love it.

Wow, I do have a dozen orgasms after all... at least. I could probably think of others, but there are vibrators... and a husband... and maybe I can think of better things to do right now... 

Marry Me, Google Analytics!

I try not to type anything at all in all caps, because it makes me look less literate, and I'm supposed the smart, articulate phone sex operator, right? Right. I'm calm, well-educated, and sometimes consult Strunk & White.

OH. MY. GOD. WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME ABOUT GOOGLE ANALYTICS?

But sometimes it's necessary. Like for instance, when, for three months, you've been blathering on about how much you love data, and how you're trying to find trends in your totally non-trending data, and how you start making up stories from the meager information available in Blogspot's "Stats" tab... and then you find out that there's a whole world of data available for free if someone would have just told you that Google Analytics offers about a billion times more information than Blogspot's Stats.

(side note: ... which makes no sense at all, because Google owns Blogspot (aka Blogger), so you'd think that the information on the Blogspot Stats tab would be the best stats that Google could give you. But no, you'd totally and utterly be wrong. The Stats tab compares to Analytics the way an anemic neglected flea-ridden yard dog compares to Sadie, the Scottish Terrier that won Westminster this year)

I just got my second day of data. Now I can COMPARE THINGS!! IT'S SO EXCITING!

FYI: Data is aggregated by day, so although I can tell that someone was reading me from Copenhagen (hi, Denmark!), and I can tell that people arrived at my blog via NiteFlirt, Twitter, another Flirt's blog, and a few Google searches, I cannot tell specifically how the person in Copenhagen found me. Well, not unless that reader was the only person reading my blog all day, which I hope never occurs. 

I think I'm hyperventilating a little. I'M SO IN LOVE!!

And just when I thought that surely I had run out of posts about data on my phone sex blog. You remember it, don't you? The blog that was supposed to be about phone sex? Not the blog that is supposed to be about the futility of trying to analyze data about phone sex?

I'll do my best to spread out the data posts but now that I know that my average pages per visit is 477% HIGHER than the small site benchmark, how can I possibly not share that with you?!? IT'S TOO WONDERFUL NOT TO SHARE!

Maybe I've had too much caffeine.

Serious Offer: If you can prove to me that you're a member of the Google Analytics team, I will totally throw free minutes at you and let you listen to me masturbate while I ask you questions about your job. That same offer still stands for the OK Cupid data analysis team, too, by the way. I love you soooooo much /sniffle

Flirting with Flirts

One of the best parts of this job has been the camaraderie I have developed with a few other Flirts.

Twitter exchange between me and the most adorable little blonde babe:
GalianaChance: If sorority initiations were like my last #phonesex caller imagined, I might have joined one!
MissAngelBrat: @GalianaChance *lol* Actually...*some* of them are...*wink*
GalianaChance: @MissAngelBrat Dammit!!! LOL :)
MissAngelBrat: @GalianaChance *grins* You gotta get out more...meet the right girls!
... And then I gave up the conversation because I couldn't see straight.

Kiwi Candy wrote me to say thanks, because she's new to NiteFlirt, and she appreciates what she has learned from my blog. Days later, I finally looked over her listings and site, with those gorgeous pictures and her amazing lips, and politely offered a few suggestions, none of which included any of the dirty thoughts inspired by her perfect breasts. She wrote back the most adorably effusive response, which ended with "P.S. Denim is the BEST!" ... At which point I gave up and admitted I have a massive, giant insta-crush on her.

Buttery Bellina offered to tie me up and beat me if I'm ever in her neck of the woods. Polite response: That's a nice little helper to pick a vacation spot, isn't it? ...Actual response: OhDearGodYesPleaseWithAllMyHeart.

Zellana and I started about the same time, and I realized we're both non-monogamous bisexuals, and we sometimes have reason to end up in the same town. ... My heart stopped beating for a few seconds and I can't think about it for too long without my eyes kind of crossing.

Anna West told me I'd bank if I got on cam, and offered to do two-girl calls with me (which are complicated to do according to NiteFlirt rules, but she knows how, and I'd loooove to let Anna guide me annnnny darn way she wants). ...I haven't set up for cam, but when I do, I'm hitting that chance. Word play absolutely intended.

Inner Editor: Wait, hold on, none of what has been described is "camaraderie," it's just lust.
Inner Slut: (looks away, whistles, and wanders off slowly)

Denim Appreciation

I usually wear a skirt when I'm logged in for phone sex for easier access in case I want to masturbate.

Screen shot of Galiana's idea of soft porn

But the other day, I'd been out running errands before logging on, and was still wearing jeans when "Evanston Crush" called. He asked what I was wearing, and as I described them to him, I had flashbacks of many happy hours of rubbing and grinding while wearing denim.

If the definition of a true fetish is "something you need in order to experience sexual pleasure", then I don't have any fetishes. Well, orgasms. I need orgasms. I don't even need an erect penis (don't get me wrong, I love erect penises a lot, but I don't need them to get off). Two scenes can have zero elements in common, and I can be breathlessly satisfied by either.

So that feeling of denim on denim isn't technically a fetish. But it is an insta-trigger for me. Two jeans-clad legs intertwining, feeling a hard cock behind a zipper, a strong hand squeezing my ass through my five-point back pocket... Wow. My pussy is literally throbbing.

It's so irrational. It would be amusing or laughable if I weren't having such strong sensory memories of making out in the back seat of a 10-year-old '78 Lincoln Continental listening to Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians. Oh hi, high school sweetheart who I still dream about all the time, how are you?

Or after my divorce, when I flew to Europe to try BDSM for the first time with an experienced Dom I'd grown to trust online. He stuffed a vibrating egg -- a quiet one with a controller attached with a cord -- between my panties and my jeans, then hog-tied me and played with the controller during a conference call. Being quiet isn't a strong point of mine. You may have noticed that. I managed to remain silent, barely, but I remember the sweat running down my neck from the strain of it.

So back to Evanston Crush - he started our relationship saying he wanted to sneak me under the bleachers at my college football stadium, so he has strong connections to my whole late-teen vibe. Then he responded to my denim appreciation with the most deliciously lustful groan. So I kept the jeans on, pressed a vibrator against them, and we played. His normal 20-30-minute ramp-up evaporated by minute 6 when he interrupted me to say "You got me already. Whew."

So. Irrationally. Happy. That outcome totally fed the part of me that wants to make my boyfriend happy with a perfectionistic co-dependence that has been mostly resolved by therapy. My Inner Business Woman was pissed off that I didn't drag out to 20 minutes, but we give her spreadsheets to track things and she was fine.

I like being 40, but the visit back to my relative youth was super fun.

P.S. Why yes, I would like a picture of you in jeans! Thanks!

Welcome Back Indeed!

I had an awesome welcome back day after my three days off:

• I logged in to an email from a guy I talked with for the first time last week, which said "Sorry I hung up last night.  Listening to you being naughty caused an incapacitating orgasm on my end that I was unprepared for.  Thanks for one of the best calls ever." Who gets giddy every time she thinks of the phrase "incapacitating orgasm"? I do! 
• I had four nice long luxurious calls today: two with new friends and two with "old" friends (although I'm older than they are, and I've only been doing this for 3 months...), which were varied and original and fascinating.
• But one of the long calls (a new caller who said "I think I just found my new best friend!" Awwwww), got cut off at a near-critical moment of him teasing and edging me - darn it! Thankfully, about 5 minutes later, right about the time I was starting to calm down, but be a tiny bit disappointed about having been left hanging, another new caller wanted to hear me come hard and fast. Hooray for well-timed quickies!

It was a GREAT day. Thank you - I'm happy to be back! /blowkiss


P.S. I think I should start an opt-in email list along the lines of "I've been teased to the brink of sanity / had a crazy sexy dream / had too many calls cut off / etc, and need to come hard (which is much easier and more satisfying for me to do with a partner than to do alone). First guy to call and get me off with no teasing gets 3 minutes free." But that would just be crazy, right?

Corrupting Newbies

I might have just done a bad thing. He said I'm his 3rd phone sex call ever, that the first was probably a man, the second seemed strung out or drunk, but that he likes curvy, shorter, older women... so he "is probably in trouble" with me.

He likes women in nylons.

I asked if he wanted to kneel in front of me, where he could see what kind of panties I may or may not be wearing, and have me rub my hose-clad feet up his thighs, over his belly, onto his chest, and feed my toes into his mouth. His "yes"es sounded sincere, and maybe a little pained.

Or if he's ever had a woman press the soles of her stockinged feet together and slide his cock into the space created by the arches. His orgasm at the very thought was enthusiastic and rewarding.

He might have been playing a fantasy role. It might have been a lie that he is a newcomer to these parts. The fact that he'd called back again after two strikes meant that he was likely to keep trying, with or without me, right?

I don't consider myself a femme fatale, the seductress type who leads men to their ruin. I like to think I'm helping people by providing high-quality services that they were going to indulge in whether or not I joined the profession.

But man... that was kind of fun.

Heartbreak and Phone Sex, Part III

Part I was about a first -time caller who captured my concern.

Part II was about a regular caller who may have been a two-way addiction.

Part III, today's blog, is about my co-workers, other phone sex operators (PSOs).

I had a new caller over the weekend, we'll call him "Evanston Crush" because he lived part of his life in Evanston, where I went to college (Go Cats!). He'd been reading my blog for two weeks, trying to resist calling me because he didn't want to know if the persona in his head was different than the reality (which I find endearing and flattering).

We had a really sexy call: he asked me about my open marriage, how I pick lovers, how I've explored to  know what I like sexually. Then he started describing all the ways he would enjoy my body, starting with the heart-flutter-inducing, "I would take you under the bleachers at Dyche Stadium and press you up against something solid with my body, grab that incredible ass, and just make out with you for hours." I developed a huge crush on him, instantly (And yes, Dyche is really the name of the stadium).

Our call was suddenly cut off, which is never fun, but usually I can just brush it off. This time I went totally high-school-mentality, "Ohmygod, what if he doesn't call me back? What if I did something wrong? What if he doesn't like me?" And then I laughed at myself, wrote him an email saying I hoped he was okay and I'd love to know why we got cut off, and I looked forward to talking with him again.

Still laughing at myself, I wrote a post on a forum for PSOs titled "Developing Crushes", admitting that I got irrationally attached to some callers. But don't worry, I said, I wasn't giving out my personal info, and no free phone calls (that would be the ultimate taboo on that list), but sometimes I spend more time than I should on email exchanges.

A day later, I checked to find an astonishingly high number of responses. Some were wise and cautious, including warning me that some callers were playing just as much a fantasy version of themselves as most PSOs do, an idea I hadn't consciously considered. Some were empathetic, "Me too! I chat with this one guy about (this topic) for hours, and it makes my day when he calls." And some patted me on the head as a newcomer and told me to be safe with my personal information, but to keep enjoying myself before I got all jaded and bitter.

I expected a few "something is wrong with you" responses, and I got some, which didn't bother me. What did bother me were the responses that conveyed "something is wrong with the men who call us." I don't mind people disrespecting me, but I found it troubling that PSOs would express distaste bordering on contempt for the people who call them.

At first I found it annoying. Then I found it sad. But it has lingered with me for a couple of days now, and I realized that I'm a little heartbroken again.

There are human beings on both sides of the phone line when someone calls. Yes, it's a job. Yes, callers are customers and the call is about meeting the customer's need, not mine. Yes, it's foolish and emotionally dangerous to start relying on customers to take care of you in any way (a lesson I haven't learned completely since sometimes I beg to get fucked over the phone - details here and here - but I consider that within the very limited realm of things I'm comfortable relying on my clients to provide me).

But to spend all day on the phone with people, choosing to distance yourself from them because it's just a job, and you're just about the money, and thinking they're just using you so you might as well just use them... It made me want to hug some of them and tell them that they didn't have to work so hard to protect themselves. That not everyone is out to just use them. Not everyone is trying to hurt them. To let themselves enjoy the company of the people - the real live living breathing humans - who have picked up the phone to engage sexual energies with them. To let themselves draw strength and power from the sexual energy being poured onto them and through them. That it is okay to have cracks in your defenses if it means you can enjoy the sights and sounds and smells and tastes of your days as they pass, instead of hiding away from all the pleasures so you don't run the risk of the slightest bit of pain.

There's a specific mental picture that's breaking my heart: a phone sex provider, feeling lonely or bored or isolated, choosing to ignore all the things that may be interesting or fun or delightful about the person on the other end of the phone. It tears at me to think those moments are being spent together, yet the opportunities for mutual enrichment are being squandered.

I hope, I hope, I hope that every friend of mine who has allowed me to be a significant influence in his/her life, that all of them can see me as an example of someone who understands what it is to be deeply hurt, and yet still chooses to enjoy each possible moment to its fullest, rather than try to live behind a wall, separated from the people I come in contact with by my own fears or judgments.

It's your life, and it's the only one you get! If you have to spend a moment with another person, why wouldn't you want to squeeze every possible good out of that?

I know there are other NiteFlirt phone sex operators who truly enjoy (at least some) of their callers (even if they would never call it a crush), and I'd like to give them a shout-out (in alphabetical order because I could never rank them):

• Angela StLawrence
• AnnaWest
• BBWBarelyLegalAngie
• Buttery Bellina
• Goddess Lycia
• Hypnotic Domme
• LadyJaneBBW
• Luscious Lyndee
• MistressKate
• Mistress Rayne-The Institute
• SabrinaMorgan
• The Goddess Leesa
• Zellana 

Thanks, ladies, for helping unbreak my heart - when I picture YOU on the phone with your callers, you are exchanging energy, and finding ways to enjoy it when you can. /smooch

Teased Until Greedy

Well, tonight I seem to have lost my damn mind.

I had a series of calls... And you know what? Good for me - any problem that starts with "I had a series of calls" is a good problem to have.

But... I had a series of calls where the caller either wanted to be teased, wanted to tease me, or wanted to talk about sexy things. But did not want to have sex. Or wanted to, but didn't make it there before they came. Like 5 of them in a row.

When I was on the phone with the last one, I got an email from a switch saying he'd stick around a while to see if I got un-busy, but did I want to play tonight maybe? And did I want to top or sub or just be lazy and explore? I got off the call, read that email, and wrote him back immediately. And ... honestly... now I'm horribly embarrassed... BEGGED him to call me and top me and fuck the everliving shit out of me, PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEASE. I think what I actually said was, "Inner Slut is driving the bus and nobody else will even get close to the controls until she gets what she needs. Hard. Fast. Deep. And dirty."

Thankfully, he was still around. Thankfully, he was in the mood to indulge me. Thankfully, he fucked the everliving shit out of me indeed. After we were done, I had to log out for a while to catch my breath and recover.

I feel like maybe I should have paid him... /blush

I Heart Quickies Too

I am very fortunate to have a good number of callers who usually spend 20 minutes or more with me when we talk.

Yesterday, "Office Crush", one of those normally-longer-callers, called me and said he was between meetings, but he had to pull me into his office because he just couldn't go another minute without being inside me. He pushed aside his desk papers, shoved me onto his desk, pushed my thong out of the way, unzipped, wrapped my legs around him, and fucked me hard.

Or maybe I was bent over the desk... that's funny, I can't remember the position, but I remember the come. It was a Pow! Good and hard and strong. It sounded like his come was the same way. I would have asked to confirm, but he left right after he said, "Whew, thanks baby, that's what I needed. Talk to you again soon." It felt great.

First-time caller quickie calls aren't my favorite. They feel like sex without context, and it's hard to have enough time to tune in to what would make it a really great experience.

But a quickie call from a regular caller? Where I already know you, what pushes your buttons, what naughty ideas tumbling out my mouth make you gasp a little involuntarily? Where I can ramp up fast from our shared memories and genuinely urge you on and enjoy feeling like I've helped you? Or maybe even join you?

Wham! Bam! Oh, no, really, thank YOU.

What I Want: Lust for Me

Welcome to the third episode in the narcissistic "What I Want" series. First, honesty. Second, a vivid imagination. Third, today's installment: Lust for Me. I mean, as long as I'm being narcissistic, I might as well go all out, right?

This week I've had fewer calls (as expected after so much time off Sept 16-25), but some calls I've gotten have been lovely, luscious, lingering, longer conversations, which I have enjoyed tremendously. I do limit certain types of intense calls to just an hour, as I explained in this blog post, but the ones this week have had periods of intensity mixed with meandering relaxation, so I've managed to keep afloat and keep going quite happily.

I thought about these enjoyable calls, and how to turn them into a blog post. The "What I Want" series was a natural fit, because I want to attract people like these guys: "The Wanker" and "True Sighs" and "Other Cucked" and "The Omnivore" (fka 'Dirty Reader' until I saw his tumblr page and realized he finds almost every woman on earth sexy as hell).

They have several commonalities: they all lust after a wide variety of types of women, which I think shows imagination and open-mindedness and a sex-positive attitude. Keep up the good work, and spread the message of the sexiness of non-models, far and wide! And they have all used phone sex for a while, so they know what they like in a phone sex provider.

And they each have a specific attraction to me:

• The Wanker loves that I have a husband and lover, but no desire to procreate - he finds my high sex drive appealing in and of itself. 
• True Sighs loves that my imagination isn't bound by reality-based physics or images - we find ourselves wandering about in mythological archetypes and transforming into M.C.Escher-esque configurations. 
• Other Cucked loves that I understand the practical and emotional benefits of his traditional marriage, but also understand the hypnotic appeal of "other" - we talk about the power-exchange dynamics of dominance and submission, and the mesmerizing appeal of being cuckolded by big black cocks. 
• The Omnivore loves my vivid descriptions and understanding of the complexity of human emotions - he feeds me naughty ideas and then listens, entranced and engorged, as I flesh them out by describing what each participant feels physically, and the often-conflicting emotions that pleasure can cause. 

They all come to me with their lust, which is often primarily fueled by lust for other people, but they want me to add to their experience in some specific way. Somehow, it makes a difference to them that it is me on the phone. They enjoy my insights, my descriptions, my honest confessions of what turns me on.

I don't want exclusivity, but I do enjoy specificity. Whenever I enjoy a conversation, there was always something specific in the dynamic with that exact person, some thought or feeling or image I never would have experienced with anyone else. Every partner has a different dynamic.

So what I want is people who recognize the uniqueness of our dynamic, and who choose to appreciate our co-creation.

Law Of Attraction

All day Monday, my first "full" day back after so much time away, I talked with a few old faithfuls for 10-15 minutes apiece  (thanks, guys!), but I also had an unusual number of new callers with either the wrong number (a frustratingly common system glitch lately... they're working on it), or 3-4 minute conversations which had nothing whatsoever to do with me - the paint by numbers of phone sex, where my job is clearly to follow a script.

I knew it might take a few days to pick up steam again. In theory, I was ready for that. In reality, I was a little bored. So on a whim and a prayer, I tweeted, "Smart fun creative sex-loving #phonesex op in search of like-minded callers. 3-min BJs are fine, but I want to explore something luscious!"

It seems unlikely that anybody ever picks up new callers from the #phonesex hashtag, but it couldn't hurt, right. And inevitably, following the #phonesex hashtag on Twitter is a fun bunny trail to find new co-workers to follow, and stay in the right mindset between calls.

Then as early evening faded into later evening, someone bought one of my new picture packages - a $2 package of all my off-phone Facebook profile pictures. Turned out to be one of my earliest callers, "The Wanker." Of course he bought those pictures, because he values my honesty and real-ness. I realized it was crazy early in the morning for him (he's in Europe), and thought he probably wouldn't call.

Ohhhhhh but I underestimated the power of an insistently engorged cock in the hand of a world-class wanker, a mistake I'll try not to make again. He called, and we ended up having a lovely, long, luxurious conversation. It's a battle with him: Can he be strong and hang up before I cause him to finish? Or can I overcome his years of masturbation training and make him hang on with me until I make him climax?

I pulled out every stop I could think of: discuss the power dynamics of trading your financial power for my sexual power, describe to me how you stroke yourself, what would you want if we met in person, and finally, if we were to push the symbolism of wanking to its most extreme practice, what would it look like? (That answer would change from wanker to wanker, of course, but for him: watching an alpha male fuck a beautiful woman, but not be allowed to touch his own painfully stiff cock, so his unsated lust serves only as a stark reminder of the difference between alphas and wankers) After an astonishingly long holdout, I finally won. We got off the phone and I threw my hands in the air and took a victory lap around the living room chanting "USA! USA!"

After I drifted back slightly closer to sanity, I mused that I had written that tweet, and also the blog post yesterday about Orgasms and Power, and then, as if the Law of Attraction were really a law and not just a hippie feel-good theory, The Wanker gave me the very thing I'd been hoping to attract: a fascinating, smart, imaginative, exploratory conversation with a delightful, kind, honest phone partner.

Thank you, Wanker, darling. And ... better luck next time ;)

What I Love Hearing

I'm starting to feel like a connoisseur of male voices. In public, I find myself drawing men into longer conversations to hear timbre changes for my own pleasure. I feel like the female sound version of a "dirty old man" who goes out of his way to drive by college campuses in spring, just to enjoy the view of coeds tanning.

I love rich, rumbling laughter from a deep, gravely bass voice. They usually sound so serious, so the laughter is always unexpected and delightful.

I love a clear, mid-range high baritone / low tenor, when it slows down to a dominating pace, insistent without getting louder or deeper or angrier, just lustier, needier, stronger somehow. I can picture myself mesmerized in a boardroom, fantasizing during a presentation about being ravaged on the soft mahogany table.

I love sweet, faltering questions from tenors, whose sighs sound like descants on top of my melody.

I love a soft, tender voice dropping down into huskiness as desire rises to the surface.

I love when terms of endearment flow naturally: darling, baby, sugar, princess, sweetheart, precious, lover, honey. My Inner Feminist hates all of those, but in the throes of passion, fuck her, she's useless.

I love when words retreat and leave behind ragged breaths, cut-off exhalations, rough groans, seemingly involuntary exclamations, moments of silence building tension for an explosion of sound and energy that will fill me and nurture me.

And last, but certainly not least, I love, love, love, love, love to hear my name - sighed, barked, moaned, growled, stated, or spit out while laughing - I crave all of them. I chose the name Galiana for a ridiculous number of reasons, as I explain here, and although it is not my birth name, in some ways it feels like a truer name than the one I was given. So please, use it. It catches my breath to hear, "Galiana...?" and I sometimes I savor the sound so much that I almost hate to break the spell by answering, "Yes?"

I've always been orally fixated. Seems now I'm becoming aurally fixated as well. What's the hearing version of, "Yum"?