Tell Me You Love Me

I just realized, just this moment, that there is a phrase I utter in my fantasies, in my mind, all the time, that I can hear echoing in my head as the prelude to almost any self-arousal, and as an essential part of any masturbation, but I have never uttered it during phone sex:

tell me you love me

Late at night, when I start getting sleepy and snuggly, and I take a deep breath and listen to my body, those words echo through my mind before I know where they will lead, but they set the stage.

tell me you love me

I worry about being manipulative, even though I know sometimes I am, by the nature of the business. But I have lines I try to draw: I never ask anyone to refill their account after the one-minute warning (except for the one guy who asks me if I want you to come back, and I know you do it because you like to hear me beg). If I hear the one-minute warning and I know you're close, I'll push instead of slowing down, even knowing that if you climax, you're more likely to hang up and send me a thank-you note than you are to refill your account.

tell me you love me

Over the weekend, I built a ridiculously intense connection with a caller and told him it sounded like he was telling me he loved me, but there were a million ways for him to sluff off my comment, and I knew he was smart enough to navigate beyond that if he chose to.

tell me you love me

But it's different than the phrase I hear in my head. That one, it is direct, unsluffable. It's needy. It's desperate. It's manipulative. I could never say those words to someone unless I trusted them deeply to hold their own power, emotionally, to not let me coerce them, to only tell me if it's the truth.

tell me you love me

Sometimes the emotion behind someone else's words can hit me square in the chest, or in the gut, or make my head spin, or make my mouth water. It is irrational that I would crave for someone to tell me they love me when I logically find the word to be meaningless without further definition. And yet, the origins of a thousand orgasms are in these words for me:

tell me you love me

... and I don't know why. I've started writing probably a dozen stories with that as the first line, and I get lost in them, unfinished, because they never seem worthy enough to fill in the possibilities the phrase creates.

I won't do it. I won't say those words to you. Not over the phone, not when you're paying for the call. You're there for your pleasure and entertainment, I couldn't ask that of you.

But if you tell me to say them, tell me I can, I will,

Tell me you love me.

But if those words tumble out of my mouth, and you respond, I'll warn you now, I don't know what my response will be, other than ... intense.

 

Chastity, Tease, and Ballbusting mp3

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Follow-Up to Follow-Ups

After writing this Openly Manipulative blog post about how I use follow-up notes to entice callers, I finally managed to get through them yesterday.

Last night, I got a late-night call from a role-play enthusiast who normally sets up "Oh gosh, we shouldn't but... maybe... just this once..." kinds of fantasies with me. A little raunchy, a little rough, and always fun.

No set-up last night. He had been to a stag party, and had been drinking heavily. When he came home, he saw I'd sent him a follow-up email and went to check it. In his words:

"I had whiskey dick in the worst way until I saw your gorgeous self, your head leaning back off the bed, with that dildo about to slide into your mouth, and now I'm rock-fucking-hard and had to call you."

Oh. Really. [begin Alabama accent] Well, my stars and garters! [fan myself] [end Alabama accent]

Sure, professionally I'm motivated to send up follow-up notes in hopes that it increases customer loyalty and causes a few extra calls now and then.

But if I'm being honest, I'm more personally motivated by the thrill of hearing that kind of lust in someone who turns me on, and knowing that I inspired it. He didn't come to NiteFlirt already horny, knowing he was going to call someone and happen to choose me; he went from not-horny to ready-to-go in seconds from a picture. From a picture of me.

Hell of a rush.

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

Help Me Help You

Not to be too terribly immodest, but ... I do some parts of my job pretty well. I take decent notes. I'm honest about everything that doesn't invade my privacy. And I think I have a readable, entertaining blog that answers a few common questions, and gives people a way to keep connected even if they can't call me.

However, I am not good at reading minds.

I mean, I'm pretty good with taking hints and pushing past those into the next logical step. But if you tell me you just want to hear me get off, I will not intuitively guess that you like to wear women's silky panties and be fucked with my strap-on. If you tell me you want to masturbate with me in charge, I will not immediately intuit that you want me to take you to a glory hole to kneel on a dirty floor and suck a big black cock.

The possibilities are too endless. It may seem obvious in your head what is enticing and sexually charged, but chances are good that on the day you call, one person wanted to face fuck me and someone else wanted to be teased until they begged to come.

And about ass play: many guys are turned off by the thought of playing with asses - their own, or anyone else's. It is clearly in my best interest not to turn off my callers, so I tend to not bring it up. But if you have butt plugs and buzzy toys and dildos prepped and you're hoping to use them, or dying to rim me, I'm up for that. I'm just unlikely to propose it unless I know that's what you want.

You may wonder if your fantasy is over my limits. It might be. But it is the wrong approach to try to ease into it by suggesting things that inch towards your goal. That's just being manipulative. Instead, tell me what you want, and if I'm not willing to meet you there, I'm absolutely willing to talk openly about what else we may have in common.

(Well, okay, except for the guy who wanted to be forced to smoke crack and super-glue shut the opening of his penis while having diarrhea... That one was too many incompatibilities at once to bother starting up the conversation. Yes, that was an actual request. Thankfully, those types of extremely incompatible requests happen less than 1% of the time. I don't let bad eggs worry me. Oh, and speaking of eggs... no, no, no, never mind, you don't want to know.)

As long as we're talking about the potentially awkward, let's just hit it all, shall we? Budget. Let's not make this difficult. If you only have 10 minutes, tell me, and I can push you harder faster deeper, and enjoy it. If you want to stretch it out and spend the better part of an afternoon coming three times over a couple of hours, by all means, let me know. And if I'm so bold as to ask how long we have, don't be embarrassed to tell me. Honesty only helps both of us.

I unconsciously make dozens of tiny choices on the fly with every conversation: pace, volume, pitch, breathing, level of dirty talk, emotional intensity, my intellectual abilities, and how quickly I climax (a blessing of control for which I am forever grateful). Any of those can be adjusted at any time if something isn't working, as long as I'm aware that a change that needs to be made.

You won't hurt my feelings. You'll just make it more fun.

So please, tell me what you want.

Apparently In Trouble

Apparently I'm in trouble. Allow me to attempt to un-en-trouble myself, which, I suspect, will only cause further trouble, but at least it's worth a try.

Dear everyone I did not mention by name in my blog post from yesterday titled "What I Want: Lust for Me",

The four callers I mentioned are examples of the types of callers I want to attract, not a complete list. The list does not represent my top four favorite callers of all time. Not that they're not favorites, but... ummm... Look, they simply came to mind because I happened to talk with them this past week, and they neatly fit together into a package of commonalities. But if you and I had a long conversation last week, it's not that I didn't enjoy it... /sigh. This isn't helping at all, is it?

Okay, here's the deal: if I sound like I enjoy talking with you, then I genuinely enjoy talking with you. You know what I sound like when I'm faking and straining and uninterested and disengaged? I sound fake and strained and uninterested and disengaged. You'd know, I promise. Slightly better? No?

Well, what if I pout and say I'm sorry?

I'm so sorry. It'll never happen again, I promise. 

I crack myself up sometimes. Also, maybe sincere apologies aren't exactly my strong suit...

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 ;)

Manipulation Vs Entertainment

The fastest way to offend me is to accuse me of being manipulative. Because, deep down, secretly, I'm kind of afraid I am.

My dad was a social magician: I realized at his funeral that there were probably 50 people there who were convinced that if he were on truth serum and asked, "Who is your favorite person in the world?", he would utter their name. They were all wrong, of course, because clearly it would have been me. Duh.

Thankfully for all of us, Dad never used his powers to raise an evil army, but he probably got more favors and second chances than most people.

I know inherited/learned some of his superpowers. The coach in charge of the high school student parking lot let me drive off any time I wished, and I think it was because I always acted glad to see him. I was on the Dean's Advisory Council in college, which got me ridiculous access to university resources, and I think it was because I acted glad to walk across campus with him one day by chance. One of my biggest professional successes as an IT manager happened because I acted glad to see a C-level higher-up in a break room.

The hand-on-heart truth? I enjoyed the company of Coach, and the Dean, and that COO. They were all neat guys, with interesting perspectives. I wasn't faking, I was genuinely glad to see them. But. Here's the tricky thing... I also wasn't entirely unaware of the potential advantages to being nice to them.

So now I'm in a profession where I am paid to be entertaining, and that very tricky thing gnaws at me. Sure, you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, but I wish I could somehow become less aware that I'm  putting out honey.

For example, I was flipping through feedback the other day, trying to figure out which one I hadn't seen before (because you have 90 days to leave feedback, but when I look at it, the feedback is listed in order of the call/purchase, not by when the feedback was left, which is patently annoying), and I stumbled across the name of a fun client who I haven't from in a while. "Awwww," I thought, "I wonder how he is?" I considered shooting him an email to ask how he was, but I was acutely aware that doing so is a marketing technique as well as a personal contact. Would it raise the value of my entertainment? Or be manipulative?

And this blog, even. Is it me sharing my thoughts and perspectives about the parts of my life that are touched by doing this job? A place to spit out my stories and feelings so they clear out room in my already-overpacked brain? Or is it manipulation to uphold my brand as "real" and "honest" and "open"?

The answer, of course, is: yes, it's both. It's all of the above. Dammit. There's just no way around it.

But do me a favor, please - and possibly yourself - and help me continue my denial. Try to pretend with me that I'm just being real and honest and open. Avoid accusing me of being manipulative. Unless, you know, you are entertained by manipulating women into getting furious... Wow, that just created an infinite loop in my brain.