Writing While Pondering

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

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

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

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

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

In theory.

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

In theory, yes. Absolutely. In theory.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Phone Sex Blog Superlative

A cry for help.
How can you refuse?

I like to think that I have a blog that's interesting to read, and I would love to make it easier for people to find it. I don't even make it to the Google search for "phone sex blog" on any page. Sad.

So I'm thinking of re-doing my tag line, from "Chance It: The Blogged Life of Galiana Chance, phone sex operator with a fetish for variety" to "Chance It: The Most _________ Phone Sex Blog in the World"

But... what to put in that superlative spot? Obviously, any qualitative claim I could put in that blank would be ridiculous, narcissistic, over-the-top, and impossible to quantify. Perfect.

The most honest? The most real? The realest (is that word)? The most varied?

Or should I go for something closer to what I have now, like "The Phone Sex Blog of Galiana Chance, a phone girl with a fetish for variety"? Or should I change my qualitative description to something like "a genius (by some definitions) and a helluva gal"? I need slugs, people. Slug me.

Help me, Obi Wan Blog Reader. You're my only hope.

Switches Get It...

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Happy Anniversaries

FIVE YEARS AGO TODAY

... I got married. Happy Fifth Wedding Anniversary!

So tonight, I dressed up for our dinner celebration:

The dress: the only Little Red Dress I've ever owned. Mom bought it for me last year for my birthday, specifically to wear today.

The accessories: chunky jewelry which matched my shoes. Wacky. It's almost like know how to dress myself sometimes.

The makeup: smoky eyes and red lips - to the point of being borderline trashy. My husband likes the raccoon look after... ummm... after the after-dinner-festivities, so I had fun with it.

The dinner: delicious seafood at the place that was the new, hot, hip place in 1985 when it opened (I was in high school then). I hoped it had not gone downhill now that it's a classic, and sure enough, it was still amazing. The blackened mahi topped with crawfish and shrimp and smothered in a cream sauce was just as divine as I was hoping it would be.

The conversation: My husband and I ask each other on anniversaries: What are your favorite memories of the past year? And what would you change if you could? Among our favorite memories were my celebratory 40th birthday photo shoot, and some conversations we've had triggered by phone sex conversations, so thank you, callers for contributing to the best parts of our year!

NINE MONTHS AGO TODAY


... I took my first phone sex call. Happy 3/4 Phone Sex Anniversary!

So what would I change if I could from the past nine months of phone sex?

I would have never tried chat-for-pay without an external system to police the amount of time spent. I would have gotten a good webcam and set up a cam listing earlier. I would have written the mistress / hypno listings to be more of a reflection of who I am rather than trying to reflect how I thought "those types of callers" might want me to be.

And what are my favorite memories of the past nine months of phone sex?

Being discovered by role play aficionados and realizing I loved that. Being discovered by hypnotism fetishists and realizing I loved that. Being discovered by robot fetishists and realizing I loved that. Being discovered on cam by foot fetishists and realizing I loved that.

And it's bizarre to admit it, even to myself, but... being discovered by humiliation and orgasm denial fetishists and slowly slowly slowly slowly realizing I love that, in a way I never would have expected. Shocking. I was sure I was never going to do either of those well, and never going to honestly enjoy them, and yet, here I am, looking forward to a few special denial and humiliation callers as much as I look forward to slow, sensual guided masturbation sessions where the caller gets off on hearing me climax.

I have amazing memories. The connections. The laughter. The tears. The confessions. The questions. The stories.

And, of course, the orgasms. Ohhhhhh, the orgasms. Nine months ago, I usually went a week without sex before I would masturbate, and now, I have to get myself off if I miss a day or two on the phones.

In fact, that may be my favorite thing about the past nine months: I'm even more sexual, and even more confident in my sexuality, than I was when I started.

Thank you, all my callers, and all my Flirt friends, and all my blog readers, for that amazing gift.

Request for Listing Input

I used to think that I did things in weird ways until I worked with dozens of programmers. Then I learned that most people do things in their own unique fashion, and that if you give them room to do things their way, often it will be most efficient for them.

When I have a big, complicated project looming -- like, for example, rewriting all my listings -- I need to ponder it a while before I actually start making changes.

I am currently in my mulling phase, which means I'm pleasantly distracting myself by importing my transaction detail into an Access database , and automating the process to parse customer name and transaction type.

Inner Data Analyst: It's about frikkin' time! The Excel process was killing me. Literally killing me dead, every frikkin' day. DEAD, I tell you! ...

Inner Data Analyst takes a while to calm down once she gets on a rant, so we'll let her unwind while we continue.

I have a request of you, Dear Reader, which is: Please let me know what you think I should keep and/or change about my current listing(s).

GENERAL LISTINGS:

For my general listings, I currently have three listings with a mishmash of ideas presented in them:

* http://www.niteflirt.com/listings/show/9463253 - Sex listing

* http://www.niteflirt.com/listings/show/9503597 - Role Play listing

* http://www.niteflirt.com/listings/show/9507267 - Cam listing

I want to stress that I'm smart, fun, playful, sex-positive, versatile / variety fetish, have a theater background, I care about the people who call me, and I consider myself more of a "lover" than a "girlfriend". Some of that is in there now, and some of it isn't.

HYPNO LISTINGS:

For my hypno listings, I currently have one listing template:

* http://www.niteflirt.com/listings/show/9498705

I completely need to change it. Right now it makes me look sad. Or serious. Or boring. Or something. But definitely something that I am not.

I actually want to stress more of the same things I stress in my general listings: I'm smart, fun, playful, sex-positive, etc.

But I also need to emphasize that I really truly enjoy erotic hypnosis. I do. It's sexy as hell.

And that I'm willing to do hypno role plays, but if you're calling my hypno line, I am assuming that you want actual hypnosis.

And that I am a hypnotist, not a mind reader, and there are dozens of choices to be made, and that I need you to tell me what you like and what you want for you to get the most out of it. I'm okay with putting you under and asking you to tell me then, but if you can answer before I trance you, that would be ideal.

MISTRESS GALIANA LISTINGS (changing to Lady Galiana):

For my mistress listings, I currently have one listing template:

* http://www.niteflirt.com/listings/show/9498763

I also need to completely change it. First, I'm changing the name to "Lady Galiana", which I think is a better reflection of my topping style than "Mistress" or "Goddess" or "Princess".

I know, it sounds a bit like "Lady Gaga", but I like her fierceness, open sexuality, and unapologetic support of the LGBTQ community, so I'm okay if a comparison is made, jokingly in passing. I'm comfortable that I am my own person enough to wipe out that image quickly.

Next, the pictures and the language I'm currently using there are too formal and serious for me. When I'm in charge, I'm still smart, fun, playful, etc, and the listing currently doesn't convey that very well.

And I need to emphasize that I really truly enjoy dominating sexually. It's a huge power rush and a turn on for me.

And that I love sex, so I could very well choose to get off while I'm dominating or using you (I don't want my listings to be focused on what I am not, but I think there is a popular conception that mistresses don't allow submissives to make them come because then they lose control. Maybe that's true in some dominant relationships, but I'd rather have orgasms, thank you very much).

I like the stuff that's in there now about being cooperative, but lately, I've been thinking about my flavor of domination in terms of being a "service top" -- I enjoy playing a dominating role for the many of the same reasons I enjoy playing a submissive role: I love knowing my partners is getting exactly what s/he's been craving, and more. Giving control and taking control are both means -- for me, the end is ensuring an intensely delicious experience for both of us.

IN ALL THREE:

For all three of my logins / "characters" / personas, the common theme is: I love hearing my lover all grateful, satisfied, and happy after we're done.

Help me out gang. Give me phrases, themes, ideas for layouts, suggestions for pictures you think would work well, thoughts I'm missing, anything you can think of to help my next round of listings be exponentially more appealing than the current ones.

Thanks!

Down the Rabbit Hole

Yet again, I'm taking on a big project that will take me down a rabbit hole. My last big project was to post a bunch of picture sets for sale.

The current project is to optimize my new blog format for SEO (search engine optimization). No, I haven't announced the location of my new blog yet, because it's not done being set up yet, but I'll be ready after I do the SEO stuff. It involves scraping the blogger tags / descriptions / titles off each post and pasting them into the SEO keywords in WordPress. It's uncreative, tedious work. Wish me well, and light a candle for my sanity...

My next project will be to re-do all my listings. All bazillion of them. Okay, so there are just forty-something, but it feels like a bazillion. I'm not turning on Mistress Galiana or Hypno Galiana until they've been reworked, because they're not personalized by listing, the messages aren't exactly what I want them to be, and they are currently making me unhappy.

I know I'm a little obsessive about this kind of thing. And I often wonder if I'm doing anything to move my business forward, or if I'm just doing busy work that is closely related to phone sex *enough* to keep my mind in a sexy place between calls.

Then I get happy reassurances. For example, last weekend, I sent one of my new picture packages as a pay-to-view email to a long time caller who had expressed interest in my pictures. He bought them, he loved them, and he called me for an hour to talk about his responses! And the last time I re-did my listings, I had several callers spend time on the phone telling me why they liked the re-design...

So does that justify my compulsive efforts, or does it just add fuel to a dangerous fire?  /grin

Follow-Up Mea Culpa

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tussle-Bunny Fuck-Scrambled

I make up phrases.

Today I was describing what kind of personality I tend to have when I put on an Australian accent, and I said, "I get all tussle-bunny" and then I realized that maybe I'm the only person who knows what that means. I should correct that. Here:

tussle-bunny: playful, with a high sex drive, enjoys wrestling and/or struggling while fucking, usually used to describe a female

Then later, after the sex part of a call, I described myself as fuck-scrambled. At that point, I'm just having a day of making up phrases, and clearly I needed to blog about it. For your edification: 

fuck-scrambled: an inability to clearly and coherently communicate verbally after an intense sexual experience

Feel free to use them as you wish! 

Lover Experience

In the midst of sorting through my pictures from September's photo shoot, I found one that I hadn't focused on before, but now it's my current favorite picture of myself:

First of all, that babydoll has a bra strap around back, so dang, my boobs look amazingly perky for DDs (did I mention that I got fitted for a bra and found out that I'm a DD, not a D like I thought? Crazy.)

Then the soft purple fabric, with the soft scarf-looking headband, and the flowing gypsy-ish earrings, and my flowing gypsy-ish wavy hair ... all together, it's a soft look physically.

But the real attraction for me is my expression: I look as if I am enjoying the company of whoever I am looking at, as if I am open to them, kind, relaxed, and happy.

I've been thinking lately about the term "Girlfriend Experience" (GFE), and whether or not it fits me. As a married, openly non-monogamous woman, I don't consider myself to be in the market for a boyfriend, which, to me, connotates someone that I'm considering as a potential life partner. A boyfriend/life partner has to share chores, help me when I need heavy stuff moved, and listen to me kvetch when I'm moody... the daily things of life.

I care if my boyfriend/life partner can consistently reinforce training with my dogs, how he behaves towards customer service people in public, whether or not he likes hosting parties, if he likes to travel, and what he chooses to do with his money. Details. Encumbrances. And in many cases, hassles. My husband has to be a good fit for all that crap, poor guy, and that's what I would need from someone to call him my boyfriend, too.

But a lover... well, that's different, isn't it?

I had a conversation with my current lover (also married and openly non-monogamous) when we starting about what we wanted to be for each other. We came up with the concept of an amusement park: lots of fun choices of activities, plenty of delightful options to explore, and no trace of the concerns of daily life. We are an escape for each other. I protect my ability to feel sexy when I'm with him by (mostly) shielding him from my unsexy anxieties about logistics and uncertainties and insecurities and disappointments. When I'm with him, we're just fun and good and happy and sexy together. And it feeds both of us.

So what I think I want on the phones with callers is not a girlfriend experience where you would have to help me with all the annoying hassles of life.

I want a lover experience.

I want to be an escape from your daily grind. A new setting. A different mood. A space in which you are free to be any version of yourself you wish to be, and free to discover which version of me responds to you in that way. Permission to luxuriate in your desires and focus on the pounding of your heart when you touch my skin and hear me sigh.

I once had a crazy-luxurious massage combined with a moisturizing salt scrub, washed off by four overhead shower heads, and followed by heavenly-smelling lotion. I got to shed dead skin, release muscle tension, and replace stress and dullness with relaxation and health.

I want to be that: the sexual equivalent of a day-spa-salt-scrub-massage-shower for those who call me.

So why did I combine that picture with this discussion about offering a lover experience? Because that picture, to me, looks like how I feel as a lover. Calm, relaxed, kind, open, confident, attentive, enjoying your company, and fully aware that you're probably missing all of that because you're distracted by my boobs.

/grin

It's totally okay. They're awesome.

So kick off your shoes, lover. Come on in. Let's play.

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

Heartbreak and Phone Sex, Part IV

He found me through Fembot Central, on the recommendation of my first robot caller. We exchanged a few insightful emails about the nature of android fantasies, the immense variety among practitioners in the fetish, and the specifics that he preferred. His core fetish is about the reveal, in his words, the "sudden lurch into the artificial".

That last phrase illustrates what I've found so far in my recent immersion into the community of technosexuals: thoughtful communication, vivid imaginations and rich vocabularies.

When I think of the stereotype of men with a robot fetish, I think about Warren and Andrew and Johnathan in season six of Buffy: socially inept basement dwellers with delusions of grandeur and massive latent rage at being so misunderstood. And, y'know, some awesome funny quotes if you hang out with them long enough.

But as with all stereotypes and generalizations, the reality at an individual level is deeper, more complex. Unsurprisingly, more human.

I've only played with a few mech fetishists so far, so it is theoretically possible that I have only been with the best and brightest, but my experiences have been delightful. In fact, as a group, they are more adept at discussing and explaining their desires and preferences than the overall group of "all my callers", which I absolutely love; the more information I have, the better I feel like I can do.

Plus, their scenarios are fun and creative and varied. And, I admit it happily, they're fucking sexy. Let's see, I get to imagine myself as a sultry seductress with an insatiable appetite for carnal pleasures, in a 69 with an anatomically correct android who has been programmed to know how to make me climax most efficiently... what exactly would I find to dislike about that?

But I digress. This post is not about the alt.sex.fetish.robot gang as a group. This post is about one man, one story, and my unexpectedly broken heart which has driven me to write, in hopes that maybe I can find a way to stop intermittently bursting into tears from the cinematic images that will not leave my mind.

We set up a simple fantasy that didn't necessarily involve sex, but did involve an identity reveal: My name is Alexandra, and I've been his best friend since we were 14 and 15, through high school and college and getting our first jobs. I was sick a while back and went incommunicado for a few months, but I got better and he didn't think anything of it (which is when the original Alexandra was replaced with a robot replica without his knowledge). He started dating a new girl at the beginning of January, and if we talk too long about her, I'm likely to overload out of jealousy (with details of what kinds of malfunctions he enjoys), because I was made to want to be with him.

I was now two people: Galiana-me, the role player, who wanted to enjoy myself and give him the best experience possible, and Alexandra-me, also known as "the Alexandra replica", a robot girl who loves him.

Galiana-me expected the call to focus around Alexandra-me's desire for him, my malfunctions, and maybe the pleasure programming I had been waiting so long to reveal to him. I expected him to have been harboring a secret crush on me, to be excited by the idea of having a robot girlfriend, and for his surprise to quickly be replaced by lust.

We started that way, bantering easily about our jobs and his new girlfriend, and as it became clear that he was happy with her, I spoke increasingly erratically until I started stuttering, repeating myself, and eventually errored out. While I was in robot mode, restarting my emotion programs, I explained calmly that I was a robot, and asked if he wanted to reactivate my human mode with emotions activated. He chose yes. I restarted, sounding hesitant and apologetic, looking forward to following his lead into sexy time.

"Where is my friend?"

His voice was level, but shaking, the way voices get when someone is using every ounce of their energy to keep themselves from yelling. I... I did't know what happened, I wasn't given that informa....

"What happened to my friend?" They didn't put that in my memory banks, I had no way to...

"Find out. Now." Alexandra-me scrambled to figure out a way to hack into the memory stores, possibly without being detected, and retrieved the information.

At that moment, I realized that Galiana-me simply could not bear the thought of the original Alexandra having been killed. The shock and anger in his voice was too great as it was, I couldn't add danger to that. Or I didn't want to. I didn't want him to feel any more pain than he had to.

So Alexandra-me broke the news to him, with her own voice shaking, and emotional programming threatening to overload, that the original Alexandra had gotten sick. It was natural. She just got sick. She knew she was dying. And she knew the super-secret android lab she worked for could program a replica for her, to replace her, and to continue on with the groundbreaking AI work she had started.

And when she built her own replacement from her memories and her emotional makeup, inevitably, it loved him.

He was furious. Stunned. Incredulous. He lashed out at me, bruisingly firing questions which forced a few resets of my emotional centers as I apologized for letting him find out this way, and tried to tell him what I knew. Yes, her parents knew, but nobody else. No, she wasn't killed, I promise. Yes, she chose to put together this replica. Yes, it was as close to her as the original Alexandra could program.

"If I order you to do something, will you do it?" Yes, of course. "If I told you to program yourself to love someone else, could you do it?" Yes, I could try, but it seems so ingrained, the probability of success is extremely... "Do it. It's a command. Make yourself care for someone else, anyone else, I don't care. Just do it."

Alexandra-me complied, searching through my programming to replace my love for him, and found the impulses buried at the center of all my emotions, and some of my logic. The malfunctions started quickly, growing in severity, until a shut-down was becoming inevitable. As the garbled speech was tumbling out of my sound card, one sharp, pained cry made it out through the mess: his name, the nickname I called him, the nickname that he only allowed me to call him, my own special name for him, a desperate plea for help.

I heard his breath catch.

"Cancel order."

Oh, thank God. Relief and order came back to Alexandra-me as I restored my original programming, and I begged him not to do that to me again. He promised he wouldn't. But he had a new order for me, "Forget you ever told me that you are a robot."

Hi! It's so good to hear your voice. I thought you were avoiding me since you have a new girlfriend now. No, I don't feel tired, why, do I sound tired? Yes, I absolutely should recharge, you're right, a movie maybe, or read some classic sci-fi... What, what do you mean you wouldn't want my mainframe to get corrupted. What, what are you talking about? No, I, what? No, I, what? No, I... please stand by. Restarting emotional center...

He overloaded me twice before I cleared enough of my cache to ask him what he was doing to me, why he sounded so angry, and what he wanted, before I overloaded again. Alexandra-me, without my emotional program activated, the robot-mode version of Alexandra-me, asked if he wanted to restore the memory of the revelation of the robot identity, and my emotional center.

Yes, he said, because "I don't want to talk with you." The way he said you sent shivers down Galiana's spine, as if he had to spit the bitter word out between his teeth before it poisoned him. I ached to reach through the phone and wrap him in my arms for comfort.

Alexandra-me restarted, temporarily stabilized, but deeply concerned. We both took a long, deep breath.

So. We can't make me, it, her, whatever I am... we can't make me stop loving you. And we can't erase the memory from me, because you can't pretend you don't know. So. What do we do?

He needs time to process. Of course. We will talk again, later. Oh, good. That's good. I should email him with details if I find out anything else from the main data source. Yes. Absolutely. I will.

"Alexandra?"

"Yes?"

"Wherever she is, whatever part of you is her, I love you."

Well, so much for holding on bravely and not crying like a little girl... "I love you too. I love you so much."

And as soon as I hung up, I knew. I knew why she hadn't told him she was dying.

She couldn't bear the thought of telling him goodbye.

Sometimes, when you act, or when you write, you fall in love with characters as they tell you their stories. So, Alexandra, welcome to my heart. That's Megan on your left, Camille on your right...

What? Of course I know the nickname you call him. Of course I remember that you're the only one allowed to call him that. Oh. No. Of course not, Alexandra, of course not... No, I won't tell anyone else what it is. I can tell the story without telling them your name for him. I promise. Your secrets are safe with me. You get some rest now.

Oh, no, really, love, honestly: Thank you.

New Page: Stuff To Buy

I am very happy to announce: I put up a page on this blog with all of my items to buy on it ! Please feel free to browse the oh-so-un-subtly named: Stuff To Buy page.

(side note: Whew! Yay me! It feels like I have crossed something major off my to-do list which I've wanted to do for a long time. It's a drag that I had the time today because the phones were pretty slow all day, but yay that it's done!)


Each item has a picture, and that picture is the link to buy the thing.

All items are payable through NiteFlirt, so you need a NiteFlirt account to buy them (NiteFlirt is secure and confidential, takes less of a percentage cut than many adult pay-to-view payment processors, and new customers get 3 minutes free on sign-up).

Even though all my items are also listed at MyFlirtStore.com, I find myself frustrated at the inability to re-sort the items so they appear in the order that makes sense to me.

Also, on a completely practical note, my next big undertaking is to personalize my listings with targeted pay-to-views where possible, so I wanted to gather all the pay-to-view code in one place, instead of having to scrounge through offerings and build the HTML listing-by-listing.

I feel like this is one step in a season of infrastructure-building in my fledgling adult career. It feels like maybe I have sat back and observed enough, and I am now ready to roll out the pieces which make sense for me... all at once... all bazillion of them...

Which is probably why my blog has recently felt like a series of posts alternating between "Hey, look what I did!" followed by "Zoikes! There are so many things I want to do!" I think it's because I have a sense of where to go from here, but I'm trying to pace myself and be satisfied with doing just one or two things each day.

Wish me luck: pacing myself has never been my strong suit.

Enjoy the new page!

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.

Being My Self/Selves

My Inner Dialogue has a constantly looping series of thoughts that go approximately like this:

Inner Worrier: What if someone finds me through a Mistress listing, and it turns them off to see picture packages of me being submissive?

Inner Voice of Reason: Every successful Domme has the same advice: Be yourself. So sometimes we're submissive, that's who we are. If it turns someone off, they're not meant for us. We wish them well elsewhere.

Inner Pleaser: We should make a listing specializing in (fill in a fetish I enjoy...)) because those people can't find us now.

Inner Voice of Reason: Creating and updating listings is not our strong suit. We have more than enough to do now. When we're done with those, we can think about creating more.

Inner Attention Slut: Blogging is fun! So we should make a micro-blog for each of our specialties and blog about each specialty every day!

Inner Voice of Reason: The blog is not currently driving traffic to our phone sex listings -- our phone sex listings are currently driving traffic to our blog. So micro-blogging would probably just result in more places to feel like we're falling behind.

Inner Jealousy Monster: Look at her site! And hers! And hers! Look, none of these Dommes offer naked pictures of themselves. And look, none of these phone sex operators show their face! And look, these divas are making dozens of fetish clips! We should be as good as all of them all at once!

Inner Voice of Reason: We can't be everything. We have to pick. We have to do our thing. And we have to do it well.

Inner Cast: (panicking) OGOD OGOD OGOD, WE DON'T HAVE A "THING"! WE DON'T DO ANYTHING WELL! AAAAARRRRGGGGGHHHH! 

Inner Voice of Reason: Shhhhhh. We do. Take a deep breath and I'll tell you.

(Inner Cast breathes into paper bags)

Inner Voice of Reason: We talk on the phone well. When we're on the phone, we listen well. We pay attention well. We're empathetic. We can pick up instructions and run with them creatively. We bring imagination and creativity and joy into this thing we do, and we make it interactive erotica.

Inner Voice of Reason: (continued) ... And we blog well. We blog honestly. We show people what we love about the job, and what frustrates us, and how our insecurities can make us crazy in this job, just like they could make us crazy in every other job we've ever had, because the insecurities don't care what your job is. We show people how we can usually overcome them, and focus on the positive, ego-boosting parts of the job, and often figure out how to relax and enjoy ourselves. We show people that sluts who love sex can make a successful transition into being dirty talkers for a living by enjoying themselves and being honest.

Inner Slut: Fuck that. You know what you pussies need? To get slammed up against a wall and finger-fucked hard with a big strong hand around our throat and a deep voice growling in our ear to "Come. Hard. Now."

Inner Cast: (simultaneously) Wow... Yeah... Uhhuh... That would work... Whew... Agree!... Yes please....

Inner Voice of Reason: Thank you, Slut.

Inner Slut: No sweat.

Please note: The voices of insecurity have been exaggerated, at least slightly, for the sake of this post.

I would have thought that talking with dozens of men who adore different things about me would have eradicated all my insecurities. Don't get me wrong, it helps. It's great. I love it. I'm probably more confident overall now than I have ever been, and "lack of self-confidence" has rarely been a big problem of mine. Thank you all for that. It matters to me. Thank you.

But the crazy-making voices pop up still, from time to time.

Maybe some I day I will have a whole day where I am content to be myself, without having to talk myself down from some knee-jerk impulse driven by fear or insecurity or jealousy.

It's a lovely goal, isn't it?

Openly Manipulative

The Blog Post Titled "Openly Manipulative", In Which Galiana Reveals Marketing Secrets In A Blatant Attempt To Entice Readers To Call

(Don't you miss journalism headlines from the late 1800s? I know I do.)

Obviously I've got a bit of the silly in me today. And perhaps a touch of the lazy as well. I should be writing follow-up notes. I'm not.

I enjoy some things about the process: picking which pictures to include is fun, changing the main body text to say the same-ish thing in a new-ish way is an interesting writing challenge, and remembering recent delicious calls and having a chance to express thanks in a personal way feels fantastic.

But it's repetitive. There's copy-and-paste for the skeleton, which includes the link to the picture(s). After I get through about ten of them, the part of me that hates all types of repetitive maintenance tasks starts to try to hijack the bus (that same part of me also hates cleaning, shaving, and pulling weeds).

So to appease her, Little Miss Inner Oh I'm So Bored, I'm letting her do something creative and fun: share a few pictures that I've sent along with my follow-up notes, with little explanations of what I like about them.

FYI #1: since mid-November-ish, I've been including a picture with my follow-up notes that do not require downloading - they are just included in the mail itself. Much better. So even on a mobile device, you can see the picture. All it took was figuring out hosting for my pictures that allows adult material (thank you to the ever-luscious and ever-helpful-mentor-of-mine Buttery Bellina for the reference).

FYI #2: I cannot promise to send you naughty pictures of me if you leave me official feedback, because that would compromise the integrity of the feedback system, and that would be bad. However, I can say that in the past, I have sometimes sent pictures of myself to people who have left me official feedback as a way of saying thank-you after the fact, and sometimes those pictures have included more nakedness than the pics I have here. I can also say that I am especially motivated to say thank you in a material way when the feedback is articulate and specific -- the kind that would appeal most to intelligent, creative callers.  

FYI #3: This blog post was aptly named so far.

FYI #4: As a marketing tool, it has worked pretty well - for every 50-ish pictures I send out, I get a call that day saying "Yes Please Do Want!!" and the calls feel related to the pics. Plus, several people have said it's a lovely differentiator that I send out follow-ups at all. I try to use those comments not to feel guilty when it takes me longer than a week.

Click the pictures for bigger versions of them.

This might be the perfect picture of me, of how I feel as a phone sex operator. Playful, luxurious, happy, dolled up with amazing lingerie, great shoes, and decadent accessories (the wrist band was my grandmother's costume jewelry - considering her older sister was a flapper in the 20s, she might not be all that upset with me doing this). This looks smart, fun, and "Galiana"-ish... a bit gypsy, and maybe a little exotic. What more could I want from a photo? (boob lovers, I hear you, don't worry, scroll down)

I would use this as the main picture of most of my listings if the thong were a little easier to see (it's up around my waist) - it is technically compliant with "don't show ass crack without showing thong" but it's not worth the risk of being off-line for two days while I argue the point with the team who polices for nudity.

See? Boobs! I love the relaxed grin, and the pale lingerie against my pale skin. And although the top was tight, so my breasts don't look their largest, they are still obviously more than a handful. I'd like to think that if you came home to that, you'd ravage it.

Ahh, the woman of mystery. Is she submitting to you with that lust in her eye, looking forward to being used? Or is she about to command you to lick her vinyl boots and work your way up to worship her pussy with your tongue? The only thing clear is that she wants you to join her.

This was taken during my 40th birthday shoot, and I had been lazily playing with my pussy moments before, so it was definitely lust-haze, but I like that it's so undefined.

The pin-up girl and her shoes... one of the best pics I have of my feet, oddly enough. This was about 3 minutes after I'd given myself an orgasm with the Hitachi wand, which I did to relax for the rest of the shoot. It worked!

And now, we close with the reminder that you, yes you, can be the first to see pictures like these by calling me every week... And maybe even naughtier if you leave feedback!

Ok, Inner Exhibitionist... can we go back to follow-ups now? Please? 

Perpetual Arousal Machine

Need to spend hours every day between incoming phone sex calls in a constant state of mild arousal without you tipping you over the edge into actual distraction? I do!

Here's what I avoid:

• News
• Political conversations
• Facebook - on days when political issues are especially rampant or impassioned
• Thinking about non-phone-sex-related chores or finances - if it didn't get done before I logged on, it didn't need to get done today
• Comparing myself unfavorably to other sex workers who have been in the business for years, because I don't have nearly as many things to sell, or my own domain, or my own store, or... or... or... 
• Watching porn videos, especially involving bisexual threesomes or anyone transgendered, because then I get nothing else done and have to stop and masturbate

Here's what I do:

1. Read happy-making Twitter feed, making sure it is dedicated to phone sex workers, people sending sex-positive messages, swingers and hotwives showing off their luscious escapades, and other things that usually bring happiness and rarely bring sadness (like @FakeAPStylebook and @NathanFillion), not enough to make me dizzy, just enough to make me happy
2. Work on blog posts about sexy topics, not enough to make me dizzy, just enough to make me happy
3. Read and comment on http://www.reddit.com/r/sex/, not enough to make me dizzy, just enough to make me happy
4. Eat too many salty snacks (this does nothing for my state of arousal, but irrationally, it keeps me on target - I always ate salty snacks while doing homework as a kid...)
5. Read happy making blog subscriptions, making sure my blog reader (I use http://reader.google.com) is dedicated to phone sex workers, people sending sex-positive messages, swingers and hotwives showing off their luscious escapades, and other things that usually bring happiness and rarely bring sadness (like http://bdsmbadadvice.com/ and http://xkcd.com/), not enough to make me dizzy, just enough to make me happy
6. Snuggle with dogs (not sexy, but happy)
7. Pick one thing off the phone-sex-to-do list and try to get it done today (just one, that's it, just doing one thing won't hurt you...), not enough to make me dizzy, just enough to make me feel productive, which makes me happy
8. Repeat 1-7

Feel free to use as you wish!

The DADT of Phone Sex

DADT = Don't Ask, Don't Tell. The military is phasing one out, but today's blog post will be about the phone sex version. Or at least Galiana's phone sex version.

I don't want to know if you regret calling me the moment after you climax. I won't ask, and please don't tell me.

I like to pretend that all my callers have personal freedom to make sexual choices, and a personal entertainment budget, and when you can afford to call, and when "talking with Galiana" is at the top of the list of what sounds entertaining, you choose to spend your hard-earned money on a call with me, talking about whatever feels most entertaining to you, with no guilt involved.

Let me be clear and specific: I love talking honestly and openly about your life situation, and if money problems come up in those conversations, that's fine. And if you're in a situation with your significant other where you're not telling her about your phone sex habits, that's fine too. I don't mind you saying things like "I haven't called because money's been tight." Sharing intimate life details is fantastic. Sharing your remorse at talking with me is not.

So, if, the moment after you have an orgasm, especially an orgasm that I poured a good deal of time and energy and heart and soul into helping you achieve... if, in that moment, you are filled with sorrow for having called me, it does not help you in the long run to share that information with me.

For one thing, it makes me a little gun-shy about your next call, as if I should be asking you, "Are you sure you can afford to be talking with me?" or "Are you sure you won't feel guilty?" And let's be honest, it's highly unlikely that "someone nagging me about how I choose to spend my money and time" is high on your list of kinks. I mean, if it is, great, your kink is okay, and I can work with it, but I don't think that's what most of you want.

And what response should I have? "I'm sorry you chose to do something you would regret later" seems patronizing. "I'm sorry you chose to involve me in something that feels you with remorse" seems selfish. "I'm sorry your brain empties when your balls fill up" is just mean (although it's a little funny). "Have you considered addiction counseling?" is invasive. "Please don't tell me that again" is unsympathetic and awkward, and only adds to the problem. "I'm sorry you feel that way" is about the closest I can come to being both polite and respectful, but it seems dismissive and unhelpful.

Lastly, you chose to call me, and I did my best to give you great service, and then you're ending the call with dissatisfaction ... about an issue which is clearly not my fault, and clearly out of my control to change. What do you get from telling me you wish you hadn't called? Should I feel bad about all the good work and good energy I just shared with you? Should I not try so hard to make you feel good? Should I try to talk you out of calling me? I don't see the benefit for you, and there is certainly no benefit for me.

I vote that you take responsibility for your decisions, even the ones you make when you're in too-overloaded-by-lust-to-think-straight mode. I get it that the sex hormones which flood your brain are real, and that you do physiologically change the moment after you climax. I'm not trying to minimize that. I've been there, and said and done things I regret later plenty of times. I'm not asking you not to feel it, I'm just asking you not to share it with me right at that moment.

... unless you're "The Wanker", or someone else who, like him, is turned on by your own guilt or remorse. The Wanker finds it deeply erotic to talk about post-climax guilt as part of the overall humiliation of being a wanker. But he has a humiliation fetish, so it makes perfect sense, and he talks about it before he climaxes, not after. Everyone without a humiliation fetish, please see the preceding paragraphs.

This concludes my public service announcement of the day. May you enjoy all the sex you have and regret nothing!

If I Call You "Love"

If I happen to call you "love" when we're on the phone, either...

I've been watching too many British shows and have that verbal rhythm in my head, or

I've recently done a girlfriend / wife role play with a caller where he tells me he loves me, so I say it back to him in that context; he usually says he loves me right around the time he also tells me that he's arranged for a well-hung black man to come over and fuck the hell out of me in front of him, but he knows it won't change how I feel about him, or

I've been musing about this post about Love, the English Language, and Not Completely Pretending, and how love is, for me, a point in time where I decide to to act in someone else's best interest as long as it does not harm me...


I'm not a long-term commitment kind of a girl. I only agreed to marry my husband if our wedding vows contained no unconditional promises about the years to come. His vow to me was, "I've asked you every day since we got engaged if you still want to marry me. Today's the important day. Do you still want to marry me?" And my vow to him was, "What it means for us to love each other looks different today than it ever has before, and it is different than it will ever be again. I can't promise you what it means for the future, but I'll do my best to figure it out with you. Do you still want to marry me?"

Side note: When there are unpleasant chores to be done around the house, one of us will inevitably say "But you promised in your vows to obey me!" to which the other will reply, "I didn't promise you shit," followed by something super-romantic like, "You're lucky I'm still here!" The foundation of our relationship seems to be mutual amusement...

My point in sharing my wedding anti-vows is that I believe that love exists primarily in the actions of a moment. String together enough loving moments, and you have a loving relationship. But I don't think you choose a loving relationship and then choose to act lovingly; I think you choose to act lovingly and thereby build a loving relationship.

So sometimes, on the phone, I respond with love, as I understand it, with a giving of myself for the good of another.

I felt loving when I honestly described what an honor it would be to meet one caller and fulfill a very specific BDSM submission fantasy, which has profound symbolism for him, and I let his emotions touch me.

I felt loving when I knelt in front of an exhausted-sounded business man and describing washing, massaging, and licking his feet while he let go of the tension of his mind and relaxed into his body.

I felt loving when I looked past my heartbreak over the physical limitations of a caller with a degenerative muscular disorder, and described athletic romping with him that helped him feel strong and tough and capable, if only for that moment.

... so it's possible that if I call you "love" when we're together, then in that moment, I felt a rush of love for you, genuine love to the best of my ability to define it, and it spilled out of my mouth before I could stop it.

Social Magic and Voice Samples

I've been asked a few times phone sex callers if I can read minds. Not... exactly... but I do have a few tricks up my sleeve, most of which I only realize I'm doing in hindsight.

I come from a family of social magicians: my father could make anyone feel fascinating, appreciated, and loved. My mom can put anyone at ease by telling a funny story that makes her audience feel she is one of them. My sister has an almost unnerving ability to dial her charm up or down at will. And me? In high school, I regularly amused myself by casually saying or doing naughty things around people who only knew the straight-A good girl side of me - I got energy from their shocked confusion.

The methods of social magic don't feel hidden to me: in person, if you want someone to be at ease, you look them in the eye when they're talking, ask questions to show you're listening and interested, and match body language when it makes sense to do so.

In acting class, we experimented with expressions: What's more threatening? 1. A person yelling, "I AM ANGRY YOU DID THAT!!!" while flailing and pounding and stomping, or 2. a person who takes a deep breath, sets their jaw, straightens their spine, tightens their eyes a bit, and says calmly, "I am angry you did that" in a pitch a few tones lower than their normal speaking voice.  /shiver Ugh. Wow. The mental picture of my acting coach doing that still fills me with terror. Do. Not. Want.

When I was a kid, Mom could tell who I was talking with on the phone because I was such a mimic. I don't try to do it, but I unconsciously find myself matching pitch, tone, speed, accent, and vocal mannerisms with the person I'm talking with. If I'm talking with someone British, I have to work to stay sounding American.

On the phone, I answer, "Hi, I'm Galiana!" with a cheerful, but essentially neutral voice. Once I hear the person on the other end, though, I think I probably sound completely different for every caller. When it's clear the person I'm talking with is chemically altered in a mellow way, I find myself saying sleepily, "heeeeeeyyyyy, it's good to heeeear from you." But when I'm hit with a fast, clipped, high-energy east coast voice, I ramp up and articulate through the rushing.

What made me think of it was my last caller; he has a smooth, calm voice and loves to tease and explore. I feel like I'm floating in a pool of pure luscious-ness with him, relaxed and sensual, all arching and stroking and sucking and coming.

After I got off the phone, I returned to sending follow-up notes, and the next on the list was a submissive who begs for me to be more commanding and stern with him, so I spend our time together barking commands and growling at him to shut the fuck up and take his punishment like the slut he is.


And I thought, "How the hell can I give someone a voice sample?"

I am amused.