The List

mmmmwuh!

When we moved to Houston, we managed to sort/categorize/cull about half our stuff (which is fucking miraculous considering we had two weeks' notice), and I've been slowly sorting through the rest since the move, including prepping old computers for donation / recycling.

I found The List.

You know, THE List! Of course you know which one I mean ... /grin. Sure you do. THE LIST: the names of all the people I've ever had physical sexual contact with!

Ohhhhh THAT List.

My version of The List is ridiculously overcategorized. The rows are numbered, then there's name, Location, Year(s), Base (as in: 1st base is kissing, 2nd base is clothes off but no orgasms, 3rd base is orgasms but no penetration, 4th base is penetration, and then 5 means anal sex so I could categorize that separately), and then a column for each of 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th to let me quickly figure out what my total is for that "base" (although with five, I should call it something else, but it's my spreadsheet, so shut up).

It's possible that thinking about the people I kissed in high school makes me juvenile. Sure. I'll blame that.

I started The List when I got to 3, in the back of my diary, and I've kept it in one form or another since then. I thought I had lost it, but the spreadsheet version was on a computer I hadn't used since 2006. Whew! I never would have remembered half of it, but the memories are too fun to have lost.

My List includes such first-base-only gems as "Dean (Crawfish Festival)", "Mike (U of H)", and "Jim (from Numbers)". Numbers was an all-ages dance club in Houston I frequented in the late 80s. I never learned their last names. But hey, at least they were only kissing, right? So I don't claim too much slut cred with those.

But "Random Guy (Galveston)" was third base. I find it amusing I had to qualify beyond just "Random Guy", but apparently that's because the very next entry is "Random Guy (Shane's party)", and there are two more later.

I went to a very fun high school, where taking someone as a date to a formal was free license to make out with them with no expectations for a relationship. I was in a limo for prom with six couples, and we realized between dinner and the dance that not only had I kissed all six of the guys there, five of us girls had kissed all six of the guys. The other girl was only a sophomore, and one of the guys was her first boyfriend, but I'm sure by the time she got to her prom, the same was true for her as well. We were a smoochy crowd.

So when I left for college, I had kissed 36 people (35 males, 1 female), and had sex with 4, and only a few of those numbers would have been considered questionable by my peers. But at college, late one girl talk in the dorm, the other girls were shocked! Stunned! Dismayed! by my numbers. I called my sister and asked, "Why didn't you tell me I was a slut in high school? That seems like something I should have known!" I think she laughed at me. No frikkin help whatsoever.

Then things slowed down dramatically for a while: when I got married at age 25, I had only kissed another 12 guys, and had sex with 3, including my husband. We don't like to talk about those long, boring, dry years...

But then there was The Rampage -- after my separation at age 31, where I rebuilt my bruised ego through the healing power of sexual attention. I kissed 21 people (18 guys, 3 girls), had sex with 12 of them, and tried anal sex... with four guys. I have many happy stories about that period, and thankfully, they end with, "And I was very careful and very lucky, and I never caught an STD."

I met my husband in 2003, and we both assumed we'd be fuck buddies for a while, because it was the period we were both in. We ended up never breaking up, then he talked me into marrying him by telling me he would stay with me even if I didn't marry him (I should be able to see through reverse psychology, but apparently, I can't). Since then I've had 7 lovers.

That brings my totals to ... drumroll please...

77 1st base: at least kissed
46 2nd base: at least clothing removed
39 3rd base: at least orgasms exchanged
25 4th base: at least fucked
5 my silly designation as 5th base: fucked in the ass, in addition to 1st-4th bases

At my current rate, I'm going to be in my late fifties when I hit 100 smooch partners. I just decided: I'm going to throw a Century Slut party and kiss everyone present. Lemme know if you want an invite!

Five Blowjob Night

The other night, I had five calls, and I realized after the last one, they were all about blowjobs. Deeeeelicious.

I just had to stop writing for a moment to go get a lollipop. I will clearly need something to suck on while writing this. Hooray for oral fixations!

The first call was a nice, slow guided masturbation, but he was in the mood to tease me through my clothes, dammit. He was gently talking smut in my ear while telling me how to stroke myself, and I started begging for him to touch me, fuck me, shove his cock in my mouth, anything more than this tormented non-touch, please... He was standing over me, enticing me, and eventually gave in to my pleadings and slid himself to the back of my throat as he allowed me to cum, which tipped him over the delicious edge as well.

I like begging so much more before I start begging, and later when I think about it, than I enjoy begging when I'm in the middle of it. Funny how that works.

The second caller has fantasies of using me as a whore, as impersonally as possible, just meeting in a hotel room, getting sucked off, and then tossing me on my way. He wanted to hear stories about times I'd given head when the guy couldn't have cared less about my pleasure, when he just used my mouth like a glory hole.

As it turns out, I have a few of those stories: college spring break when my friend brought home a random hookup and his friend, I got stuck with the friend, and I obliged him with oral sex so he'd let me go to sleep; the drunk boyfriend who fucked my face while I hung my head off the edge of the bed and then passed out; my husband and I completing our sex-in-every-room tour of the new townhome with an unreciprocated blow job on the back porch, loud enough to meet his "slurpy" preference, but quiet enough to hide from the people in the nearby pool.

You'd think that guy would be the type to hang up right away after coming, wouldn't you? But no, he's surprisingly cuddly and chatty afterward, and wants to know all about my life. Such an amusing juxtaposition.

The third caller was in a tender mood, and wanted "something languorous, luscious... like the most sensual fellatio you can imagine." So I covered his body with kisses and massaging caresses, worked my way to his cock, and then took my time, enjoying the heat, the scent, the taste, the feeling of the rhythm building, the pulsing of his flesh under my tongue, the intimacy of him looking down into my eyes as I swallowed him whole time after time.

He was slurring his words from sleep or alcohol when the call started, so his sleepy, satisfied "Mmmmm, g'night Galinana" was hardly a shock. So cute.

The fourth caller told me a story, of why he had hung up on me last time he had called: because I was describing a three-way I had with a couple in 2002, where both of us girls were going down on the guy, and the caller had been driving during our previous call, and had gotten turned on, so he had pulled over, in the middle of nowhere, to masturbate while I described it in vivid detail... and a cop pulled up! Yikes! He got his dick back in his pants and convinced the policeman he was napping on a multi-hour road trip, thankfully. But wow, yeah, that's a valid excuse to hang up suddenly!

So for this call, thankfully, he was not driving, and he wanted me to start the story over from scratch, and give every lascivious detail. Since that weekend I spent with that couple is one of my favorite erotic memories, I was happy to oblige.

Then the fifth and final caller of the night wanted me to rim him while jacking him off, but it morphed into him guiding my head with his hand in my hair, me deep-throating him, while I fucked his ass with my finger to the same rhythm. He said he shot clear up to his neck he came so hard. Awww. That made me so happy. Isn't that what every girl wants to hear?

Then I logged off and looked over my notes to make sure I hadn't left anything out, and realized I'd had an all-blowjob evening. My fingers were pruney from sucking on them so much, my husband was frustratingly out of town, and my panties, uncharacteristically still on my body at the end of the evening, were soaked.

Why, hello, there, favorite vibrators with fresh batteries lying by my bed. Do me a favor and help me out with a little fantasy I've been working on, would you? It involves me on my knees...

A Thousand Times Yes

He'd been away for a while. He asked if I missed him; of course I had. After all, every blog entry is always secretly about him in some subtle way, isn't it? It is, and always will be, according to him.

"We're in such different places tonight," he said. I was all bubbly and bouncy and happy to hear from him again. He was, in his words, darker.

"It doesn't matter what you want to take out on me... how are you going to take it out on me?" I asked. He described himself beating me into sub space, leaving every inch of my skin tingling and alive to the touch, but his heart wasn't in it, I could tell.

"Or I could curl up inside your mature, worldly-wise, seductive imagination..."

"... and lose yourself?"

"...mmhmm..."

Well then.

Sometimes, taking a man's balls in my hand and his cock in my mouth feels like raw, unadulterated power. Sometimes, I can feel his vulnerability, know his desire, taste his need. In those moments, I know that when he empties himself into me, it will release more than fluids.

"Yes," he said, after he gave me every last drop of whatever burden it was that he needed to unload, "yes... yes... and a thousand times yes..."

I hope you slept well. I know I will.

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...

My Favorite Thing From Reddit

I keep trying to finish a non-Reddit-related blog post and failing. Being busy is a good problem to have.

So instead, I'm going to go the lazy route and paste in my favorite part of the Reddit thread here:

gigashadowwolf:
Would you kindly blow my mind?

GalianaChance:

Dammit. My brain's all fuzzy from vertigo from doing this all day. Okay, Chance, center down. You can do this.

I run my fingertips up your cerebellum, brushing by your temporal lobe, and as they make their way lazily to your occipital lobe, you feel my cheek nuzzling where my fingers vacate. My hair traces over your hippocampus, causing a shiver down your stem.

You feel my warm tongue on your parietal lobe, my palm gently cradling your olfactory bulb, and my lips slip over your amygdala.

I guide your hand to my hair and you make a fist in it, showing me exactly how what you like on your anterior cingulate. Dirty.

Your dorsolateral prefrontal starts throbbing, and you hear a "mmmhmmm" come from me as you shove every bit of your entorhinal cortex into me.

I swallow every drop, licking my lips after you're done. Mmmm tasty.

BaconZombies:

Holy. Fucking. Shit. I applaud you, madam.

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... 

Honestly Orally Fixated, Part B

I did an early blog post about being honestly orally fixated. But then I attended a phone sex "job interview" where my oral skills were called into question, and I realized as I was explaining my "qualifications" that I should add this information to the blogged explanations of my oral cravings.

The un-sexy part: (dental phobias? skip this paragraph) I have at least a $15,000 mouth because I had two childhood oral traumas where I knocked out baby teeth, one teen oral trauma that broke one of my front teeth (it's half-fake), five oral surgeries, and braces for two and a half years in high school.

The really un-sexy part: (dental phobics skip this paragraph too) One of my surgeries was because my adult incisors were up in the roof of my mouth, and they weren't coming down to push my baby incisors out. So they removed my baby incisors, cut a path from my adult incisors to where my adult incisors should be, attached a gold chain to my adult incisors, and then slowly tugged them into position by feeding the chain through my braces. Every time I got my braces tightened, I thought my head was going to cave in from the pain for up to a week afterward.

The bizarre outcome: I figured out that it helped relieve the pain when I pressed firmly on the roof of my mouth with my tongue or my fingers, so I did that constantly during my pain weeks. The release from pain was so comforting that it developed into a Pavlovian trigger to make me feel better, even when my mouth didn't hurt, whether I was in physical pain, emotional pain, mild discomfort, whatever... I still to this day smush the roof of my mouth to relax or comfort myself.

The sexy outcome: It's not just my tongue; anything pressing on the roof of my mouth relaxes me and makes me feel safe and comforted and happy. Like fingers. Or certain kinds of gags. Or cocks. Mmmmm, dick therapy. Delish.

The straight-A perfectionist at work: When my first true love and I started heading to third base (my first time, not his), I went to the nearby university library and researched blow jobs. I don't know what human sexuality textbooks I read, but I remember feeling like I had enough information to try it. My offer was accepted immediately, with great gratitude, and his response was, "You have to have done this before."

The theater major at work: The theater kids were a progressive lot, including sitting around in mixed-gender groups trading sex tips. I remember a horror story of a bad blow job, and my response of, "I hope I never did that to anyone" being answered by two guys simultaneously saying, "No, you're great." They high-fived and everyone laughed at me while I turned horrifically red and died a little (it was common knowledge I'd dated both of them, but ... wow).

HOLY CRAP: For my birthday that year, those same two guys both gave me a vibrator as a joint gift... and yet, I'm such a dumbass... I never realized before right now, this second, that I probably could have talked them into having a male-female-male three-way with me. I am deeply filled with sorrow and regret. And very. Dirty. Mental pictures. /blink /blink

In conclusion: (so I can go finish writing and go masturbate to the images in my head...) Mr. Interviewer, I totally deserve the job of delivering your next fellatio, because I am well-researched, well-experienced, and uniquely well-built orally to not only please you, but also have a hell of a good time doing it. Thank you very much.

Girls Next Door Are Freaks

I recently moved a listing to "Fantasy --> Girls Next Door" that wasn't doing well in another category. Man, I should have done that a long time ago! Not only is my listing there usually in the top 10 for the category, but I've been getting fun new callers from it.

I should have known, because in my "Sex" listing and my "BBW" listing, I regularly get requests for girl-next-door fantasies: for me to come over and seduce my neighbor, or to be seduced when he finally admits his long-time crush on me. I think of Girl Next Door and I think natural, relaxed, friendly, pro-sex... all things I consider myself, so I'm a dumbass for not listing there from the start. Did I think I was too old? I dunno. Dumbass.

Anyway, self-flagellation aside, here's the funny thing I wanted to write about: I have not yet gotten a girl-next-door fantasy request on my Girls Next Door listing!

Instead, I've gotten requests for (in order by decreasing similarity to the girl-next-door fantsy):

• With no explanation of our relationship or how we know each other, he's in control and teases me with our clothes on, makes me undress him, then go down on him while I play with myself. (hey, that sounds remarkably similar to the "plot" of my first recorded listing - so far so good)
  
• I'm a nurse where he's recovering from having broken both arms, so he can't jack himself off. I help him and it turns out I have a serious semen fetish, so I beg for him to shoot down my throat, and then don't tell my boss! (mmm giving head to a guy who can't move his hands - yummy)
• I'm fucking him with a strap-on while he's watching a girl with giant boobs get fucked by a guy with a giant cock. Then she decides to join us and blow him until he comes on her huge breasts. (what's not to love about giant boobs and giant cocks and my strap-on?)
• He asks me what I like and what toys I have, and becomes momentarily paralyzed by the sound of me spanking myself. When he regains speech, he guides me down to my knees and uses my mouth. (momentary caller paralysis is awfully gratifying)
• I go to an interview for a research position at a university, where it turns out they're testing a compound that makes semen taste better. They need someone who can orally bring men to climax, and also design and defend the research methodology and run statistical models (having PhD statistician friends comes in handy in surprising ways). The interview includes a demonstration of my blow job technique. I got the job! (so. awesome. In so many ways. Awesome. Awesome. Awesome.)
• I seduce him and his wife in a bar, then take them back to my hotel, where there are three big guys waiting for us. The four of us tie him up, gang up on his wife in the most delicious way (she surprises all of us by liking it), and then using my strap-on on him while one of the guys uses his mouth. (Ummmm, wait, what? How did that start as girl-next-door at all?)
• Laws have just been passed to wipe the intelligence and will from all women. First, an interview before I am reprogrammed shows I'm a smart, angry feminist. Then, the interview after the reprogramming reveals I'm a happy submissive ditzball who can't do math or understand television, but looooooves walking around naked all the time and giving head to every man who requests it. (This was surprisingly fun to play, after I tied up my Inner Feminist and gave her ear plugs)
• He is one of a harem of submissive men who serve me: breakfast in bed, housework, massages, and then I tie him up and tease and flog and clamp him, and force him to watch me get gang-banged by the rest of my harem. (Oh, sure, my roomie and I had a submissive harem for a while after college... oh wait, no, we totally didn't)

Apparently girls next door absolutely cannot get enough cock or cum in their mouth (definitely the right category for me), and y'know, sometimes assemble gangs or harems to serve them sexually. Typical wholesome American girl activities, right?

I shouldn't have been surprised. I know by now that people call my submissive line to have me top them, and my spanking line to get pegged with a strap-on. And yet... I'm surprised! And amused. And finding myself looking forward to adventures with a grin when I get a new caller in GND.


In particular, that university research fantasy could not be any more deliciously adorable, could it? I went with the idea that the compound stimulates every taste bud it touches in a pleasing way, so it was like having an Everlasting Gobstopper of cum. Too over the top?

Recorded Listing Live!

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New Caller Sprays Enthusiasm

Tonight's second new caller happened to be the first person ever to call on the listing I recently moved from "Mature" (I'm a legit 40, but didn't get many calls there) to "Oral Sex" (clearly a better fit - it was stupid not to have a listing there). I knelt between his knees and introduced myself to his generous erection with great enthusiasm. He said the following awesome things after he came:

I had really high expectations from reading your listing and your blog, but oh my God, you were so much better than that! 

and

I shot across the room... I'm not even sure where that first one landed...

and

From your listing to your blog to your pictures that I'm 99% sure are real... You are exactly who I hope to find.

and every girl's dream:

I'll be calling back. 

I floated downstairs with happies and told my husband, who laughed and hugged me and said, "Awwww, good job, honey." I've had enthusiastic first callers before, and even other people saying nice things to me today, but something about this particular set of effusive praise hit me right where I guess I needed it today. Yummers.

Since obviously my evening can't get better than that, I'm packin' it up & callin' it a night. I look forward to making others that happy tomorrow!

Playing With My Food

In my off-phone sex life, I have a few great memories of mixing food and sex, which is not surprising, given my strong oral fixation. I'm plenty hedonistic enough to appreciate multiple layers of taste and smell and texture.

By far the best ever was the night my husband and I ... ummm... /blush... met in person for the first time? slept together for the first time? Oh, hmm, mmaaaayyyybe those were the same night... Anyway (/innocent whistle), we had been fucking like bunnies for a couple of hours, and I felt snacky, so we ventured to the kitchen, naked, to discover our culinary choices. I opened the fridge, saw the whipped cream can, shook it, opened it, leaned my head back, filled my mouth (without touching the nozzle with my lips or tongue, of course, because although I am clearly trashy and presumptuous and greedy, I'm not germy), and then I had the good graces to be mortifyingly embarrassed that I'd just done that. He looked stunned. Like, eyes wide, blink, blink, blink stunned. I managed to swallow it all, which is tricky to do when you're trying to apologize and not laugh with a mouth full of whipped cream. He finally caught his snap and said, "I think I just fell in love with you a little bit. That was awesome."

The most creative was the sensation game: I was blindfolded while a lover fed me different food and drink, or traced different sensations over my body. When I guessed correctly, I got rewarded with kisses or stimulation or flesh in my mouth or, eventually, permission to have orgasms. When I guessed incorrectly, I got spanked, clamped, or restricted. By the end of it, my hands were clamped to my collar, my feet were cuffed to the spreader bar, the spreader bar was leashed to my collar, and I had clamps everywhere sensitive. As we were cooling down, after he freed everything but my hands, he fed me samples of flavored chocolates and kissed the flavors off my tongue. Not only was the experience wonderful and unforgettable, the set-up he had to do was damn impressive indeed.

In my on-phone sex life, I've enjoyed some super sexy food play, without any annoying logistical concerns of cleanup or hygiene.

The most amusing was the guy who asked if I were on my knees with his cock in one hand and chocolate in the other, what would I choose? Those of you who guessed "melt the chocolate on your dick and let me clean it off with my tongue" are the ones who know my greedy little self the best.

The most surprising was the man who started describing his homemade turtle cheesecake, then how he would feed it to me, then shifted to focus on how much weight I would gain. The more I described fat packing itself onto my flesh, the more aroused he became. After the call, I referred him to SS BBW Angie Kimber (who I've had the pleasure to meet in person), and the weigh-in videos she told me about (search her studio for "weight gain combo"). Since I haven't heard from him since then, I assume Angie's taking great care of him!

The biggest divide between "fun to imagine" and "probably not fun to clean up in real life" was the gentleman with the combo fetish: sploshing and silky panties. Sploshing, in case you don't want to wander to potentially frightening new places on the internet, is the fetishistic use of wet, but solid, food, like getting a pie in the face, or having a food fight with spaghetti and meatballs in tomato sauce. This particular gent wanted me to fill my silky undies with chocolate pie or banana pie and describe it oozing out onto my thighs and soaking through the soft fabric so he could lick and suck it off me.

Man. Now I'm hungry.

Good Girls Gone Naughty

I love being surprising. In high school, I made straight As, dressed as a clean-cut preppy with simple makeup and comparatively natural hair for the 80s. If I had a reputation, it was as a good kid, officer in choir and theater, and one of the first two people in the school to make a perfect score on an International Baccalaureate exam (the program had just started).

So when people saw me out with friends, at a party, or at the inexplicably densely populated yet utterly uneventful parking lot where teens gathered, and they saw me smoking, the reaction was often one of shock. YOU smoke?

I loved that reaction. I loved the attention, the fact that someone would feel like they knew me, and the fact that they didn't know everything. And I loved the confused lingering glances as I felt them wondering what else I did...

(FYI: I haven't smoked in several years, thankfully)

So imagine my delight with the outcome of this luscious fantasy:

I was a college student, working my way through school as a prostitute, and I hang out in nice hotel lobbies looking for lonely business travelers. Once I  discover their fetishes, I use that knowledge to close the deal and get them to the hotel room.

This particular client was a well-educated gentleman, with a soft vocal demeanor, and polite word-choices, so I matched his tone and his tenor. I was sweet, smart, inquisitive young woman, who drew out of him that he has an oral fetish, and a fantasy about being with a hooker. I combined the two by letting him know I was for rent and then sucked his finger slowly into my mouth - it was almost too simple.

Up in the room, I was ripping his clothes off him, leaving a trail of red lipstick stains down his chest, on my knees unbuckling his belt, when:

Him: (stammering) I ... ummmm...I also kinda like...
Me: (pausing) Yes? You can tell me. It's okay.
Him: When, if... getting an educated girl, a nice girl, to say... ummm... like...
Me: (grinning) To say shit like, "I need you to face-fuck my dirty whore mouth, and use me up like the cumslut I am?"
Him: (whimpering) ohfuckohfuckohyes

The surge of shock and lust and gratitude that poured through the phone at me was deliciously gratifying. I had to stifle a giggle.

I love that image of myself: Galiana Chance, good girl turned naughty, blowing away expectations for over 20 years. It's a little long for a tagline, isn't it?

Tuesday Off Line

I'll be off line Tuesday (Sept 7). It's not because I'll be going back to work like most of America, because I did not take the weekend off. In fact, my weekend work was lovely - thanks to some of you calling!

I'm going to the dentist, which means the whole day off for me, because I have big fat dental phobia. So when I go to the dentist for anything more than a routine cleaning, I have to give myself knock-out drugs. Like a Rufi, but prescribed, where I can't remember anything afterwards.

Seems like I'm over-reacting, doesn't it? But I've heard enough things like: "There's no way you should be able to feel that with as much Novocaine as you have" or "There shouldn't even be nerve endings there anymore" or "Between your anti-anxiety drugs and the laughing gas, how are you even awake, much less in pain?" ... So, really, if there's a good reason to say things like that to me ever again, honestly, I just don't want to remember it.

Pthththth. That pretty much sums up my extraordinarily mature response right there. Pthththth indeed.

I'll be back Wednesday, right as rain, with only minor discomfort (which I can easily avoid aggravating, even during oral calls), having gotten more than enough sleep, and with zero traumatic memories. Hooray for modern medicine, and an understanding and accommodating dentist.

But for the up side, when I'm not going to the dentist, having a mouth with too many nerve endings has advantages. Like, I have more sensation on the roof of my mouth than most people seem to. I explain that more here. And in general, my mouth is a pretty happy place as long as it's remaining occupied, which I look forward to it being again Wednesday.

Might As Well Practice

Since I have a lot of calls involving giving head, I decided to get out the Vac-U-Lock dildo that is a bit thicker than my husband or my lover and keep it by the bed in the Fuckatorium (aka guest bedroom) where I work.

As long as I'm sticking something in my mouth, I might as well be working on my deep-throating skills, right?

Honestly Orally Fixated

I say in my listings that I'm orally fixated, and I've had people express doubt. Really? It seems like the thing you *should* say, but is it really true?

Ohhhhh yeah. It's true.

I crave interesting textures. Brie with the outside still on. Candied pecans. Peanut butter. Eating is half about the taste and half about the feeling for me. 

I find myself describing sex in food terms: yummy, delicious, tasty. The first sign I'm aroused is that my mouth waters. 

And I have a bizarre, and apparently uncommon thing physiologically: the soft spot of the roof of my mouth right behind my palette is pleasantly sensitive to touch. So sometimes when I'm stressed, I massage the roof of my mouth with my tongue without being aware of it.

So when flesh hits that spot - fingers or a nice warm hunk of man-meat - it actually feels good to me. Comforting. Relaxing. It helps me escape from what my mind is spinning and focus on what my body is feeling.

So when I'm turned on, I need my mouth engaged. I've begged lovers to put something in my mouth when I'm tied up. It's ten times easier for me to climax while masturbating with toys if I'm sucking on my fingers or my ball gag. And giving head while stuffed with buzzy toys is one of my favorite ways to orgasm.

Honest.