2 Years, 450 Posts, 1 Blogged Life

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Care and Feeding of Galiana

Too much want

In the probably-forgettable movie Made In Heaven, seen in my impressionable youth, a new soul falls in love with a guy named Mike in heaven, and then, after she's born and grows up, although she doesn't remember him directly, she writes a children's book called "The Care and Feeding of Mike". The sweet little phrase stuck with me, and now when I think of care, I think "The Care and Feeding of..."

Urg. I have so much want.

I want to continue the dialog I entered into with my celebration of male submissives post, reading others' spectacular writings and leaving comments that make me seem like I know what I'm talking about. I want to keep engaging with Fizz and Chaos of Lab Coats & Lingerie, lose myself in the archives of KittyStryker's recently-Janes-Guide-approved PurrVersatility, help Alisa research to fill in the blanks of her archiving efforts at KinkInExile, encourage Tomio to keep writing, and pathetically attempt to keep up with all the insights and research spread by the inspirational maymay, knowledge worker extraordinaire, the one who drew me into this particular dizzying world of rhetoric and ideas to begin with by the brilliantly evocative MaleSubmissionArt...

Maymay, by the way, is also the one who helped me realize the value of contextual linking. I recognize the irony of having no links in that sentence. (trivia: I am always certain I have used the word "irony" incorrectly)

But back to my insatiable want... I want to write more about fairness and negotiation and respect in relationships, BDSM and vanilla. I want to share my observations about community-building from years of church and BDSM groups and playing MMORPGs. I want to start podcasting. I want to release more videos that are like visual podcasts. I want to open an Ask Galiana blog so I can pretend to legitimize my compulsive need to share my perspective.

I want to take series of pictures enjoying my body as I strip out of constrictive clothing to show that I can still celebrate my physicality even though my medicines packed on an extra 15 pounds I didn't intend to gain.

I want to spend every moment with my family for these last couple of weeks while I still live in Houston with them. After 21 years away, it has been soul-nourishing to live in the same town again for 6 months, just barely long enough to develop habits of including each other. I will miss the casual ability to help, and to feel feel caught up.

I want to be spending enough time over the phone with my husband, who is away from our current home, working in the place where I'm moving at the end of the month, to stay emotionally connected to him during this busy time, so we don't get too snappy or resentful.

I want to sort through the crap in my home that we didn't have time to sort through when we moved here in March, and I want to recycle, donate, sell, and throw away as much as possible before we pay by the pound to move it cross-country. I am disturbed by how many belongings we have moved multiple times and never used.

And I want to keep feeding off the energy of my callers, take luscious escapes of fantasy and pleasure, lose myself in the delicious focus of luxuriating in the erotic rhythms of wants and needs and secrets and lusts. I feel useful and sexy and empowered and strong and capable when I spend time having phone sex.

And on the days of the move, I want to be at the top of my game, ready to do whatever needs to be done, strong and willing and able.

Days? What do you mean day? The next 3 weeks include these separate days: hub's last 4-day trip where he has to finish packing everything that is his and sorting everything that is ours, 4 days of paying an underemployed friend to help me pack, movers taking our stuff, my hub driving away with the car and the dogs, my flying up to *static* and him driving me to our new home several hours from there, our stuff arriving at our new place, and a great friend from college arriving to help me unpack for a few days.

Oh, and I'd like to do all that without having any vertigo crashes, please. Because having massive physical limitations is completely inconvenient right now. Could I just not have vertigo for a bit?

Dear Galiana,

Please read The Care and Feeding of Galiana. It goes something like this: Galiana needs, at a minimum: water, food, down-time to let her brain rest, and, separately from the rest, sleep. If you could also work in "having reasonable expectations for herself," that would be peachy.

Love, Galiana

I feel like I'm considering dropping out of a bunch of stuff that just finally got rolling, and I don't want to let any of it go. But that is the thought pattern of people who drive themselves crazy from inexperience, and, for better or worse, I know better.

So I will put my activist urges on a shelf, carefully schedule blocks of time with family, resign myself to still having clutter after we move, watch my days-between-blog-posts climb again, savor the escape with the callers who catch me on the phone, email the ones who let me know they missed me, and do the best I can to get through this as productively as possible.

Tell Me You Love Me

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

tell me you love me

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

tell me you love me

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

tell me you love me

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

tell me you love me

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

tell me you love me

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

tell me you love me

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

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

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

Tell me you love me.

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

 

New Tagline

Satisfying and Satisfied

I asked for advice on a new blog tagline, and I've settled on one.

The old one was: The Blogged Life of Galiana Chance, a phone sex operator with a fetish for variety

The new one is: The Phone Sex Blog of Galiana Chance, a genuine gal and "a very satisfying phone fuck"

Many thanks to SAFL for repeating the word "genuine" often enough for me to finally remember it, and to Gravelly Moon for his very first feedback to me ever, which was, "Witty, sexy, fun, and completely in to my fantasy. She's a great flirt and a very satisfying phone fuck." I had been taking calls for 15 days. His feedback made me high.

The old blog tagline sounded classy, well-written, and maybe even polite.

The new one? It reinforces the phrase "phone sex blog" which is how I want people to be able to find me. But more importantly, it amuses me. Therefore, to the great surprise of nobody familiar with my proclivities, I'm keeping it.

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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A Year and A Fortnight

Galiana A Year and A Fortnight ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ms Galiana Reborn

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First Draft of New Listings

I'm thinking of something like this when I update my listings this week... (except the pics will show up larger there)

Questions for you: What do you think? What am I missing? What do I have too much of? What could be better? Does it feel like "me" to you?

And... ideas for a new title? Help, I'm seriously stuck on that part...
=====

My Blog: Get to know me better - http://galianachance.com/blog

My Calendar: Log-in schedule for the next seven days - http://galianachance.com/blog/calendar/

My Voice: Hear a voice sample of me saying hi!



Fetish For Variety: It's hard to answer the question "what turns you on?" because the list is so long and varied. Soft and sensual, hard and rough, topping, subbing, teasing, degrading, or rubbing your shoulders while hearing about your crappy day at the office - I love all those, because it's the connection I enjoy most.

Your lust landscape probably has 50 things in it. My lust landscape probably has 50 bazillion things in it. I am confident we can find overlap, and build an amazing playground together.



Smart: A former data analyst / IT manager with a tendency to date programmers and engineers, what geek/gamer cred I don't have on my own, I have probably at least overheard. I'm happy to share my SAT scores, my IQ percentile, and where I went to college - you won't be disappointed!



Creative: I was a theater major and a creative writing minor (and went on to be paid to act a few times, and was given a miniscule amount for my erotic fiction to be published in print... but braggin' rights is braggin' rights, right?).

The important point is that I can keep the fresh ideas coming, and if you enjoy a good role play, I can fully join you in your fantasy.



Real: I really love having sex - I'm openly non-monogamous in my personal life.

I really love having phone sex – the discovery and exploration have been deeply enriching for me.

I really love getting to know a new lover - discovering how to make your breath catch from lust turns me on more than I can express.

I look forward to playing with you!

~ Galiana

P.S. I do have a few limits, but I don't want unsexy things on my listing, so write me if you have questions.

P.P.S. Those who take the time to read my blog or leave me satisfied feedback are especially treasured.

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!

Feedback Nightmare & Epilogue

Feedback Nightmare

a play in One Act, plus Epilogue

by Galiana Chance

closely based on a very true story

ACT ONE

GALIANA, 40, pleasantly pudgy with casual sexual confidence, lays asleep on her half of her comfortable queen-sized bed. Her HUSBAND, just shy of his 41st birthday, attempts to slip into bed beside her, unnoticed.

Galiana (sleepily, reaching for him):

I had a nightmare...

Husband (unsure if she's talking in her sleep): 

What happened? 

Galiana: 

Someone left me feedback. Bad feedback. It was one-star. He said I wasn't committed because I wasn't available. He didn't know we're packing, we're moving...

Husband (resting his hand on her cheek): 

Fuck your dream makers, honey. Fuck them in half. We're okay.

Galiana (grinning as she drifts back to sleep):

Mmmhmmm.

Commentary: I usually have stress dreams during stressful times. We're packing and moving right now. It's stressful. The stress dream was not a surprise. However, its manifestation as stress about my feedback was a surprise, although maybe it shouldn't have been.

EPILOGUE

A few hours later. HUSBAND lays asleep on the bed as GALIANA attempts to slip in beside him, unnoticed.

Husband (nowhere near fully awake): 

Are you okay?

Galiana: 

I'm fine. I just went potty and got some Aleve.

Husband: 

Why did you need leaves?

Galiana: 

Aleve. I didn't want my back to get sore. The blue pain pill, Aleve.

Husband (with a sleepy grin): 

Are you having salad?

Galiana (patting him condescendingly): 

Yes. That's exactly right. Leaves for a salad.

Husband (snuggling up to her): 

Why are you talking so much? You should be quiet now.

Galiana (grinning):

Mmmhmmm. Sorry, love.

Husband: 

You're horrible at being quiet. I give you one star. Too loud. Too many salads.

Galiana stifles a giggle, only somewhat successfully, remembering the first night they spent together, which was about three hours of delicious fucking followed by an hour of giggling too hard to sleep, mostly fueled by the will-never-be-as-funny-to-anyone-else punchline, "Did you try to teach that sumbitch octopus to ride a bicycle?"

Galiana drifts back to sleep, oddly comforted.

The nightmares do not return.

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! 

Chance It for Kindle!

My blog is available on the Kindle!

The way blog subscriptions work on the Kindle is that someone signs up for a 14-day trial, after which, if the subscription is not canceled, the subscriber is charged a monthly subscription fee. The fee is set by Amazon, and I get 30% of what Amazon collects (which I am delighted by - something is better than nothing).

So now, on the right side of the web version of this blog, you can see a little button directing you to learn more about a Kindle subscription. That button takes you here: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004LGSC6S where you will see a real live product by Galiana Chance available on Amazon.
This. Is. Awesome.

Even if the subscriptions never take off, I am still irrationally thrilled at (a) being listed as an Author on Amazon, and (b) the possibility that the blog might generate a little cash.

I'm celebrating by turning up "Any Way You Want It" and rocking out for a few moments... pardon me... Okay, back now. Thanks.

Many many many thanks to the darling dearest caller who suggested this (you know who you are /blowkiss). I'm so pleased!

Business of Blogging

My post about the business side of being a PSO generated some interesting conversations and questions, so I thought I'd reveal some similar information about the blog.

I've been running this blog since Aug 15 (86 days). I've posted 162 posts, which is a little less than two / day.

The only ways to find the blog are: my NiteFlirt listing (over 90% of my traffic), stumbling into the blog from a search result related to one of my posts (less than 1% of my traffic), or Twitter (I tweet about blog posts from @GalianaChance where almost all my followers are PSOs, and then @FlirtBlogs automatically tweets when I have a new blog post).

There are lots of ways to drive traffic to a web site that I'm not doing. I don't advertise the blog. I don't strategically post comments on high-traffic sites. I don't run contests. I don't do anything to improve my search engine optimization other than label / tag my posts.

I usually get 150-200 page views per day, so it's not a high-traffic site by any normal web definition, but I'm really happy with it. It feels like a great start. I kind of like that it's still small enough for me to be able to tell when someone goes on a binge and reads my whole blog. I think about half my readers are potential callers, and the other half are phone sex operators -- that's a gut-level guess based on comments and emails. I know at least 20 callers who read regularly.

I've had Google ads enabled most of the time I've had the blog, and so far I have $1.44 from people clicking ads on my blog. I suspect all those clicks are from one reader who is being supportive (P.S. never click an ad unless you're actually interested -- honest advertisers deserve honest clicks).

Not $1.44 per day -- $1.44 total, which is a little less than 1.5 cents per day. 

So. Why do I keep up with the blog at this crazy pace when it's not even making enough to pay for Starbucks once per quarter?

I blog for me: I like having a place to store favorite memories. And I like having a place to "think out loud" about concepts which are gnawing at me; writing often helps me un-stick thoughts that are feel stuck. And I didn't want to lose the early impressions, the questions which will become answers, which will become assumptions, which are good to remember and question now and then. And, at its most practical, blogging between calls helps me stay in the right head-space more than any other between-call activity. 

I blog for you: You've told me you like the blog, and I like interacting with you around stuff I've written. It sometimes gives us fresh things to talk about when you call. When I'm puzzling over an idea, like when I was struggling with the word "whore", readers piped in with their perspectives on calls, and the interaction helped me. When a new caller says he's read my blog, I feel more confident that we're going to get along well, and I can almost guarantee it will be a fun call.

(Haven't called yet? Try not to be intimidated by that last sentence - the people who ask, "Was that boring / weird / unoriginal?" are usually the ones I have found the most fascinating and creative. Your fantasy may feel unoriginal to you because you've thought about it a lot, but chances are, there's some original twist in there somewhere. Also, if you're not in the mood to shoot for originality, you can always pick some toys and guide me to masturbate with them - I love those calls a lot. Oops. Now I'm totally off topic.)

Back to the interactions. I love putting something naughty in the blog and having a caller toss it back at me later, to use in their own play. I find it deeply gratifying when someone takes something they've learned about me and incorporates it into a fantasy. And I'm endlessly amused when callers tease me about getting in the blog:

Question: When are you going to put me in the blog?
Answer: I have no idea. My urge to write has a life of its own without a logical pattern. It feels like when I write fiction, and characters suddenly become insistent about their story lines. I write the ideas and stories that don't leave me alone. If I could predict that, I'd be a much better writer, that's for sure.
Joking Response: I'm not calling again until you put me in the blog!
Brat Counter-Response:  /giggle

My husband and I tried to figure out a way to monetize callers' urges to get in the blog, but all our ideas were stuff that would annoy us if someone else did it, so I didn't do any of them. I have some ideas of how to get more reader interaction, purely for my entertainment, but nothing bankable. I'll do them some day.

So, in conclusion: blogging can be very profitable, but not the way I do it. If you want a profitable blog, work on making your blog profitable, instead of using it to entertain yourself.

Happy Quarter Anniversary!

Today I have been a phone sex operator (PSO) for three months. Happy Quarter Anniversary!

My husband and I have a tradition at milestones (anniversaries, birthdays, holidays): we go to dinner someplace yummy and quiet-ish, and each answer a few questions. We've had wonderful conversations that way, so I'm going to continue the tradition here. Feel free to ask other questions if you have them.

What is your favorite memory (from being a PSO these past three months)?
There's no way to pick only one. If you go to my blog and click on the "fave" label, so far there are 31 entries! But if I break into categories, I can come up with a few memorable standouts.

Fave introduction: "Perv Card" saying "After reading your feedback, I'd be a dumbass not to call you."

Fave subject change: "Doc Cupid" starting the conversation all toppy and growly, and when he had me tied down and teased and confused and begging, asking me, "What were your SAT scores?" (read my listing if that doesn't make sense)  

Fave role play: Cat-burglar-ing into a safe and being caught by "Agent Jones." I held my own in our witty banter, and came up with a couple of nice twists on my own. That may have been the conversation where I finally believed I could do this job.

Fave nickname: "Gravely Moon" - his voice is all rough and like gravel when we're in a role play, and the first time we played, he described the moonlight pouring in the window. Since then, no matter where the scene is theoretically set, once we start playing, it always fades to moonlight.

Fave bad guess: When "Sweet and Slow" got on cam for me, and he looked utterly different than I had imagined. Yummy.


Fave nickname change: When I realized "Dirty Reader" - who loves dirty words and dirty thoughts and having me read my dirty blog entries to him out loud - needed to be re-nicknamed as "The Omnivore", because he finds something sexy about almost every type of woman on earth. His list of things we must talk about some day would probably take 24 hours of phone time to complete.

Fave switch: "Mistress Slut", a cross-dressing switch, who hopefully didn't realize that I was terrified at the thought of switching and being his/her Mistress for a change. S/he was gracious enough to shower me with praise, which built my confidence to start taking Mistress calls for real.

Fave feedback: Although we all know I live for feedback, the thing that has stuck with me was when "True Sighs" called me brave. "Chilled Haiku" and "Dirty Reader" and "Gravely Moon" all asked me later if it was them who had called me brave, because they had thought it, too. Thanks guys /sniffle

If you could change anything, what would you change (from being a PSO these past three months)? 

I wish I'd understood from the beginning only to get on the phones when I am feeling strong and sexy and rested - the calls I took when I was feeling otherwise were draining, and clearly not my best effort. 

What have you learned about yourself (by being a PSO these past three months)? 

This list may be as long as favorites. In addition to all gents mentioned above, "Inception Guy" and "Bored Banker" and "Unique Snowflake" especially helped me explore myself, either by pushing my imagination, playing with my boundaries, or toying with spaces where I was not entirely comfortable. And "Butt Slut" and "The Wanker" engaged me in meta-conversations about my job which helped me put all kinds of thoughts and feelings into words. 

A few years ago, a newly divorcing friend wanted to find a fuck buddy, but she was insecure about her small breasts, the fact she has kids, and her hippie vegetarian lifestyle. I bet her $100 that I couldn't afford to lose that if she put up a sex-positive, completely honest ad for a month, she would be so overwhelmed with offers that she'd have to take down her listing. Two weeks later, she called and said she had never felt more desirable in her life. "I'm funny, I'm smart, I have a great smile, I have a delicious body... You don't have to pay up, thank you!" 

I kind of feel like that. Like each caller has given me a different mirror, a new chance to examine myself. I'm more creative sexually than I'd given myself credit for. I'm better able to bring my leadership / bossy / dominating skills into the bedroom than I'd given myself credit for. My self-confidence and playful enjoyment of sex can show through in pictures in ways that I could not have imagined; I assumed my average-or-larger body size would distract, but no, it turns out that plenty of you can see my mischief just fine. And, it turns out, you're awfully fond of my boobs.  

But most of all, I've proven that I can work again. The... It... I... Wow. It means a lot to me (background story here).

What do you hope for the next three months as a PSO?

Overall, I hope I get as many smart, fun, creative, emotionally honest, sex-positive calls as I can handle, while magically never frustrating anyone when I am busy. Protectively, I hope I continue to take good care of myself physically and emotionally. Socially, I hope I continue to connect well with a few new callers each week - I enjoy meeting new people as well as deepening existing relationships. As a writer, I hope I continue to stay fascinated by the incredible stories I have the privilege to collect and co-create, and that I continue to be inspired to write them down. 

Emotionally, I hope I continue to explore the different sides of me that show up in the mirrors that you hold up, that I never take them for granted, and that I find ways to celebrate all of them. 

How would you summarize your first three months as a PSO?

By the numbers: I have talked with more than 250 unique callers, spent more than 150 hours on the phone, sent more than 1500 emails, revised my listings a combination of 75 times across 10 categories, and had two listings hit the front page as high as position #5 (maybe only late at night on a Wednesday, but still... it happened). 

By my heart: I feel sexier, more powerful, and more sure of myself than I ever have. I feel like I have dozens of lovers, which makes me feel naughty and delicious. I feel intensely grateful for my success thus far. I'm looking forward to a festive holiday season with all my new friends. 

I love my new job. So much. Thank you for letting me do it!

A Thousand Starts: Writing Again

Okay, not a thousand. Maybe ten. I have a tiny little problem with hyperbole.

I've spent the majority of my day working on blog entries. This is the only one I'm publishing today. Pathetic.

I have made progress on probably ten blog entries today, but before I hit "publish post", I've either lost interest, gotten distracted, or been unhappy with something about the structure or voice. I've critiqued too many short stories and magazine articles to just let it go when I can see that the entry would be stronger if I pulled the damn thing apart and pieced it back together a different way.

It feels like I'm writing dozens of short stories. I guess I am. They're just not fiction. Well. It's confusing, isn't it? If I'm describing a phone sex session as if those things really happened (Inner Slut: for example: "With our eyes locked, I got him nice and slick with my mouth, then mounted him slowly") (Inner Commentator: Why, yes, that was gratuitous, but the blog needed at least one sexy thing today), then am I really writing what happened, or a semi-fictionalized version of what I remember?

A writing professor told us, "The character may dress like your mother, cook like your mother, and say things your mother has said, but she's not your mother. She's a character, with a will of her own. However, you'll never convince your mother it's not her."

I think that same concept holds true of this blog, too. I'm writing from my memory of a call, not a joint effort between me and the caller. The retelling is colored by my perspective. I only include details which help make my point (Inner Editor: ... assuming you have one. Speaking of which...) (Inner Storyteller: Bitch, you are not helping here!). A memoir is only partially about the events which occur, but mostly it is about how the stories are chosen to be told.

I love feeling like a writer again with this blog. I am enjoying the parts of me that are stimulated and encouraged by this writing. And I love the feedback loop of callers-to-blog-to-callers so so so so much.

Before today, writing this blog felt like all the fun parts of being a writer. Today, I can feel the work part of writing again, which feels good in a different way, like I'm rebuilding muscles that I used to have, restoring a workshop so all my tools are available again.

Or, if we turn down the volume on the self-aggrandizement dial: maybe I just have a short attention span today.

Interactive Erotica

I was exchanging some sexual history with "Doc Cupid," who, like me and several other callers, discovered his interest in some kinks by reading about them first. Stuff like Literotica, the Alt Sex Stories Text Repository, my time on ERWA. He said that now he enjoys video more than writing, and added, "and, of course, what you do, which is like interactive erotica, isn't it?"

Why yes! Yes, that's exactly what it's like.

I LOVE THAT DESCRIPTION SO MUCH.

Side note: Maybe I should wait until my happy post-orgasm hormones fade before posting blog entries. They seem to cause spontaneous caps lock.

Empathic Metamorph: Then and Now

I only have the urge to write in times of great upheaval in my life. When my first marriage was drawing to a close, I wrote two stories: one that would convince anyone sane that we should be break up immediately, and one that would convince anyone sane that we should be together forever. Both stories were absolutely true. 

The happy romantic story was, essentially, my sexual history. I've started drafting this blog entry three times now, but can't describe the Empathic Metamorph more clearly than I did for that story, so I'm going to excerpt it instead. The narrative voice is purposefully a little disorganized and flighty and young-sounding. Here it is: 

The Empathic Metamorph was a single-episode Star Trek: The Next Generation character ("The Perfect Mate"), born once every seven generations to this alien race. She was highly desired as a mate because she adapted completely and perfectly to the desires of every male she came in contact with, as if she had an internal radio tuned to their desire alone. If he was a Klingon and craved danger, she sensed it and growled at him. If he was the Captain who craved a smart woman, she discussed the finer points of philosophy and literature while calmly playing her lute. 

So there I was watching TV in my living room my senior year of college, surrounded by my best friends, my current lover and a couple of exes. And I realized that I was the freaking Empathic Metamorph. And that nobody in that living room had any idea that we were all watching me, because I was so damn good at looking like I enjoyed playing the lute. It depressed the hell out of me.

Later, I described for my therapist how, even when I barely knew my lovers or didn't like them much, I could still feel them -- their desires, their needs, but I could never feel myself. Maybe my blood rushed to the right places, and maybe my juices rose at the right times, but I was so focused on what they wanted, on what they felt, that I just didn't notice my body enough to tell whether or not it gave me pleasure.

The story goes on to describe how I finally learned to get in touch with what I enjoy enough to masturbate, and then have a deeply sexually satisfying wedding night, both of which are true.


I used to be depressed that I resembled the Empathic Metamorph, but now it seems like a source of power. The difference is control. I used to feel assaulted by the desires of others, bandied about on waves of lust I could feel rolling in to me. Since I didn't know what I wanted, I didn't know how to use that energy to feed any pleasure of mine.

Oh, the difference a couple of decades makes. Thank goodness.

Now that I know what I like (my "lust landscape", as I like to call it), I can use my empathic metamorph tendencies to identify where the desires of a lover intersect my desires, and then lose myself for a while, fully inhabiting the playground built on the overlapping lands.

The clearest, happiest example was with "Well Traveled", who explained that he liked to take smart girls and, in his words, "Barbie-ify" them so they become mindless fuck bunnies for his pleasure alone. My initial impulse was amusement at the term Barbie-ify, of course, but also confusion: how could I get to that place? We discussed the concept of the playground built at the intersection of lust landscapes, and he agreed it was the right idea.

So he suggested a hypno role play where I walked down stairs to shed years of world-weary concerns, then walked back up a different staircase to add worry-free years back on. He created a lust playground indeed with his words: rolling meadows and babbling streams, an idyllic, worry-free, frolic-aholic's dream. By the time we arrived there, my voice was higher and bouncier, my heart was lighter, my breath was shallower, my eyes were wider, and I felt awesome. The resulting play was a relaxing delight to both of us.

I'm not a bimbo. I'm not a Barbie. I'm not a ditz. But apparently, given a stream of focused desire at just the right dingbat frequency, I can get there. Or, as it turns out, I can get to dozens of other places upon request as well.

The difference 20 years makes? Now, I enjoy the transformations. I understand them. I choose to participate in them. I don't feel powerless or out of control; in fact, I feel the exact opposite. Now I feel like a bit like a goddess, creating and moving between worlds and characters and dreamscapes, gathering energy and gaining strength as I go. Far from feeling depleted or assaulted, now I feel celebrated and exalted instead.

P.S.: And now and forever, I would absolutely do anything that Famke Janssen ever wanted of me. Perfect Mate indeed!

Happy Birthday, Galiana

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Words Fail Me

As you may have noticed, I'm ridiculously verbal. I love words. I love descriptions. I love exploring ideas and emotions by naming them.

When I am in times of great transition in my life, I am compelled to write (really? gee, the three blog posts / day wouldn't have given us any clue at all about that), and seeing my swirly conflicting thoughts transformed into stable, trustworthy, playfully squiggly letters has been known to calm me, and help me sort through my issues. I have felt gratitude after writing, to the words themselves, for appearing, and for their assistance.

So on a call with me, you can expect me to be able to pick up details and convey them. Textures, smells, tastes. The position of my hand, how you've made my skin feel, and what is brushing against where.

Until. Ummmm. Then.

I have at least a dozen types of orgasms, and they don't all render my speech centers useless, but there are two or three that do. They're not better experiences, not stronger, not more desirable; for example, I can talk fine through the soft rolling orgasm that I choose most often when I'm masturbating alone. But on the way to building up to certain types of climaxes, I go decidedly non-verbal. I can still think and feel, but thoughts and feelings no longer form words that make it out of my mouth.

It's a combination, I think, of sex-hormones, how much sleep I've had, how much I've talked that day, and what type of sensations I'm having. In other words, frustratingly unpredictable.

So, if suddenly I seem incapable of more than "Yes" and "Oh" and "Oh yes," well, now you know why.