Mish / WHY I FAILED AT PHONE SEX


November 4, 2011, 12:43 | Link | Posted in: | | | | 3 Responses
People have always told me I have the perfect voice for phone sex so, the idea of making some fast cash from dirty calls always lingered in the back of my head. I had friends who had been "phone actresses", I even interviewed one close pal about her experience in the industry. Phone sex always seemed appealing to me. What's so wrong about spitting out an hour of dirty talk to make a hundred bucks? My whole feminist philosophy was that if some pathetic loser wants to waste money jerking off while I pretend to care about helping him through it, so be it. Home from tour, broke and bored, I set out on my quest to find a "phone actress" gig. I scoped out a highly recommended woman-run company with values that aligned almost perfectly with mine. Jack pot. I emailed the company telling them I was interested in the job. The next morning I received a response saying I had to call in and complete a voice test. I had to leave my name and a little bit of information about myself so the company could hear my voice and match me up with the right "characters". I paced my apartment trying to think of what to say. The website suggested I just talk about my interests, why I wanted the job or what I did for fun. I considered myself a sexual person, but I was more of a hands-on kind-of-girl. The closest thing I'd had to phone sex was last summer in L.A. when some creep called my motel room at 8 am breathing heavily and telling me his perverted fantasies. I chucked the phone across the room and didn't sleep for the next hour. After six deleted attempts littered with un-sexy stutters, I finally settled on a simple message saying that I was an "open-minded, no bullshit kind-of-girl who knows what she wants and what she likes to receive." I also included the fact that I had faked enough orgasms with one-night-stand-wastes-of-time to be able to do it on command. I got the job. The organization sent me a package of information for first timers along with photos of my characters and encouraged me to create different personalities for each of the three girls. I nicknamed my characters "Sad Girl", "Mom Trash" and "College Bar Type". The deal was that for the first two weeks I had to be available to accept calls 40 hours a week. That's a lot of cum talk. Was this really what I wanted to do? 40 hours a week of fake verbal sex with strangers? I read the information kit relentlessly (which was riddled with grammatical errors and my co-worker at hearty, Jess Bloom, suggested I offer to be the website's content writer instead). The company recommended that I read some erotic stories out loud to practice hearing myself talk dirty. I tried to read the stories to myself but as the seemingly sexy vernacular fell out my mouth and I realized I was alone, unaroused in my apartment, I felt like a complete asshole. "This is stupid," I thought. "I don't need practice, I just need a beer." I had told the company I was ready to start taking calls on Monday morning. It was Sunday night and I was far from prepared to get some guy off with my voice. The thought of giving a blow job to a random seemed easier than this. On Monday morning, I logged into the system and turned on my console. I watched at the little stop watch on the screen started timing down from 40 hours and I nervously bit my nails staring at my cellphone. The company had said that you could get a call at anytime and to be prepared to drop what you are doing to give the caller your full attention. I replayed their rules in my head. I looked over the photos of my characters and tried to decide who would be into what. "Mom Trash" would be really into her tits. "College Bar Type" was going to be a really good listener who never cursed but didn't mind tea-bagging. "Sad Girl" was going to be the wild one of the bunch who liked having her ass fisted. Yep, I was going to go for the gold. But as the clock ticked on, I lost my confidence. Every time my phone rang, my heart jumped and a little vomit danced into my throat. I sea-sawed back and forth between being completely confident and completely freaked out. I slammed two beers at the suggestion of my friend to ease my nerves. I re-read the company information again. I replayed potential conversations in my head. I worried. Suddenly, my phone rang. I did not recognize the number. I watched my phone buzz all over my kitchen table. Frozen in my place I couldn't touch my phone. I wasn't ready. I didn't know what to say. Hair pulling? Ass fisting? That was stupid. I ran over to my computer and logged myself out of the system. I felt like a total failure and even worse, totally, totally vanilla. A while back, Vice published an interview with 19-year-old porn star, Jessie Andrews. Jessie has basically been doing porn since she kicked the training bra. She loves her job and even though she didn't even know what "male talent" was before she started having sex on screen, Jessie is now a seasoned pro. "I'm here to have life changing sex and make money," she declared in Vice. Jessie also blogs, tweets and writes about how much she likes hula-hooping. She's just a regular teenager, except for the fact that she has been filmed with two dicks coming all over her face, numerous times. What amazed me about Jessie was her fearless attitude towards her job. "The best is being able to be temporarily in love with someone, fucking them and never having to have a relationship with them." It felt as though she had never doubted that this was the career for her. This girl, nearly seven years my junior (who is still losing her baby fat), had no problem opening her legs for photo shoots or having her parents know that she made porn for a living, yet here I was terrified of anonymous phone sex. This didn't make sense! I considered myself a confident, sexual person who really, really enjoyed sex. Was I being prudishly closed-minded or was Jessie just naive and brainwashed? Truthfully, my biggest fear wasn't that the caller would say something weird or that I'd recognize the voice on the other end or even that I'd enjoy it, I was most afraid of the fact that I would not be able to satisfy the caller. I had no idea what I was doing. I had no idea what to expect and therefore, no idea how I would react. I felt like I was 16-years-old again, terrified to give a blow job not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't think I would do it right. And what did that say about how powerful I felt in the position of phone actress? Pathetic, not powerful - and that was not a good feeling. Some feminists argue that mainstream porn is oppressive to women because it replicates a sexist dominance where women are objectified for male pleasure. Others say that pornography misrepresents female sexuality. However, by saying this we are supposed to assume that there is a "normal" female sexuality that should be represented. I just don't think that is true. To acknowledge that a female sexuality exists that is "normal" or readily oppressed by porn does not leave much room for alternatives. Truth is, there is no normal female sexuality. That is why Jessie can enjoy fucking for a living while I can cower at the idea of talking dirty to some guy on the phone while he jerks off. Neither of us is better off. Who knows, maybe if I had given it a try I would have become a master phone sex actress. Maybe one day I'll get the stones to turn on my console again and pick up a call. Until then, I can safely say that like roller coasters and bike riding, phone sex is something I can only do in theory.

COMMENTS


3 Responses to “WHY I FAILED AT PHONE SEX”

  1. girl u are a boss. U dont need to get ppl off with ur voice, u can do it with ur writing. I jerked off twice while I was reading this.


  2. Mish

    BAHAHAHHHAHA Oh Dana, you kill me.


  3. [...] Why I Failed At Phone Sex [...]


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