#Vicarious 1: Remembering the Ancient Art of Phone Sex

Well into the 21st Century, thinking back to ye olde days of phone sex can seem akin to wondering what life was like before color television. Today we have much more modern and even technological ways of getting off with others without them actually being there, from good old fashioned cyber sex, sexting and sending nudes, to something I only recently learned of called “teledildonics.” Seriously, go Google that shit. Then please send me the appropriate funding so that I may bring you a space-age #vicarious entry all about it. Hot Beezelzebub’s Balls, that’d really be something… But back to the point here, even in this age of technological marvels, I’d never really considered phone sex to be such an arcane practice until having an influx of 18-to-20-somethings ask me if I’d ever had phone sex, what it was like, and if there really were such things as “phone sex operators.” It’s not a myth, kiddos, and I’m here to tell you all about it. It may come as a surprise, but pay-for-dirty-talk lines still exist today! Why, I’m not exactly sure. But they do. I will also add here that because of phone sex being a bit of a dying art, while this is meant to be a part of the #vicarious series, I am telling of past experiences I have already had on the subject as requested by readers and online patrons rather than the usual method of obtaining content for said series (ie; going out and doing it in the current). Regardless, for those of you who have not had the amusing pleasure of phone sex, you’ll now be quite well versed in the subject. So it fucking counts. And with that, off we go!

At the risk of really showing my age here, my first foray into the world of phone sex can be traced all the way back to my preteen years, using an old touch tone, land line phone to spell out dirty words and see what awaited on the other line. Unfortunately, I can’t really remember just how I knew what phone sex lines even were, or that you could follow up an 800 or 900 number with any combo of sexual words in order to reach them. I’d assume that I saw a risqué ad on late night television, and then being the creative yet filthy genius that I am, came up with the idea of spelling out words on my phone’s buttons (pre-touchscreen keypad era here.. those letters above the numbers really did have a use). So my friends and I would spend hysterical hours dialing out numbers such as 1-800-WET-PUSS, 1-800-BIG-COCK, or even the kinkier 1-800-EAT-SHIT or 1-800-FUCK-ASS variations and cackle away as we listened on the other end to a recording of someone going way overboard with the moans and sexy talk until they asked for a credit card. Then we’d hang up and think of another 50 variations of seven-digit sex and genital euphemisms. This lasted awhile.

But what were the people like who ran these lines, and just what did they do? I mean, just how could one have sex over the phone? It didn’t take long to figure out that “phone sex” was just a clever way of saying “assisted masturbation,” in which a presumably lonely person would call to hear someone on the other end tell them things to stimulate their imaginations, lie to them about wanting to fuck them, and the like. Keep in mind that this is before the days of internet porn. Hell, for a while even before the internet. Though I never understood why a person who could afford these expensive ass calls didn’t just go pick up a healthy stack of nudie mags and a pocket pussy or dildo, respectively. But I guess something is to be said for replicating human connection. But just who were these people on the other end? Obviously, the callers who were willing to pay 5 bucks a minute to have someone talk to them while they stroke it were likely hoping for them to be ridiculously attractive people. And for whatever reason, it was also immensely popular to ask what they were wearing. And without taking the time to do the proper research, I’ll make an educated guess that the phone sex industry is actually where the phrase “so… what are you wearing?” was coined. But I have never claimed to be a completely factual source of information. I speak only of my own personal experiences and findings. And speaking of, I knew I just had to find out what these people were like. So, years later, when my little world had greatly expanded and I already had a plethora of strange connections in my back pocket, I happened to meet one of these very “operators.” By then I had heard rumors that most of them weren’t actually the hottest of people, and dare I say, most often not even remotely attractive. I also remember seeing episodes of shows like Beavis and Butthead that featured some slovenly woman with a decent “phone voice” on the other end.  So I can’t say that I was all too surprised when I met Sunny. At over six feet tall and a good 350 pounds, what she did have was one hell of a sexy voice. Or rather, the ability to make her voice sound as though it was being emitted by an attractive 125 lb. blonde with fake boobs, or whomever the caller wanted to imagine was also masturbating on the other end of the receiver (a receiver, kids, is what we used to call one of the two parts of an antique phone, it being the part we held to our ears to hear and speak). I remember giving a little inner laugh of satisfied confirmation when Sunny told me what she did for a living. Of course, I wanted to get in on all of this, and asked for an inside into this world. under the guise of wanting a job. I wouldn’t have minded the extra money, either. But alas, I was Not yet of legal age, and having yet to discover that I could use my older friend’s I.D. such as I did when I decided to work as a stripper (we’ll address all of that another time), I was unable to obtain a job, but still got a full VIP tour of Sunny’s workplace. A workplace which, at first sight, looked like any other unassuming call center whose employees could have just as well been selling time shares. Even down to these employees, most of whom held a BMI that would be medically considered “obese,” were hygienically questionable, and some of which were even physically disabled and/or elderly. For fairness’ sake, there were a couple of women that could have passed for what they were selling on the phone line, it was just not the majority. But then the lines rang, and you heard them begin to speak. The normal call center image went straight out the window’s puckered ass. And lemme tell ya, there’s nothing quite like hearing a heavy-set amputee in her 60’s tell someone how wet she was becoming over the thought of having them fingerbang her tight puss. It was awe inspiring. Disturbing. But awe inspiring.

Times changed as things begun to modernize, and from what I learned this line of work even became one of those coveted “at home” jobs with the dawn of the internet, but much began to fade away as that same dawn allowed for much more personal experiences. But phone sex was still pretty rampant and thriving in the lives of normal people among their own personal relationships. It became more of a means for those in long distance relationships to maintain a sexual aspect while apart, a drunken flirtation for hopefuls or the bored, and something for horny teenagers to do in the still pre-sexting era. Of course, this is just a limited generalization, but you get the idea, mehopes. This genre of phone sex is the method by which I was able to firsthandedly experience it. And while I’m sure there was many an experience, I’ll just recount the most memorable and amusing, which coincidentally was also my first go ‘round at it.

Still below the age to be considered a consenting adult, but old enough to have experienced things of a sexual nature, I was both curious and easily bored and thus, was often finding myself in precarious situations that now make for some pretty funny stories. At this particular time, I had found myself restlessly seeking amusement as I was stuck in my dad’s apartment alone, but for whatever reason was yet to have met a friend with reliable transportation. I often passed time listening to a local radio station that played the kind of weird obscure crap I listened to back then, and since I was constantly desperate to meet other weird people (at that age, see: people to mess around with), I often went to desperate, albeit sensible, lengths to do so. My plan at that time included calling up to said radio station on a regular basis in attempt to develop a rapport with the DJ on the show, which would eventually lead to meeting him, as well as any guest DJs on the show. Because you know, they had similar interests, and they were DJs. So teenage logic told me that they’d inevitably be hot. It didn’t take me long to get to the point of getting the personal phone number of this particular DJ and to begin talking on a regular enough basis for discussions of musical interests to turn to flirtation, and for flirtation to quickly turn to more, which leads us right to the very subject of this entry. The Phone Sex.

Mind you, I was new to doing this, and being the person I am, entered into it both with the normal sense of sexual excitement and an even larger dose of mischievous amusement. But since this was new territory, I was unsure as to whether or not I could genuinely get into it without first feeling the whole thing out and developing a full understanding of it. So I simply allowed him to take the lead while offering some encouraging “mmhmms” and affimative “oh yeahs.” For those of you who may not know, phone sex is pretty much just a verbal rendering of what someone would do to you were you there, what they are actually doing, and vise versa. Now, also being the person I am, and likely more so for either sheer amusement or future evidence rather than for the sake of research, I should also mention that I was recording this entire conversation. You see, before we had the convenience of voicemail, we had actual machines connected to our old timey phones that would record any messages received through missed calls. They also had the ability to record whole conversations onto cassette tapes.

I had never met this guy in person, either. We’d talked pretty extensively, at least for someone of my 15 years, so it felt as though I knew him pretty well. Though I knew nothing about, say for instance, how old he was (and he apparently didn’t know how old I was not) or what he looked like. But I knew his name, his profession, and a list of his favorite bands, and back then that meant everything. It also meant that in my mind, he was something along the lines of “tall, dark, and handsome,” and simply must have worn tight pants and eyeliner. And that was enough. So when he started talking one night about how he wished I was there, it didn’t take long for the conversation to take a sexy turn.

It was still pretty difficult not to laugh at hearing this guy talk about how he was running his tongue up my thigh, since I knew this was obviously not actually happening, but I did my best to give it the good college try. Awkward as it was, I managed to allow myself to drown out any feelings of goof and strangeness just enough to use my imagination (and my fingers) to pretend I was actually there with this rockstar of a man, smudging his eyeliner with my mons pubis before he proceeded to climb atop my chest so that he could “slide his hard cock down my throat.” He continued to give a step by step account of each thrust and suckle, until he “finished” with a set of words I will never forget. He said: “I’m gonna pull it out of your mouth, cum in your face, and say (definitive pause) ‘Sorry I missed your tits.’ ” I really wish I could convey his particular annunciation of words and tone of voice, as it just made it all the more hilarious. Even better if I had not lost that damned tape (hold for this, it’s good). Now, I am unsure as to whether or not he had planned on continuing this relationship to the point of going past the third base of oral phone sex to the full on P in the V sort of phone sex, but I’d never find out. For some unknown reason, I was not warned by his lack of talent when it came to getting a girl off via phone, and soon after met him in person. And the phone calls of any sexual sort stopped soon thereafter. Looking back, I kind of wish I had waited for this and continued the phone sex sessions, if only to learn what weird shit he would’ve come up with for when he pulled out of my telephonic poontang.

As you well may have gathered, meeting this guy in person fell short of my imaginitive hopes. But it led to so many other great and disturbing things (most of which deserve a blog of their very own), so to ever say I regret it would be a bold faced lie. And while our phone sex halted, it would not be the last that he or I would hear him utter those ejaculatory words.

My best friend and I, oft being bolder than was probably safe, decided just to venture up to the local radio station on the night my dear old friend hosted his show. Even though the odd hilarity of his words stopped me pre-orgasm (and kept it from ever happening that night), he was still a rockin’ DJ, and I was still a randy teenaged girl. After all, he was into some cool music and looked really hot in my imagination. We arrived to see two men sitting behind microphones and machines, and my female erection quickly went flaccid as I wondered which one of these had been talking to me about spooging on my tits. One could’ve been considered old even then. He was short in stature with shaggy grey hair, a dirty black t-shirt stretched over a rotund belly, and had an impressive set of chins. The other, while much younger (though still a good ten years older than I), was also short in stature, had greasy black hair that seemed to melt into the hair that grew into a bush on his round face, and, while not as rotund as the other, was still a bit too rotund for my tastes back then. I thought for a second that perhaps I had gone to the wrong place. Or that, perhaps Mr Skinnypants McGuyliner was just down the hall, draining the lizard. But no. The younger of the two men eagerly walked up to me as if he knew exactly who I was, and introduced himself. “Hey!!! I’m Jose!” Twas Sir Cumsinmyface himself. Damn. I’ll admit to feeling a bit bad about all of this now, as he really was not an unattractive guy. I was just shallow as hell back then, with a very, very specific type (an embarrassing type, but a type, nonetheless). Plus, he could be reading this. We’re actually still friends to this day. And in his defense, he had no idea I was only the tender age of 15 until much later when, in my mid 20’s I reminded him of this very tale and mentioned my age. I think he literally shit himself.

My best friend and I continued going up to the radio station and met quite the plethora of other DJs there, some of which we even later had actual, real life sex with. And tried dangerous real life drugs with. But again, that’s another story for another time.

So, whatever happened to the recorded evidence of this “conversation?” I’m glad you asked. I kept it for some time, and listened to it with great amusement often. One night it dawned on me to take it up to the radio station, and as no one was looking, I slipped it into a tape player and watched in maniacal amusement as my DJ friend heard himself utter the phrase, “I’ll pull it out of your mouth, cum in your face, and say, ‘Sorry I missed your tits!’ “ It was gold. And even better was that another DJ who’d started working on the show took the tape and produced a fucking song out of it. This musical masterpiece just looped him saying this, over and fucking over, breaking only for the dope electronic beats that accompanied it. “Ooontz Ooontz Ooontz …I’ll pull it out of your mouth, cum in your face, and say…. Sorry I missed your tits.. S-S-S-Sorry I missed your tits. S-S-S-Sorry I missed your tits… beep boopity beep… oontz oontz..” and so on. It was even played on the air. It was so amazing that I still find myself at a loss for words. I have no idea what happened to that tape, and I am guessing it went the way of so much of the rest of my later teen years and is floating around somewhere in a dazed and drunken wonderland. But I would do almost anything to get my hands on it again. Even have bad phone sex again with Jose.

Maybe I was too hard on Jose, and perhaps his audible outburst wasn’t all that out of the ordinary. I mean, maybe people just say some really odd shit when getting off over the phone. At least this was to become my own personal experience anytime I had phone sex. I can recall a much later experience with a guy who was getting really into what he’d be doing to me orally when he blurted out “you taste like roses!” I can only hope he just had his senses all discombulated, because I really don’t imagine a vagina tasting like plant matter to be a good thing.

It has been many a year since I have made the poor attempt to have phone sex. But it provided many a memory, and hopefully some amusement to you all. For those of you who are too young or just sadly underpriveleged to have ever had old fashioned phone sex, I hope that this has been enlightening. Go try it for yourself. Just try to keep anything about your dick feeling like a vegetable inside your own mind until the person on the other end has finished. It may just add a whole new (but old) facet to your sex lives. Oh, and one more thing, go dial 1-800-EAT-CUNT. You can thank me later…

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