Who picks up the phone?
Here is an interesting photo essay from Mother Jones on phone sex operators.
This woman reveals:
I'm 60 years old, I have a BA in cultural anthropology from Columbia University, and I've been married for 25 years. I make twice the money I made in the corporate world. I work from home; the money transfers into my bank account daily. I'm Scheherazade: If I don't tell stories that fascinate the pasha, he will kill me in the morning.
Another woman describes her worst experiences as a phone sex operator:
Just last night I received possibly the most disturbing phone sex call I’d had in a long time. A caller shot himself with me on the phone. Things like this always scare me. My current track record stands at one confession of incestuous sexual abuse, and two other suicides.
This woman claims that "if all women did phone sex before they lost their virginity, they would make much better choices." Huh? I don't think I had even heard of phone sex by the time I lost my virginity!
She argues, "I learned to listen to men in a deeper way. Tuning into men's voices, instead of getting caught up on their looks, was the same as a person suddenly going blind, only to find their other senses enhanced."
Miraculously, I've managed to find a way to not judge men solely on their appearance in spite of my lack of phone sex education.
One of my most memorable calls was also one of the grossest. It was a fetish call. A scat fetish. I started out by telling him I was a vegan. I cracked him up. He was laughing so hard, he had to hang up because he couldn't get back into our fantasy.
I had to googled 'scat fetish.' Did you?