I want to be a phone sex operator, or do I?

by Jillian

Last August, I saw an ad in the local paper for “voice actresses”. I had no illusions as to what this meant and knew that I would be entering into the “sex trade”. I had worked for a bit in radio as a “deejay” and “traffic reporter” and knew I give great voice. I also knew (or thought) I was thick skinned enough to handle it. I am no “prissy pussy” and have (and will again) enjoy Sport Fucking. I sincerely believe in fucking/sex/orgasms for their own right and have no emotional hang ups. That being said, I give you the play by play of my experience.

I arrived at a warehouse building on Ulmerton Road in Largo. The company has since deceased of “bullpins” and has moved into the “online at home” operator business. I went in, filled out some paperwork, listened in on a live conversation to test if I had the mettle, and was given a brief interview. I passed.

The next morning I was given an “interview” with a group of women. I could tell from the (couldn’t fake it if there was a gun to my head) accents/dialect/attitude in the room that less than half would make it. We were told that gentlemen preferred the 18-24 yr old Californian blonde and that the voice we should try to perfect.

While we were given an overview of the company and the “ins and out’s” (pun intended, although NOT APPRECIATED by said company, which was Strike One against them in my book), we were listening to live feeds of operators. There was one woman who was told about the “breakfast in bed” she was about to be fed. She immediately went to his “sausage” and it was critiqued.

It seems that operators are paid a base of $8, but the commission is based on “average length per call” (with a "shift diff" for day part, if you are given to radio/marketing lingo. Day shifts paid better than overnight, etc). So, it was suggested that she converse with him about food and such. “’ ooooohhhh, baby, are those Arabica beans or Robusto? And how did you press those sweet baby beans? Momma can’t stand a percolator. “ ect.  I understood that this was a “sales” gig and you had to string them out as long as possible. No problem I thought to myself.

The recruiter then took us individually to “test” us on the phones. We had to wing a conversation without Barbie type persona. Part two of the live interview was winging an accent/ethnicity/persona on the spot. Can you vocally pull off Asian? Apparently, I can. I passed! Sweet noodles!

The next day was “training” where we (3 out of the 7 interviewed) had to write out a character/dossier for out Cali gal, and one other “dominate” character. Not that she had to be a DOM, per se; in fact, she needed to be middle of the road. However, we also were taught that we would need to not only pull off various accents (Latina/Black/Asian/Eastern European/ British/Actual European), but we would need to be familiar with various kinks and fetishes. Because every call as different, changing gears could happen every 3-45 minutes. And then we were told about some of the other “realities” of phone sex. BDSM, toe sucking, latex, etc.

I had to freely move from that (or virgin Barbie) to “asian transgendered who likes scat”. Yes, Scat. “Two Girls, One Cup” is not the Internet sensation it is without an interest from the general populace, right? But, I was quickly told, this is different from the “diapering” crowd. For those clients you had to determine if they wanted you to be baby or nanny, and at NO TIME could you allow the conversation to become sexual. That’s against the law (as well it should be) but your goal is to keep them on the phone for 45 mins, and better yet, have them call back and ask for you to continue to conversation. We were warned that these calls (baby/nanny) happened more frequently than anyone was comfortabley with.

In an effort to ease our minds a bit, the trainer told us about some calls that were NOT in the least bit sexual. She had a guy who regularly called to ask for a Dominate Woman (NOT the same as a Dominatrix, there are nuances I learned about) to tell him that he was a “filthy, nasty, fudge packing shitass scumbag” for being GAY. Yes he called regularly to be demeaned for being gay! She made a point to tell us how much money she made off of him without having to “get him off”. The long time fag hag, PFLAG waving rainbow loving woman in me just could not justify this as an income. I certainly could not keep up the charade of his worthlessness; I don’t care HOW much money you paid me.

I could almost get over having to play out an asian transgendered man stroking with my cock in one hand while I created meatballs out of my poop to smell, eat and describe with the other, and didn’t question how one might do both activates simultaneously with only the TWO hands. Seriously, some of the stuff they suggested (and clients called for) was just not physically possible. But, as long as it kept the imagination and blood flow of the client going, it was cool. They assured us that 75% of the calls were normal “Joe Blows”, but even THEY had to be kept on the line as long as possible.

To help us “create” these characters and to assist us with keeping our sanity, they taught us to keep these characters as separate from our ACTUAL lives as possible. "Separate the work from the day". Seems easy enough on the surface, right?

But, I couldn’t help but wonder if the next time I was going down on my man that I wouldn’t create a verbal “blow~by~blow” of the event in order to perfect my performance on the phone. Or the next time he went down on me that I wouldn’t “bank” the feelings/sensations into words. I learned that if I was creative, I could write a "tasty" dialogue on the “flavor saver” of a mustache or beard and keep them going just with that. The fact that my current partner had a goatee wasn’t known to them, but much as they wanted me to separate myself, I thought of his face.

The following morning was supposed to be my first official day “live” on the phones, although the calls would be listened to (as I mentioned), and perfection was not the goal.

As I awakened my partner greeted me with a cup of coffee and a “hello, sunshine. Here’s your breakfast in bed.” He said that not knowing of my training or wanting a piece, only that I don’t eat before noon, and I knew when he offered me that cup that I could never take this job. I didn’t even have the heart to joke about the beans, and knew that sex was off the table as long as I would be using it possible material for my commission check.

No matter how comfy I got with the weird perversions, and secretly longed have to talk about them, 75% of the callers want to talk about "regular" sex, and how could I talk about that for 8 hours a day and come home to a rocking hard cock and a goatee WITHOUT thinking about my job or how to maximize my performance on the phone? And, would my experiences be about me and the intimacy shared between me and this sweet man who knew I take 3 Pink Cancer Packs and 4 Ice cubes in my coffee or an exploitation for my next check?

The mere thought of how to wrangle it all made my head spin and my pussy dry. But, if you can somehow manage to separate it all and make it work for a dollar or thousand, panties off to you, sister! It wasn't a total waste for me. I learned that I am too integrated as a being to be in the sex industry, even though I have no issue with sex for sex sake. I guess I also wouldn't be a great OB/GYN (oh, yeah, there's a whole other thread about "those" calls) or Urologist. But, then again, I have dreams about whatever given employment I am in, and feel like I am on the clock while I'm asleep. I figure it's not that I am a romantic, just a perfectionist. Goddess Speed to those who can; I simply cannot.