Provocative opinions aired on the clothes line of life.

Thursday, 12 May 2011

Ring Ring Your Orgasm's Calling

"Sex is not a time for chat"

Myself and a fellow cash strapped friend were recently discussing ways to earn a pretty penny through little or no effort. I facetiously ventured the prospect of participating in low-budget pornographic films, (I can be high-brow like that), and she commented that there was a substantial amount of money to be made working for premium-rate adult lines as phone-sex operators. Of course I was familiar with the late night adverts featuring young, nubile and tanned women with an alluring tone, but I'd never seriously contemplated the revenue benefits.

Unfortunately it's just not something I could consider. Even though the earnings were tempting, with one website boasting the likes of £600 to be made over a mere 20 hours, talking about sex in that manner wasn't something I had ever mustered up the nerve to do. There's nothing like providing a running commentary on what turns you on to make you feel like an inexperienced teenager all over again. See, to me phone sex is the equivalent to that painfully tense moment when he's taking just that little bit too long to unclasp your bra. It should be over and done with in a matter of seconds, but instead the awkwardness is prolonged to the point where you forget why the maneuver was being attempted in the first place.
Even though my humour relies heavily on self-deprecation, panicky thoughts often course through my mind like an unstoppable current. What if my illicit whisperings were met with a smirk and my stilted attempts at feigning enjoyment were uncovered? What if the intended recipient were only to utter empty replies accompanied by a grimace at my hopeless stuttering? Or, even worse, what if they're not even paying attention to me with the football on mute?

This apprehension was only heightened, when I discovered that Cosmopolitan magazine has conducted a survey on the topic (naturally) and have apparently found that 85% of guys would like their girl to "give it to them good - over the phone." One of their fictional test subjects Alan - an apparent phone sex enthusiast (it was unclear whether that was his actual occupation) commented that after phone sex his girlfriend showered him with compliments. But then the test subjects of Cosmopolitan are hardly representative of the rest of the population - it's not like they have the time to be a normal person as they're too busy fucking everyone and everything.

Still, I felt as though I'd been streamed in the 'slow sexual' group with no hopes of graduating and moving on to bigger and better experiences. So, I decided to combat my fears and conduct a bit of research on the topic. Which basically means that I Googled it.

And the information I encountered was gargantuan. I knew it was a lucrative business, but the untapped resources of tips, ideas and services was just incredible. No wonder I often get a busy signal when I ring people; everyone's indulging in mutual masturbation across the airwaves. 


After I'd perused a few of these illicit tutorials, at first I thought it was the writers intention to sound satirical and mocking in their approach. But then I realised this was geniune advice meant to be taken seriously. Of course, I don't take anything seriously, so you can imagine the pessimistic train of thought which ensued when attempting to digest these so-called handy hints. Well, you don't have to imagine, because I've written it down...

What an effective way to motivate someone into doing something they don't feel comfortable with. Your voice isn't a turn-on. In fact, it's a turn-off, you must change it lest you want to proceed directly to voice mail. Such healthy advice for a committed relationship in general too: be someone else. Someone a lot sultrier than the person they usually have to deal with.

"Lower your register and talk a little more slower than usual." 
Lower your IQ more like. And/or pronounce your sentences as though you're having difficulty making sense of them on a flashcard. English is no longer your first language. It's not even your third. GO. 

"Think breathy and husky."
Think. THINK. So breathing. I can do breathing. But not too heavily, lest I get cautioned for being a nuisance caller and not too fast either because it'll sound like I'm hyperventilating (which I'll probably be on the verge of doing anyway). The happy medium here is obviously sporadic outbursts of breath - sort of like when I take the stairs too quickly with a chest infection. And husky? OK. Phlegm. Yes phlegm. Lots and lots of phlegm. Clogging my nasal passages and sticking to the back of my throat. Got it. 

"A glass of wine or whiskey might help."
Please. I wrote the book on slurring. NEXT.

(Also, for anyone who's interested, I just Googled the larynx and well, it looks a lot like a certain other fleshy opening which is usually the main event in actual sexy times. Just saying).

Lie. Through. Your. Teeth.

Again, a very healthy tip for a long lasting relationship. Stay away from the truth because it just really isn't necessary. Happiness is an illusion.

"You're sitting around in sweats, a holey t-shirt and an avocado mask. But to him you're head-to-toe in Agent Provocateur."

Why is it that every time a woman is envisioned spending time alone just generally chilling out, some sort of ex-foliating skin care product has to be involved? I don't sit around soaking my pores in things. Much. 

Anyway besides, I don't want to pretend that I'm wearing obscenely expensive lingerie when I'm not. That's just depressing. It makes me loathe my rather bland camisole and pajama shorts. It also reminds me of how much money I'm not earning. Now I'm worrying about my spending habits, while trying to sound like someone else, ON TOP of tripping over lies about what saucy ensemble I'm supposed to have strapped myself into. 

Him: "So, what are you wearing?"
Me:  "I'm wearing my Megan Fox costume."
Job. Done. Onward.

Why would I do that? I'm well within my comfort zone here. I don't sound like myself, I don't look like myself and I have lots of alcohol - which is always reassuring and never makes you worried or insecure.   

"Not everything he whispers into the phone is going to be something you're totally up for. Just try to act as naturally and normal as possible so he doesn't feel judged."

But what if he does deserve to be judged? I'm all for a bit of fantasy role-play and getting into character, but what if a line is crossed. Like really crossed and becomes a dot? How are you meant to laugh off a suggestion like, "I want you to pretend you're six years old and I am your uncle." This is why human beings haven't mastered telepathy. Way too risky. 

"Moaning and lustful sighing are key to avoiding an awkward silence."

Well, if I'm supposed to be six I'm probably going to be whimpering. If I'm twenty four and my boyfriend has just accidentally omitted that he's a secret pedophile, I'm definitely going to be whimpering. I mean, I know it's not exactly lustful moaning but he's still getting off to it. So technically, everybody wins?

This is where cheating really comes in handy.  

"Hun, I have a headache why don't you go pretend your mistress is a prepubescent who you want to savagely rape and psychologically damage for life?"

 Ahh domestic bliss.