The Phone Sex Chronicles: Prologue

(I wrote the beginning of this piece at an erotic memoir writing workshop taught by Susie Bright. The assignment was to write about your most recent sexual experience. This will be the first of a series of piece about working in phone sex. -GACT.)

Her name is Eriko. She’s 21 years old, Japanese American, a BD/SM switch, an amateur sex therapist, a student at UCLA or University of Chicago, depending on the location of the caller. I know Eriko like I know myself, though she is mutable, adapting to the whims of each phone John. She is the best selling character I’ve ever created, in all my years of writing. She is me, but she is not me.

I received a call to Eriko’s foot fetish line last night, $1.29 a minute, which works out to about $40 an hour after Niteflirt takes their cut. It’s more than twice than what I make hourly at my day job, and enables me to pay for luxuries like therapy and a membership at an exclusive gym. There’s always a sense of delicious anticipation after the caller hangs up, waiting for the pre-recorded Niteflirt femmebot to tell me how much I earned on the call.

There are two types of callers- men (and they usually are men) who want to talk, and men who want to cum, though these things are not necessarily mutually exclusive. The guy who calls the foot fetish line definitely wants to cum. Every cummer has a “key phrase” that will make them cum if you repeat it enough. The key phrase is the purest distillation of their fantasy, the rarefied erotic image that inches them closer to their orgasm every time I say it. The closer they are to coming, the more they want to hear it, over and over, until it becomes a rhythmic phone sex chant. I once spent 45 minutes on the phone with a man who wanted me to describe fucking his “big black cock” with my “big white tits," over and over. Anytime I began to deviate from the big black cock/big white tits dichotomy, I was firmly reigned back into his chiaroscuro tittyfucking fantasy. It was his key phrase, his core orgasmic image.

This foot fetish line caller doesn’t actually seem to have much interest in feet, but he certainly has a thing for whips. Having spent significant time in the BD/SM scene, I’ve always steered clear of real whips, knowing the amount of practice and skill it takes to wield a singletail without seriously injuring somebody. He says he’s married to a Korean woman, and she and her friends love to whip and humiliate him. I ask him if he likes floggers, caning, spankings or chastity belts, trying to mix up the fantasy a bit. “Just whip me til I cum, Mistress” he begs. I describe the whipping over and over, the loud crack of the leather hitting flesh, the burning red weals on his buttocks and back, my cruel laugh as I humiliate him in front of a room full of faceless Asian dominatrixes. The fantasy is getting monotonous for me, but it’s building him up to a moaning climax. And then, the auditory money shot: “This call lasted twelve minutes. Eight dollars and ninety nine cents will deposited to your account.”

I log off the line, getting ready for bed. I imagine masturbating as the niteflirt femmebot recites my payout in her electric voice, over and over, until I cum. No matter what the client wants, “$1.29 a minute” is Eriko’s key phrase.

(The photo above is of Japanese pinup girl Eriko Sato, whose name I borrowed for my phone sex character).