Girl on the Net

I’m not a fan of the word ‘sexpert’, mostly because it’s occasionally used about me, even though I’ve no idea what I’m doing. But there’s one area in which I’m happy to bestow the ‘sexpert’ title – those who work in the sex industry, and have carefully honed their sexy skills. This week’s guest blogger is just such a person. Jaye, who blogs at How To Almost Be A Porn Star – has worked on phone sex lines for a long time, as well as indulged in plenty of phone sex for fun, so she’s well-placed to tell you just why you should pick up the phone and let your filthy mouth run wild…

I love this post, and if you do too go and check out Jaye’s blog and follow her on Twitter.

Phone sex: call me maybe?

The power of a good story is in the telling, and the same can be said for phone sex. It is one of my biggest turn ons and can also be one of the hardest sexual crafts to master. Anyone can read a person in real life, can see how certain things they do effect their partner in the moment but with phone sex, all those other senses are taken away and the heightened faculty that you are left with is sound, stripped back to just tone and imagination, and it is so much more satisfying when you get it right. I’ve always preferred words to pictures; most people need visual stimulation but for me, it has always been aural. My earliest forays into the erotic was as a teenager on chatrooms and I later progressed to dirty phone calls with prison boyfriends, which is a story for another day and not one for the grandkids, so it has always been words that give me that warm, melted caramel feeling in my loins.

I often feel powerful when I am on the phone to someone and I suddenly turn the conversation sexual, as I wait through the silence for the low, almost pained groan of recognition as my targeted words hit the spot. I love sexting too – fun for the Cosmopolitan woman on the go – but it will never beat phone sex for me. Too many pauses and too much waiting time in between messages. Sexting is the prelude to phone sex; the foreplay, if you will. I love the often clandestine manner of a dirty phone call, the furtive, whispered chats in rooms other people could enter at anytime or late night, tangled up in the sheets, in which you start off talking about your day before one of you leads the conversation elsewhere. I like a man with an imagination, rather than someone who just listens and grunts as they tug on themselves, and this is my perfect way to weed out the timewasters.

I worked for a long time on the late night TV channels, taking phone calls from horny men who wanted to be helped into their orgasms by a buxom bouncing babe. Although I had a turbulent relationship with working in the adult industry, I always enjoyed working on the phone lines and it was here that I really honed my craft. I learnt the power of the pause, the honeyed teasing tone, the slow throaty chuckle, rankling in the bosom or the pouty drawn out purr of satisfaction. It helped me step my game up.

The shifts were long but taking naughty phone calls as my job didn’t put me off phone sex, although it could get very repetitive and I did tend to go into autopilot. I could get someone off telling them about a footjob I’d give them whilst mentally drafting an e-mail to my cousin to check how their bunion operation went.

Some men were content with the heavy breathing, exaggerated moans and peals of faux orgasmic pleasure reverberating down their phone lines, whilst others needed more and sometimes they hadn’t actually known that until they started speaking to you. I liked that part. I liked drawing people’s fantasies out of them and shaping them in front of them, adding my own tweaks and embellishments. I particularly liked it when people had an unusual fetish, as it added an extra dimension to any conversation and made me feel like a storyteller, weaving great erotic yarns about rubber gloves or shower caps (yes, really). It didn’t always get me off getting my callers off – I could generally tell by their voices whether I’d fancy them or not – but I loved the power I could wield over a man just by drawing on my varied and vivid imagination.

People are often a lot more honest on the phone, where they can say whatever is on their mind without having to look somebody in the eye as they wait to hear, with toe curling anticipation, if the other person is accepting of their fantasy. Sometimes the pause down the line as you wait for their response can be a turn on, alone. I love to share my fantasies because, for me, they are always better than reality and there is nothing sexier than saying your fantasies out loud, fleshing them out and giving shape and weight to them. Sexier still with the input of another. Real life is often not that sexy; in fantasies legs are always waxed smoothed and encased in nylon, not bristly with three days’ hair growth and pyjama bottoms pooled around your ankles can be replaced by negligees dropping silkily to the ground.

If you haven’t tried it before, I would sincerely recommend giving phone sex a go. It can be incredibly erotic and sensual hearing your chosen partner panting down the phone as you bring him to orgasm simply by explaining in detail your threesome fantasy. A phone call also has that almost vintage, nostalgic air to it; it is very, very rare that I ever call anyone on the phone for a chat unless it is a male friend, late at night, with the pretence of taking this phone call down a particular route that will help me drift off to sleep with a satisfied smile on my face…