… or else.

I dunno.  I guess the problem is that when I don’t know you and you don’t know me and it is the first time we’ve spoken … 

… well, it’s creepy.  It’s smarmy-creepy when "Hey, baby" are the first words out of your mouth.  Did you even take the time to find out my name?  Check out my Free Phone Sex Stories or this Free Phone Sex blog?  Or scan my various Phone Sex listings at NiteFlirt such as Prick Tease or Literate Smut or Macho Sissy?  I’m absolutely certain that the answer is a big, fat resounding ENNN OHH. 

Because here’s what happened (and I’m always right about these things, so don’t even attempt a protest):  You found yourself  with your dick in your hand.  Your dick wanted a P U S S Y.  Not a woman, not Angela St. Lawrence or even a girl by any other name.  You just wanted a PUSSY. 

(Which begs the question:  Would a pussy by any other name still smell as sweet?) 

Regardless, we both know that you and your selfish prick could care less if you were talking to Angela, Mindy or Theresa.  You didn’t know my name, because you didn’t care who I was as long as I possessed a vagina.  In other words, in this particular instance (’cuz certainly you don’t operate this way in your everyday life; say it isn’t so, dear man), you were actually using "baby" as a pronoun.  

And not a pronoun as in "you."  I wasn’t me to you.  I was an it.  Calling me baby was the equivalent  to calling me IT.  So guess what?

Baby = It = Pussy = No Phone Sex for You from Me

Yanno … You really should be more of a savvy shopper when it comes to calling a Phone Sex Operator, because there are many men who are so talented at changing there voices that they actually take calls — usually from the stOOpid (that would be you) boys — in their girly-girl voices and collect your cash by the minute while you jerk.  Yes, they are  low-life posers too lazy or dumb to get a real job.  But guess who their target market is?  Y. O. U.  Because they know they can get away with it.  I have to admit that there’s a sweet poetic irony in that for me. 

And yes, you pissed me off and that is why I ever-so-abruptly hung up on you.  Call me cranky, call me a bitch, call me too demanding.  I don’t care.   FYI, you’ve also been permanently blocked so I never have to hear your slimy voice again.  

So to HDB, jellyfish, Pervert Savant, Mr. Smith, et al:  Okay, so I wasn’t on my best behavior today.  Not so charming, not so sweet, not so tolerant.  But, as you fellows and most of my readers and/or callers know, I’ve recently moved.  It’s been hectic and stressful and energy-depleting.  A girl can only take so much, dontcha know? 

And, really now …  is it so wrong to expect at least a sentient being on the other end of the phone when I pick up?   Should I or any girl be subjected to the guttural demands (because with that intro, you know they were coming) of loutish clochards operating on three brain cells at best?

Tell me I am wrong, and I’ll try to do better the next time.  Honest Injun. *fingers crossed*

In the meantime …

Well, men really can be damnably dumb at times.  From my sister:

Three mischievous old Grannies were sitting on a bench outside a nursing home when an Old Grandpa walked by. Grandma One yelled out, "We bet we can tell exactly how old you are."

The old man stopped and shook his finger at the Grandmas. "What are you? Crazy? There is no way you can guess my age, you old fools."

Grandma Two answered back, "We’re not crazy and we can prove it. Just drop your pants and under shorts and we will tell you your exact age."

Embarrassed just a little, but eager to prove the old women wrong, the Old Grandpa he dropped his drawers.  Grandma Three asked him to first turn around a couple of times and to jump up and down several times.   Determined to teach the old women a lesson, the old man threw common sense to the wind and began whirling and jumping as the old women screeched and howled until tears were running down their cheeks. 

"I don’t know what you old bats are laughing at," said the Old Grandpa, stopping to catch his breath, "you still don’t know how old I am."

Then all three Grandmas all piped up and said, "You’re 87 years old."

Standing with his pants down around his ankles, the old gent asked, "How in the world did you guess?"

Slapping their knees and grinning from ear to ear, the three old ladies called out in unison…

"We were at your birthday party yesterday!"

BTW … been super busy with this move.  Unpacking, shopping, decorating, etc.  I will be blogging and taking calls most days, now that things are starting to come together.  We’ve got some dirty stuff, some interesting news and a whole bunch of mischief waiting just around the corner.  So stick around, get comfortable, loosen your tie or drop your drawers or pop some popcorn.  Hopefully it will be a very bumpy ride.

with much affection, Angela

(photo credit: The Pirata)

Picture Credit:  Toothpaste for Dinner

1. The roundest knight at King Arthur’s round table was Sir Cumference. He acquired his size from too much pi.

2. I thought I saw an eye doctor on an Alaskan island, but it turned out to be an optical Aleutian .

3. She was only a whisky maker, but he loved her still.

4. A rubber band pistol was confiscated from algebra class, because it was a weapon of math disruption.

5. The butcher backed into the meat grinder — and got a little behind in his work.

6. No matter how much you push the envelope it’ll still be stationery.

7. A dog gave birth to puppies near the road and was cited for littering.

8. A grenade thrown into a kitchen in France would result in Linoleum Blownapart.

9. Two silk worms had a race.  They ended up in a tie.

10. Time flies like an arrow.  Fruit flies like a banana..

11. A hole has been found in the nudist camp wall — the police are looking into it.

12. Atheism is a non-prophet organization.

13. Two hats were hanging on a hat rack in the hallway.   One hat said to the other, "You stay here, I’ll go on a head."

14. I wondered why the cricket ball kept getting bigger — then it hit me.

15. A sign on the lawn at a drug rehab centre said:  Keep off the Grass.

16. A small boy swallowed some coins and was taken to a hospital.  When his grandmother telephoned to ask how he was, the nurse told her, "No change yet."

17. A chicken crossing the road — is poultry in motion.

18. The short fortune-teller who escaped from prison — was a small medium at large.

19. The man who survived mustard gas and pepper spray — is now a seasoned veteran.

20. A backward poet — writes inverse.

21. In democracy, it’s your vote that counts.  In feudalism, it’s your count that votes.

22. When cannibals ate a missionary, they got a taste of religion..

23. Don’t join dangerous cults:  Practice safe sects!

__________________________________________

Lest you forget ~ I have a way with words too. 

I have a way with Dirty words: 

Conjugated Naughtiness.  Punctuated Deviance.  Grammatical Impuri-tease.  Personified Debauchery.  Stylized Kink.

Just move those sticky fingers and  CLICK Right HERE

_________________________________________________

Happy Howl-O-Ween

  EAT, DRINK & BE SCARY!

♦♦♦♦

Broomstick Rides Available:  Click Here

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Little Orphan Annie

by James Whitcomb Riley

Little Orphan Annie’s come to our house to stay,
And wash the cups and saucers up, and brush the crumbs away,
And shoo the chickens off the porch and dust the hearth and sweep,
And make the fire, and bake the bread, and earn her board and keep;
And all us other children, when the supper things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire and has the mostest fun
A-listeniin’ to the witch tales that Annie tells about,
And the Gobble-uns that gits you if you don’t watch out!

Once they was a little boy who wouldn’t say his prayers–
And when he went to bed at night, away upstairs,
His mammy heard him holler and his daddy heard him bawl,
And when they turned the kivvers down, he wasn’t there at all!
And they seeked him in the rafter room, and cubby hole and press,
And seeked him up the chimney flue, and everywheres, I guess;
But all they ever found was just his pants and round about!
And the Gobble-uns’ll git you if you don’t watch out!

And one time a little girl would always laugh and grin,
And make fun of everyone, and all her blood and kin;
And once when they was company and old folks was there,
She mocked them and shocked them and said she didn’t care!
And just as she kicked her heels, and turnt to run and hide,
They was two great big Black Things a-standin’by her side,
And they snatched her through the ceiling
‘fore she knowed what she’s about!
And the Gobble-uns’ll git you if you don’t watch out!

And little Orphan Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
And the lampwick sputters, and the wind goes woo-oo!
And you hear the crickets quit and the moon is gray,
And the lightning bugs in dew is all squenched away–
You better mind your parents, and your teachers fond and dear,
And cherish them that loves you, and dry the orphan’s tear,
And help the poor and needy one that cluster all about,
Or the Gobble-uns’ll git you if you don’t watch out!

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Believe me, it’s very scary when PQS reads this aloud to you!  That man has a way with him.  Oh yes he does.

The poet’s website:  Click Here   Wikipedia Page:  Click Here

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And did you hear about the Twitter "Tweance" wherein a psychic contacted Michael Jackson, Kurt Cobain and River Phoenix?  Sadly, Avon Bard, Shakespeare was apparently rather tired and chose not to participate.  You can "see" the Seance HERE.  And read about it HERE.

___________________________________________________

Before you go …

… shall we Dance? 

Dance the Monster Mash?  Click Here

… and long time, no talk. 

At least that’s the way it was between Mr. N and myself until I got this absolutely wonderful email from him:

Dear Angela St. Lawrence:

From an old friend who remembers you as Misty.

I must have done something good to somebody once to have found your card with your web site and all on it.

By the way, there used to be a picture of a lady with a strap-on in your site. That’s gone. Ahhh. Where is that picture?

OK. Enough blabbering. I pray that you are healthy and well-taken care of, that you are safe and loved, that life comes back to embrace you with goodness and joy even when things go up and down, and that you embrace it back.  Be good to yourself, eat lots of veggies, stay away from soft drinks, drink water and juice and delicious teas, and be good to yourself.  You are a delight.

Dying to talk with you,

Mr. N.

Yes, he knew me as Misty — one of my "characters" at the phone sex service I worked for when in college.  Regardless of the name — and believe you me, a phone sex operator usually goes by many — the connection was a good one.  So, a few years back — when I left the corporate world to rev up the kink-O-phone once again — I’d contacted him and we’d started up again like there hadn’t even been a lapse.  And so we continued for quite a while.

Until he suddenly disappeared.   Being a busy girl with a lot of regular clients, it took a while for me to notice.  Hey?  Wonder what’s up with Mr. N.?  He hasn’t called in quite a while now. Hmmm.  But the world kept turning and the phone kept ringing.  So, although I never ever forgot him, I had to move on.  Two years later — during which I thought about Mr. N. at least once a week, sometimes more — and there he is in my mailbox!  Woot!

I immediately emailed him back and — as they say — the rest is history.  WE ARE ON!  We picked up — for the second time — right where we left off, without skipping a beat. 

It was so much fun to catch up.  Mr. N. apologized for the disappearing act, explaining the whats, wheres and whys of it.  We commiserated about OUTSOURCING — of which we both have too much experience.  We talked about the validity of ANY fantasy and the psychological dualities and complexities of human sexuality.  He told me about his new business venture.

So then I reminded Mr. N of the two-girl call he’d done with me and another (supposedly talented) PSO when I’d been with that service where he’d first contacted me, because it is one of my funniest and fondest memories of him.  He really didn’t remember, but that speaks a lot more to my ego than his memory retention abilities. 

You see, at that point in time, way back when …

Mr. N really wanted to try two girls at once.  This was new ground for him and, obviously, an expensive endeavor.  While I usually don’t like other girls in on calls with me (it’s a mixed bag and you never know who will be up to the task or professional … I’ve actually heard the other girl typing during a call), who was I to rain on his parade?  Despite the fact that the other PSO had only been with our company for a few days, the dispatcher assured me that she was experienced, having worked a considerable length of time  for another phone sex company before signing on with us. 

So — just to be safe — I took it upon myself to talk with this girl first.  Because while Mr. N. delighted me to no end, he was a rather demanding caller.  His fantasies were complex and multi-layered, and he required a lot of verbosity from my side when we played.   So I explained all this to Mr. N’s and I’s pending phone mate, giving her a general outline of Mr. N’s likes, dislikes and hot buttons and emphasizing that it was absolutely essential that she pay close attention to the fantasy as it evolved and to then respond/interact in explicit and creative ways.

You might think that was rather bitchy of me, and perhaps this new PSO thought the same, despite the fact that I went out of my way to be positive and friendly during our entire pre- phonesex huddle.  Oh well, too bad.  Mr. N was paying double for this adventure and he deserved the best.  I owed it to him, myself and the phone sex company to do everything possible to make this thing work well.  Jezuz Chrizt!  Mr. N was paying double for what would probably be an extended call.  In other words:  BIG BUCKS!

But no worries!  This gal told me so.  No worries at all; she knew what she was doing and had this thing in the bag.  And so, it was time to do the dirty deed.

And let me tell you, my friends, it was bad.  We got the moaning, the groaning.  And then more moaning and groaning.  With unflagging expectations and hopes that this was just a case of stage fright which Ms. New PSO would soon overcome, Mr. N and I moved forward with the fantasy.  Then silence, then more moaning and groaning.  I think at one point she did say, "Does that feel good?"  How original and spontaneous! This was an interactive role-play!  Where were the visual pictures and clever words she’d promised?  More groaning.  Then some grunting and heavy breathing — well at least that was something new.  As you might imagine, I was rapidly approaching panic status.  Poor Mr. N!  What was I do to to get us out of this mess?

Suddenly, Mr. N cleared his throat.  Girls, lets stop this for a moment.

Uh oh!

Mr. N proceeded to basically tell New PSO — in his soft-spoken and genteel manner –that she absolutely sucked at this.  He told her that he wanted her to disconnect from the call so he and Misty could continue the fantasy without her.  He assured her that he was not angry, that he was confident that she’d get better at this phone sex thing IF she followed Misty’s example and learned all she could from Misty.  Because Misty was the absolute.  Misty was an artist.  Misty was perfection.  Misty would teach her how to do it right.  Misty was the alpha and omega. 

… and all that jazz. 

While I’ll be the first to admit that Mr. N is possibly a bit biased and even perhaps smitten, seeing me as he does through the erotic glaze of our unconventional and downright dirty escapades — she really wasn’t any good at this phone sex thing.   And even though Mr.N did go on-and-on-and-on about my wonder-hood-ness, he had a valid complaint and was paying for what he’d hoped would be an extraordinary experience.  He was frustrated, poor man.  Even so, he was diplomatic and encouraging with New PSO.

It didn’t matter though.  She was offended or pissed or whatever — because she abruptly hung up the phone.  Very loudly hung up the phone.  And that was the very last of New PSO.  Literally.  She was gone, vamoosed, poof, disappeared.  Bye, bye bye.  Later, after Mr. N and I had said our goodbyes, I called the service and gave them the scoop.  When they rang her up, they got her voice mail.  She was officially missing in action and nobody ever heard hide nor hair from her again.

Oh well … 

Maybe she’s married with five children now.  She could be a model, a nanny, a doctor, an Olympic competitor, a beauty consultant.  Who knows?  Or perhaps she’s the CEO of one of the successful Phone Sex Companies with whom I compete for business.  Where ever she is and what ever she’s doing, I wish her well.

Because Mr. N and I — for the second time — found each other again.  And all is right with the world.  Now I gotta get going and find that strap-on picture for Mr. N.  I promised!

xo, Angela