… 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)

What?  Did you think Phone Sex Goddesses don’t get emails?  I’m here to tell you that we not only get emails, we get fuckin’ awesome emails.  Well, at least I know I do. 

That said, anybody who sends me email knows that it’s rare you get a response.  Because, although I read each and every one (oh, yes I do!)  –  I’m a very busy girl.  Really, really.  And if I took the time to answer every email with the "proper" attention it deserved, well, I’d never get anything else done.  As in anything else like Erotic Chatting about Dirty Things over the phone.  As in Phone Sex. 

And I do keep them, each and every one. From my SECRET file  ….

It’s always nice to be thought of:

Hey- 
 
I was out with friends, one of them being a therapist; and I thought to myself,  "I know someone who provides therapeutic value using nothing but her wits and voice." 

And then when walking in the woods, this little bit of poesy came into my head and I thought you would appreciate it:. 
 
The drops on the leaves 
Slid down the canopies 
I smiled as I heard the trees 
Rain down a round of sylvan applause. 
— 
Love, Mr. H

 

Morning after (a three hour) Phone Sex Call:

Good morning, good friend and confidante and muse and lover and "one to whom I can say almost anything" and political transformer (of *me*) and fellow book-lover and theatre buff … and more and more and more. Have a great day!

I guess I, ahem, inspired him:

Dear Angela- 
 
When I was strolling down the street the other day, this is the thought I had: 
 
It all boiled down to this: 
She wanted my body, 
and I am 
a slut.
— 

Who knows where it came from, or where it’s going, but that rang a bell inside me, so I thought I’d share it with you. 

Your Pal, Mr. D.

After a sing-a-long during a Phone Sex Call:

Do you know about the original  ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight‘  and the the neat history on how the poor Zulu that wrote the song got peanuts for the hit?

Oh, Mr. B.  You’re such a naughty one:

I’m thinking of auctioning off  my next orgasm since it will be two-plus weeks for me.   I didnt’ even do any edging.  Since climaxes usually give me migraines, this one ought to be a doozy!!!  I’ve got to be able to find SOME sadists around who would like a piece of that, right?  All are welcome to play.  However, contest results are final  (and sticky).

_____A.  tickled you pink ‘cuz you can’t wait to frame it next to your Obama poster.

_____B.  mildly amused you ‘cuz it just confirmed your opinion of all men.

_____C.  mildly irritated you ‘cuz you really don’t want to get this unsolicited crap from me especially.

_____D.  really pissed you off.

Pencil down, Ms. St. Lawrence.  You are, by the way, guaranteed an A+, but we can talk about that later in my office. 

Mr. J sent me this cute Joke:

A little old lady, well into her eighties, slowly enters the front door of a sex shop. Obviously very unstable on her feet, she wobbles we way across the store to the counter.   Finally arriving at the counter and grabbing it for support, she stutters to the sales clerk: "Dddooo youuuu hhhave dddddiilllldosss?"

The clerk, politely trying not to burst out laughing, replies: “Yes we do have dildos. Actually we carry many different models."

She asks: ” Ddddooo yyoooouuuu kknnnoooww hhhowww tttooo ttturrrnnn ttthe ssonoooffabbitch offffff?” 

 For my Poetry Jones from PQS

Angie:

Thought you’d like this one:

Fixation
by Ron Padgett

It’s not that hard to climb up
on a cross and have nails driven
into your hands and feet.
Of course it would hurt, but
if your mind were strong enough
you wouldn’t notice. You
would notice how much farther
you can see up here, how
there’s even a breeze
that cools your leaking blood.
The hills with olive groves fold in
to other hills with roads and huts,
flocks of sheep on a distant rise.

So what do you think, Angie? How many people will "get it"?

A little bit of devotion is always nice:

Miss Angela:

I hope you remember speaking with me a few nights ago.  Having never experienced anything like that  encounter, I’ve since been reading Zen Fetish and Blistered Lips. I knew you were special as soon as we’d exchanged a few words and wanted to learn more.  In reading all that you’ve written (what I’ve gotten to so far), I’m in total awe.  Now I understand I was truly, for the first time ever, in the hands of a TRUE  Goddess. 

I want you to know that I’ll be calling again soon, very soon.

I can’t get you out of my head.  But I’m sure you’re very well aware of that.

Sincerely, Slave J.Z

Okay, I think that’s quite enough for today.  I hope you enjoyed kicking the email tires with me, because I have a bunch more, which we will get to at a later date.  Of course they are all hidden away nicely in my SECRET Phone Sex Email File, where they will stay and many more will be added before we do this again. 

In the mean time, check out Ron Padgett’s website HERE. 

And PQS?  Sadly, I don’t think a lot of people will "get it."  But I do, you do, most of my readers do.  And I’m absolutely positive that Vanilla Savant will get it.  He thinks like we do.  What say you, Vanilla Savant?  Anybody else?

To Slave JZ:  Of course I remember you.  Don’t you even think for a moment that I wouldn’t.  You just might be capable of earning highly-coveted title of  "Favored Slave."  We’ll have to see how this all works out, won’t we? 

xo,  Angela