I speak of Kat, the erudite and sexy Femme Fatale that is on her way to PhoneSex stardom. But let her tell you herself. From her intro at her classy website, Stocking Affair:

“If you think that phone sex is limited to those late night ads and moaning, allow me to shift your paradigm and remove your tie. I am a 100 percent independent phone entertainer, with no acting, corporate affiliation, or ability to fake being anything other than my lusty, carnal, and overeducated self. If you lust after nerds, pushy academics, cute girls in glasses, sexual controllers with a classy kinky streak, this might be the place.”

“…allow me to shift your paradigm and remove your tie.” Don’t you just love it? When you read something so very sexy and well-written, can you have any doubt that this is a woman to be reckoned with? And don’t your knees just wobble at the thought of her wrapping all of the intelligent sensuality around you? I’m almost tempted to call her, myself.

If you like me (and I know you do), Kat is definitely someone you should be checking out. This is one sharp cookie as you will discover for yourself when reading her divinely erotic stories and always informative and insightful blog, Little Indescretions. I am smitten with this woman. And I am sure you will be, too.

Before you go, get yourself a drink and a smoke. Then relax and enjoy all that Kat has to offer. By the time you’ve nosed and peeked and luxuriated in all that steamy verbiage, you should be rock-hard and ready to give her a call.

Well, what are you waiting for? Get on over there and wallow in the meanderings and musings of the amazing, gorgeous and brilliant Kat.

Then PICK UP THAT PHONE AND DIAL!

You know you want to.

….I have a Headache.

Ok, here’s the deal: I should be sleeping, was going to skip the blogging thing today. Don’t you tire of the instant pundit phenomenon this blogging craze has created? Do we always have something so important to say that everybody should be reading us in lieu of The New York Times or War and Peace or at least something from Oprah’s Book Club?

But, somebody out there is reading me. God knows why, but they are. (And I’m deeply grateful to all three of you.) So you were on my mind. And I just couldn’t zonk out, feeling I’d let you down. It’s not that I didn’t have a valid excuse to skip a day, as it was a very busy Fantasy Phone day for me, the last call lasting well over two hours. That is a very long time and one gets very weary at a certain point. Which I was and am.

But, being the trooper that I am, I had to come back and tell you goodnight. Don’t ask for sex, not even a quickie! I really do need to get some sleepy sleep.

But how about if I leave you some reading material?

1. PervScan is one of my favorite sites on the Net. Supervert who presents the site is taking a month off currently, but there is a treasure trove of info there, in which you may gleefully wallow. I don’t need to tell you what it is about, because it won’t take you long to figure it out.
2. Tasty Trixie is one of the sweetest treats on the net today. She is naturally beautiful, female positive, open minded, extremely bright and witty and I just could kiss her all over. She has a lot of things to offer and is an ethical “wondering webwhore.” So do make it over there and give her a lookie-loo.
3. And last but not least, I ran across Lisa Lampanelli one late night last week when I couldn’t sleep. She is so in-your-uptight-face funny, I was practically peeing myself laughing. So I went looking on the WWW and found her site. Check her out.

So can I go back to bed now? Thanks darling. Kiss Kiss

And my favorite Jesus joke (riddle) of all time:

Why did Jesus really die on the cross?

Because he forgot his safe word.

(Thanks to Metro for the pic.)

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell’st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

~John Donne~

Clients come and clients go. But why they sometimes take their leave without so much a fare-thee-well, cheerio, or even a little goodbye kiss is beyond me. Particularly the ones for whom I’ve gone the extra mile. Which, by the way, just about includes the entire bushel and a peck.

I don’t fret too much about it. After all, tastes (i.e. fetishes, kinks) fluctuate, circumstances change, wives move back home and all that jazz. Sooner or later, they usually show-up again none the worse for the wear, telling vivid tales of phone-sex-gone awry or life-gone-topsy-turvy.

Most of the time I don’t believe them, but let it slide.  I figure if they can suspend belief for the duration of the call to imagine me as a 50 Foot Woman or lactating and pregnant hermaphrodite, I can certainly return the favor.

But once upon a time, before I started my own PhoneSex business and was working for The Man, a valued client went MIA. Those were the prehistoric days, before The Internet exploded (5 years ago), and we followed up our calls with mail courtesy of the United States Post Office. (Remember them?)

So I sent a Missing You letter, decorated with curley-Q writing and heart stickers, out to Mr. X. And waited. And waited. A month later the letter came back unopened and stamped: deceased.

If you think that didn’t shake me up, that I didn’t grieve, well then you don’t know much about me. And the repercussions were long lasting. Because every time a guy ups and disappears, a little piece of me remembers Mr. X. And remembers all the things I never said.

I never got to tell him goodbye. Or that I saw beyond the fetish and appreciated his generous, open heart. Or that he taught me things. Or that he was one of my favorite callers. Or that he inspired me to take a college course I would have never taken otherwise.

It’s so much easier when they just show up again with a bigger and better hard-on.

And easier still when they tell me that they are going before they go.

Hey! Whatcha complaining about? This is, after all, and Equal Opportunity Blog. As in “it’s my blog and if I think it’s important, then it gets equal opportunity.”

So we all know what a prick is. I think most women would agree some are better than others. Some are cuter or prettier or skinnier or longer or curve to the left or have a mushroom head or are uncircumcised or are pierced or leak bunches. None of that adds-to nor subtracts-from our feelings toward a particular prick.

Alas, I have to say it again, that as I said the other day, it is the man wielding the tool who makes all the difference in the world. At least to the woman beholding it.

Now I will suggest that every man thinks his prick is the most important penis in the entire universe. Even when a fellow gets-off on humiliation and “small dick” fantasies, ultimately the prick, HIS prick is getting all of the attention. Smart girls figure this out early on and use it to their advantage.

Of course, human beings have been creating names for the genitalia, and the prick certainly has it’s synonyms: dick, cock, pecker, etc.

But, interestingly, when we use these words as adjectives:

• prick = bastard
• dick = loser
• cock(y) = smart ass
• pecker (head) = idiot

Of course, there are plenty more examples, but I’ve neither the time nor inclination to list them here. But I think this brief bit of mamook kumtux is enough…at least for today.

Don’t you?

(Damn it! Notice how this entry is longer than Cunt? What’d I tell ya? Men!)