If

-Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings – nor lose the common touch
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run –
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man my son!

(Dearest Miss V: Because you are a magnificent spirit, a generous friend, a beauteous force, my treasured partner in crime and a beloved mentor to many. ~Angela)

Happy Friday the Thirteenth.

1. Financial Goddess worth giving it up for: Exclusively Devon
2. Scarlett Teese: That would be Johansson and Dita Von (yum yum).
3. My newest pairs of heels: Are these sexy or what? and Would you kneel?
4. Laura Baumach: Sensually Wicked Man Love
5. Phone Sex with Miss Swan (very funny)
6. Maria’s online diary: Cuckolding Martin (very hot, sexy, explicit)
7. Cross-Dressing: From the inside out (honestly thoughtful)
8. Barely Legal PhoneSex Sweetheart (prepare to be amazed)
9. So you want to write erotica? (excellent resource, frequently updated)
10. Dominatrix, Heineken style. Actually, pretty much on the money.
11. A Woman of Conviction. Someone to admire, champion and support.
12. A most interesting artist who’s recently caught my attention.
13. OMG! Look what Mistress Sky’s been up to. I adore this woman!

More fun with the Friday the Thirteenth:

• WiKipeDia says
• Test Your Friday the 13th IQ
• Friday the 13th Strip Tease
• Jason Vorhees Redux

And one more thing:

First 5 callers: 1.13 per minute. Oops! Sale all gone. Sorry. (Thanks, guys!)

Angela 

My main gig is phonesex, phone sex fantasy — pure and simple.

Fantasy being the key word, but I’ll get back to that thought in a minute. Hang tough and I promise to make this short and sweet as I have things to do today and am on the move.

Because what I find curious is that….

Some (not all–don’t get jiggly on me) girls who do “FemDom” or “Spoiled Brat” or “Princess” or “Mistress” (don’t fool yourself–same crayon box, different crayons) calls are quite adamant that they don’t do phone sex, insisting that they are much superior to phonesex gals.

Of course these same self-professed dominatrices oft buy into their own mythology (ie. showing up at chat rooms, blogs and message boards to instruct, badger, and chastise the lowly and un-deified minions and/or collecting deadbeat boyfriends who suddenly evolve into houseboys/slaves). Which, come to think of it, is a pretty good reason to best be moving beyond this particular bit of blather. Don’t you think? Can’t really argue with a Demi-Goddess. Now, can we?

Back to the main thought here:

Anyway, the bottom line –no matter how you want to dress it up– is we fulfill the caller’s fantasy–not our’s, but the callers. Got that? In other words, we are the myth of perfection, not the reality. And, no matter which way you slice it, perfection within the realm of a fantasy call is defined by the caller, not the callee. The liaison between the phone sex caller and phone sex provider is a slippery one at best. He is looking –at least momentarily under the vise-like grip of his most lizardly self– for a fantasy come true, the perfect partner in slime. It our job to provide that experience in triple-decker, double-digits deviance of the highest caliber.

Furthermore, to be successful in this business of smoke and mirrors, requires a suspension of disbelief for both the caller and callee. Because we just ain’t getting him “there” unless we jump on the magic carpet with him. Yet, at the same time, we must maintain very clear professional boundaries….both for the caller and for us. The better we are –the more we care about what we do and who we do– the harder this becomes. But it is nonetheless an imperative of great import. Don’t kid yourself…souls lie in the balance here, karma is waiting right around the corner to kick our asses.

Personally, I block obsessive callers (312 at last count–but this number also includes the rude and the stupid), refusing to be a part of their downward spiral. I am diligent in reminding my callers that fantasy and reality are two different animals. That they must not be blinded by my neon-lit manger. That if I turned up the halogens things would look quite different.

I always remind them that in my everyday doings I am probably not much sexier than their wife/girlfriend/significant other….that just like her, I probably would not want to wear fetish leathers or tie them up or take their rectal temperature or kick them in the balls or force them to suck cock.

Because someday I won’t be young and beautiful and clever and full of myself and sharp and brilliant and adorable and adventurous and uncontainable (mythically speaking, of course).

And the telephone will only yield a busy signal.

And if you are wondering where all this came from…it all started here:

Are Sex Services Bad?

Damn you, Gracie!

While you can click on any picture to see it in all of its full-blown glory, proceed with caution:

Notwithstanding my absolute adoration of fem-boys and all of their fabulously-fab fem-kink-iness, what you will see, ladies and gents, is just not so pretty. I’d love to ask the photographers about the circumstances behind this particular photo shoot. Maybe I will hunt them down and request an interview.

And thanks to Gracie for pointing the way. I really don’t know how she finds this stuff. Something to do with Idle Hands? Or an extremely high Perv Quotient? Perhaps she is some abberant, twisted Savant in desperate need of kinship with others of her kind and I should add her to my Savant Collection? But, at least for now, she seems to be happy, so we’ll just leave her to the mayhem of her mischief.

Angela

6:00a.m.

And:  I am not Laura!  (see below)

Mistress V and I were recently commiserating on the real deal behind all the glitz and glamour of being FemDom PhoneFatales. (I know, I know. There’s zillions now and the good ones are getting harder to find, but I’m sure you’re up to the challenge.) We both find it quite amazing (and even revealing when it comes to the male sexual psyche) that our callers, particularly the beloved submissives and slaves, have this Petrarchan (referring to my introduction: I am not Laura!) ideal of us firmly imbedded in their eroticized brains when, in fact, we are working like dawgs.

Or maybe we are just scampering about like cute little puppies.   At least the good ones are.   Because (a simple equation):

Professional Standards    +    Elevated Listening IQ    +    Creative Intuition   +   Zealous Industry    =     Good FemDom Phone

Hey, it’s a dirty job, but…

Which leads me around to a thought I’ve been percolating for quite some time: That I am, perhaps, a bit more to the Female Dominant side than I’ve ever cared to admit, particularly in a public forum such as this blog. Because I do –and will continue to do so– preach about balance in all things, including our sexuality. And because I do so abhor the boxes so regularly forced upon sexuality these days.

(Rules, rules and more rules. This need to attach exact definitions to who we are, to assign each and every precious and unique human spirit to some rigid category regardless of the damage caused, to insist upon black and white uniformity in a veritable crayon box of possibilities–well, it sucks, quite honestly. I find it tedious, even gauche–maybe even a mortal sin.)

So, I’ve addressed three specific things so far in this entry, haven’t I?   Have I confused you?   Not making sense?    Ok, first the mentionables, as we won’t even worry about the unmentionables:

1. The Real Work of Appearing Effortlessly Sexy
2. FemDom Angela: yes? no? maybe?
3. Freeze Dried Sexual Identities

While not immediately discernable, these three things do, in fact, all tie in together. Stay with me on this and it just might begin to make some sense. So lets get to it. Shall we?

About this sex thing and male vs. female. In a way, just in a way, I do believe woman are naturally superior to men. There, I’ve said it out loud. (Does this please you, Submissive Savant?) But, here’s the rub: God made it that way and it’s ok. Superior does not mean better, smarter or any type of “er” whatsoever.