… 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

Dearest Angela:

Having a nice day here in [ANONYMOUS CITY]. Got a haircut, ate lunch downtown (which means leftovers for supper, but good’uns), and did Yoga and a quick walk to the supermarket for milk.   yoga class was crowded. There was even a girl in like middle school (who was incredibly flexible). The teacher is always so nice, and says I’m coming along well. I’m honored to hear the complement.

[ANONYMOUS DOG] went by the vet school again today. It looks like one of his blood levels reflecting kideny function is a little higher than we’d like. He may be getting a little dehydrated, so at the market I bought him some watermelon. When I was waiting for him at the vet school yesterday I wrote the following, which I hope you’ll enjoy:

Moonlight

Just as real to me as the memory of your kiss
The feel of your fingertips on my lower lip.
Quieting my desperation by quenching my desire.

My heart rests by falling through the floor.
The roaring in my ears presupposes the day you say good-bye.
Now I draw this pen across these pages
instead of my hands along your sides.
And I moan into the moonlight
instead of looking into your eyes.

Love,

[ANONYMOUS CALLER, FRIEND, SWEETHEART]

p.s. I also bought little two dollar pencil sharpener. Look out journal, here comes the color pencils!

_______________________

I’d saved this email forever and a day (sent 5/20/09) … it was so special to me.  So, yes.  There’s a whole lot more going on behind the Phone Sex Curtain than most would imagine.  Most of my clients are witty, smart, creative and continually surprise me.  They’re doctors, lawyers and — for all I know — even Indian chiefs.  They read/write poetry, volunteer at soup kitchens, play Santa at hospitals, publish books (one in particular that I’m sure you’ve read or at least heard of),  fly planes, climb mountains, teach school, live the good life post retirement, and every other thing you could imagine.

They are the guy next to you on the light rail, the doctor who took save your mother’s life, the minister who taught last summer’s bible study, the psychologist who sits next to you at your NA meeting …

… the football player, the opera singer, the grocery clerk, the personal trainer, the television star, the hot shot lawyer, the multi-level marketing guru, the bus driver.

… they are Jewish, Catholic, Agnostic, Muslim, Unitarian, Methodist, Presbyterian, Buddhist.

… they are Italian, American, Greek, French.

… they are white, black, yellow, red.

They are everyman.  And you better believe it … there’s a lot more to this Phone Sex thing than Talking Dirty.

xo, Angela

 Phone Sex

by Joseph Matuzak

Sending bodies over wire
water removed
broken further than powder
translated into sound
then reconstituted at destination.
Here is a warm leg turned
into inflection, here
an ear described by a sigh.
Fabric rubbing, soft creak,
and romance
is somewhere nearly there
area codes away
twitching through switches
like a snake biting at a chest
then filling your room
like smoke, a proxied body
that would scatter
at your grasp
or even if you exhale
because all that makes it real
is the slick spark
of electricity that runs
with a hoarse whisper
from there to here.

_________________________________

I’m having a pretty busy weekend despite my Enforced Vacation, which I may go into at a later date.  But I wanted to let you know I was thinking about you; and what better way than with a poem about phone sex?  Hmmm.  I guess this could be akin to phoning it in, except via the net.   Typing it in?  Would that be better?  Am I phoning or typing it in?  Ah, what the heck.  At least I (with a little help from PQS) found you a good poem to read.

While the poem describes a type of phone sex to which I don’t particularly ascribe, it certainly hits the nail on the head for plenty of others.  So enjoy the pretty phrases and rhythms and pacing .. and who knows?  You just might have to make that call.

You can read more of Joseph Matuzak’s poetry HERE, and can listen to an interview and more HERE.

xo, Angela