by Miranda Austin
(03/12/03)
Excerpt from Phone Sex: Aural Thrills and Oral Skills (Greenery Press,
2002) available through Amazon.
When Jeff's name popped up on my caller ID, I knew it sounded familiar, but
didn't immediately recognize it.
"Have you ever called a phone girl before?" I asked.
"Ohhhhh, well...once or twice," he answered. "Or ohhhh, about
a million times." He had a deep, hearty laugh.
I hate asking that question, by the way. "Phone girl" doesn't seem
like the right term. But I like "phone service" even less, and "phone
sex operator" least of all. Phone woman? Phone slut?
Anyway, after I said that I realized that this was a guy that Rachel had told
me about. She did a long call with him, over an hour, and he was talkative and
friendly.
Well, "talkative" doesn't begin to describe it. I would guess we yammered
about nothing for 45 minutes. We discussed the telephone company, cable vs.
satellite dishes, cooking, marriage, debit vs. credit cards, stay-at-home dads,
the phone sex industry, you name it. We talked about cooking quite a bit, since
he fancies himself an amateur chef, and my best friend is a professional chef.
At one point reasonably early in the conversation, he mentioned how amusing
he found it to be "naked with my dick in my hand," only to talk about
the relative merits of different kinds of paring knives. I immediately felt
badly and tried to apologize, but he insisted that he just loved to talk.
"I'm a Chatty Cathy," he said cheerfully. An odd way to describe someone
with such a deep, masculine voice.
He loves phone sex, but also just generally loves talking to cute, smart girls
on the phone. He got married recently, he said, and he adores his wife, but
he still makes time for the phone calls.
So we yacked. He told me about making gourmet baby food from scratch, and I
told him about the time my friend forced me to help cook Chinese dumplings when
I had the flu. We got to talking about soup, somehow. I told him about my favorite
cold carrot dill soup. He started raving about a pepper pear soup that he makes.
I perked up. My chef friend loves peppers and she loves pears. And I've learned
my lesson. The last time I did a call with a chef, he told me about a fabulous
dish he makes with Häagen-Dazs ice cream. I, ridiculously, proceeded to give
him a blowjob instead of asking for the recipe. She was mad at me for days.
So I obediently asked Chatty Cathy what was in the soup. He didn't seem to mind
and started naming ingredients. I heard sounds in the background, and he said,
"Hang on, wait just one minute..."
Paper rustling.
"I know I have it here somewhere...I think it's in this notebook..."
Rustle, rustle.
"You know, this would be much easier if one of my hands wasn't covered
in Vaseline."
I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing, and he did too.
"I'm on my hands and knees," he gasped, giggling, "naked...in
my dining room...talking to you...looking for a recipe...."
We just roared. I tried to apologize again, but he said he was having a great
time.
We decided this ought to be the opening for a movie. A shot of the phone sex
operator saying, "Oh, honey, that would be great." A shot of his face, "Oh,
yeah, just one more minute..." Maybe a shot of his hand on his dick. Then the
camera pulls back to reveal him naked on the floor looking for recipes.
I suggested Tom Cruise for him, but he said that Cruise is too short. He wants
to be Robert Urich, when Urich was younger -- the Vegas years. Of course, Julia
Roberts will play Kristi.
Eventually we did get around to the sex part, and he wanted to play with a teenage
girl, a high school cheerleader type. I suggested a slutty cheerleader with
a push-up bra and high heels and he loved it. He was my Home Ec teacher who
made me stay after class for not paying attention, and I seduced him over a
cake batter. Good clean fun.
I didn't expect to hear from him again soon, because he said he'd call me in
a couple of weeks. So I was surprised to see his name pop up on my caller ID
at about midnight a few days later.
He was whispering. "How are you, Kristi?"
I whispered back. "Pretty good. Why are we whispering?"
He laughed low. "My wife's in the other room. I won't be able to talk a
long time like I usually do."
Oooooh, naughty.
"She doesn't know you're calling, does she?"
"Are you kidding? No way! Oh god, I'm so horny!"
"So why don't you go jump her bones?"
Look, I know it's probably not good for business, but I always encourage them
to go to their wives. I push them to tell their wives about their fantasies.
I can't help it. I approve of happy marriages.
"Nah, she's not feeling well."
Ahhh, in that case....
"Ohhh, so we'll have to be very quiet..."
"Yeah," he said softly. "Maybe you could just, like, talk about
sucking my cock."
"Someplace where we might get caught any minute now?" I asked mischievously.
I could almost hear him get harder.
"Oh god...yes..."
"Like maybe in the kitchen...or a closet off the kitchen...." I teased.
"Oh yeah...in the storeroom next to the kitchen," he moaned.
"I'm a cute waitress," I said, "and the minute they're out serving
the first course, you grab me and practically drag me into the storage room."
"Yesss...kiss you hard...push you down to your knees..."
"Shhhhh," I cautioned. "Quiet, they could come back into the
kitchen any second now..."
It didn't take but three minutes. But it was a hot, hot, quiet quickie. And very
satisfying. And hell, his wife got left alone when she didn't feel well. It
was practically community service.
