Phone sex expert Miranda Austin has graciously shared with us a chapter from her book Phone Sex: Aural Thrills And Oral Skills, available both on Amazon.com and Audible.com (oh la la!). Here she explains how a novice should make a phone call to a phone sex line.
In order to get the most from your phone sex experience, you as the customer have a few responsibilities. (Yes, yes, I know you’re paying, but you still have to help.)
First and most important, tell the operator what you want. It sounds simple enough, and for some people it’s easy. Some callers just go ahead and say, “Hi Kristi, I’d like for you to role-play that you’re Mother Goose and I’m a firefighter, and when I come over to put out the fire in the giant shoe, you recite nursery rhymes as I eat your pussy.” Keep reading »
Be honest: “For A Good Time, Call …” has made you just a tiny bit curious about what it’s like to work a phone sex line. Is it just pervs who call up and pant into the phone before hanging up? Are all the women who do it just paying their way through grad school?
We went to Sabrina Morgan, a 28-year-old phone sex operator in San Diego, for the real story. She got involved in phone sex back in 2005 and was kind enough to answer some questions over email. Everything you want to know about dirty talk, stocking fetishes and melon humping, after the jump!
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After a slew of flings that consisted of more games than the World Cup, I was practically in heaven when I met Jake – an intelligent, successful, Southern gentleman who eerily resembled New York Mets heartthrob David Wright. Keep reading »
I get called a “slut” all the time. My friend Ashley calls me a slut like it’s my name: “Slut!” The Frisky staff calls each other sluts when we divulge our sexual escapades. Internet commenting trolls call me a slut fairly regularly (and a “bitch”, and a c-word, and plenty of other foul things). I call myself a slut, like, say, last week when I hooked up with a dude on the first date. A lot of 20-something women are used to being called a slut in some area of their lives, in every situation from “haha, just kidding” with our friends or (cool) co-workers to more serious areas, like when it’s hurled at us by a catcaller. “Slut” is one of those female-centric words — like “bitch,” like “feminist” — that can mean so many things that it almost means nothing anymore. Except, it turns out, in bed. Keep reading »
“Tell me what you want to do to me,” I cooed in Brandon’s* ear. It was our first time in bed together and I was hoping he would pass my “dirty talk test.” The test is simple. I ask the man what he wants to do to me and he responds with his own special brand of dirty talk. Easy, right? Not always so simple.
It’s easier to get the little head than the big head in the game. But the problem is, I only want to have sex with a man when both heads are present. I want him to understand that my pleasure takes place first in my mind and then in my body. And if he can’t stimulate my mind, he has a very slim chance of stimulating anything on my body. Sure he can fumble his way around and accidentally push a button, but why bother? I know some people don’t like to talk; they just like to “do.” But for me it’s not enough. Keep reading »
I’ve learned a lot of things from the women in my life. How to appreciate wine, do my own taxes, not be a douchebag. And because of them, I am a fan of Pinot Noir, keep a shoebox of receipts, and am a fan of Pinot Noir. But more on this later.
Sex without dirty talk is a bland affair, like chicken nuggets without the hot mustard. Without that whispered verbal communication and the trust that goes with it, body and mind aren’t connected. No, I’m not getting all Deepak Chopra all up in this joint. Sex is a brain thing as much as a skin thing. Without uncensored, honest, blushing dirty talk in bed (or the backseat, stairwell, or under the kitchen table) there is no way to find out if she needs it faster or slower. You’d never learn that she likes her hair pulled to the left, while you softly kiss her jaw line on the right side of her face. Apparently, there’s a world of difference between a flick and a pinch. These are important facts, and the reverse is true when you’re with your man. Keep reading »
“My boyfriend really says filthy things when we’re in bed. Sometimes it’s hot, other times it’s just gross. How do I let him know what I like?” -Dana, Connecticut
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I met him through mutual friends, and I noticed him immediately because he looked like my ex-best friend — but, like, a way hotter version of the ex-BFF. We hung out a few times, and one night, after some drunken bonding over tattoos and the psychological and scientific validity of the art of pickup, he asked if I was coming home with him, and I said yes.
What I was looking for at the time was a fun, casual fling with someone I could be friendly with — without it turning into anything emotional. Neither of us were into having a relationship, and I knew that he was seeing someone else casually, too. He was smart and sarcastic and seemed like the type to bottle up his feelings and never reveal them to me. I thought it was the perfect setup. Keep reading »
Dirty talk is an acquired taste. Like oysters, or caviar. Sure, maybe at first bite, dirty talk can seem a little awkward, even unsavory to some. But like a kalamata olive, it grows on you. And soon enough you’re ordering Greek salads like it’s your job and dirty talking like you never owned a copy of Emily Post’s Etiquette. I am not criticizing such behavior. Something about glass houses and stones and throwing them. I dirty talk. I like it. I do it all the time. I want to hear it. There. I said it. As cleanly as I know how. Keep reading »
I was newly on the rebound (read: heartbroken), and had been invited by a friend who knew the deal to a downtown hipster party full of sexy, artsy guys. I proceeded to immediately knock back a few free drinks, then flirt my way through the throngs of smart artistes. One struck my fancy, with his Southern drawl, earnest voice, and red hair. He was sweet, and super talented, and cute in a non-overpowering way. I knew he liked me, but he wasn’t putting the hard sell on getting in my pants. So of course I went home with him.
We got to his apartment and tipsily made out, and soon our clothes were off. I got on top of him and we started having sex. Now, I’m a talkative girl whether I’ve been drinking or not, and one of the places I love to run my mouth is in the bedroom. I don’t remember exactly what I said—the sex wasn’t that earth-shattering—but I know there were a few “That feels good”s and whisperings of his name. I’d thought he was having just as good a time as I was, until we talked the next day. Keep reading »