I have always been curious about what makes other people tick. Why they do what they do? I can spend hours sitting quietly on a bench in a mall watching people walk by. I wonder about what they are wearing, who they are with, what they may be buying. I am a bit of a voyeur, I suppose, but really, people are just so fucking fascinating. Recently, I had an opportunity to explore the nature of desire. It was my intention to find something new and unique to say about desire. It was be a situation of research using books, professional journals and citable sources. Instead, I stepped quite close to the subject and found myself considering desire on a more personal level. What I discovered was not at all what I had set out to find, but in the end, I believe it may have been exactly what I needed.

I needed a way to make up a few academic hours, but I also needed a summer job. The subject of a proposed independent research project was causing me a little stress, as well. Gender and Sexuality in Contemporary Culture. A large canvas to cover, indeed. I enjoy pop culture as much as the next gal, maybe even a bit more than some, but no one, least of all my academic adviser, wanted to read a 50-page document in which I regurgitated statistics into the shape of pie charts with swinging indents. Serendipitously, right before summer break began, someone suggested I try exploring the specificity of desire, the unique fingerprint of individual desires. This idea sounded as good as any I had considered. What follows is the evolution of that project. This is story of how I became a phone-sex operator.

NOTE: I want to make a confession. I really want you to like me, so I feel inclined to tell you what I think you want to hear... and I think you want to hear that I am not the kind of girl who would usually consider taking a job as a phone-sex operator. At the risk of disappointing you, dear reader, the truth is far less flattering. Taking the job was not a difficult decision to make. Almost as soon as the idea popped into my head, on some level I already knew that I was going to try to find a way to make it happen: "Wow, that stove eye looks hot. I think I'll touch it and find out."

As it turned out, the real challenge was not taking the job. The real challenge was explaining this plan in a way that did not make me (1) sound like a lunatic or (2) feel like a prostitute. Nevertheless, I did rationalize this peculiar decision, to my closest friends, to my academic advisor and to myself. I explained that I only intended to be employed in this questionable profession for a short time, and then I reminded everyone that it would be criminal to decline the chance to make money by earning class credit. Privately, the thought of doing something so naughty was absolutely irresistible. I was bored and I needed to be reminded that I was still capable of being surprised. Besides, how hard was it really going to be, sitting in an air-conditioned house, talking on the telephone?

NOTE: In case you are thinking that I am very clever for coming up with this moneymaking/credit-earning scheme, please consider carefully. Nothing can prepare you for phone sex with strangers. Nothing, that is, except maybe previous phone sex with strangers.

In order to get approval for this unusual scheme, I performed a little song-and-dance routine for my academic advisor and eventually got a (reluctant) thumbs-up. I poked around the Internet for a while, called a few friends, peeked into a few cyberwindows and eventually found an agency. Within two weeks of submitting an online application to a national chatline service, I was hired, trained, and given an access number. The training consisted of some dirty Instant Messaging with a professional operator. She typed something dirty and I typed an equally dirty response, then she analyzed my banter. After only about an hour or so, she suggested I say cock more often and then she pronounced me ready for duty.

NOTE: This leads me to a frequently ignored fact about phone sex: Only men call. It does not matter who answers, a straight female operator or a gay male operator, the caller is almost always male. The reasons for this gender anomaly are perhaps better left for another day, but I thought it was worth mentioning.

Once training was complete, my next task was to design a character that would entice potential callers into pulling out their credit cards and picking up the telephone. I was instructed to try to sound sexy but remain accessible. I was warned to avoid cliche stripper names, which meant I had to abandon my hopes of calling myself Hunny Potter. "Choose a name that won't make you giggle when introducing yourself," my trainer suggested. "Choose something feminine and familiar." I decided to choose a name that was enough like my own that I would not forget who I was supposed to be. With my name chosen and my identity outlined, it was time to set up my first audio profile.

Hi, I'm Jenny. I'm 5'8", 27 years old, long dark hair with an athletic build. I have a boring day job so at night I really want to get WILD. There's no need to keep listening to these recordings. Go ahead and choose me, at extension blah, blah, blah. We're gonna have so much fun.

(Wait for it, wait for it...my purring tagline...)

Come on, you know you want to...

And although nothing in this description was even remotely true, they did want to. They wanted to call and they wanted to talk to Jenny. They began calling within twenty minutes of my signing-on, and they called regularly until I finally deleted my listing, just three short weeks later. Suffice it to say that at a minimum of twenty calls per week, three weeks is more than enough time to decide if professional telephone sex operator is the right occupation for any reasonable person. The calls ranged in length from thirty-second "cum calls" to thirty-minute pre-paid calls. Every call was different. Some callers wanted to tell me things, some wanted me to tell them things. Some calls were lewd and disturbing while others were ordinary and tame. No matter the call, my objective was the same: be good at the job, but not too good. Keep them engaged for a minimum of six minutes. That, ladies and gentlemen, is how to earn maximum dollars as a phone sex operator… long calls equal more money.

The pay scale for most agencies breaks down about the same: under six minutes and the operator earns 10 cents a minute; over eight minutes and s/he earns 40 cents a minute. It is easy to see that a few minutes can make a substantial difference over a week's time. Unfortunately, anyone who has ever tried to slow sex, without stopping it completely, knows how tricky that can be. When it comes to sex, there is a kind of point-of-no-return that is not always easy to recognize, especially with a total stranger who is panting obscenities into the telephone receiver. Add a price tag of $1.99 per minute and you can see why this is a skill that must be cultivated in order to be a successful operator.

Once I had secured my employment, it occurred to me that I might actually be bad at phone sex. Admittedly, I have been kissed before but I do not have much experience talking about it. I wondered if my imagination would hold up under close inspection if presented with a new sexual scenario. My trainer's only advice, "In for a penny, in for a pound." (Sadly, her advice had far less value once I realized she was a phone sex operator who billed called herself as a "telephone actress" without an ounce of irony.)

In addition to my concern about my own sexual imagination, I had worried about a couple of other very specific issues. Firstly, I was afraid that phone sex might be too weird or terrible or disturbing. Although I am not a complete innocent, I really did not know what to expect. Secondly, I was secretly a little bit afraid that the illicit nature of the job might actually turn out to be something I enjoyed. What if phone sex turned me on? I knew that it would be understandable, possibly even redeeming, if I was a terrible phone sex operator. If, on the other hand, I sat around all day with my greedy little paw shoved down the front of my knickers, waiting for the telephone to ring ... well, that would be very unfortunate.

As it turns out, I adjusted far more quickly than I had expected. By the end of the first week, I was quietly doing housework or eating dinner while engaging in some pretty salty conversations. Luckily, when an operator purrs "mmmm" into the telephone, it is almost impossible to discern whether it is sexual ecstasy or simply that she has a mouth full of red beans and rice. During most of the calls, I was either totally disinterested or mildly repulsed. There were a lot of times when I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing, and a couple of times when I wanted to hang up and take a shower. Still, hidden amongst the sometimes silly, frequently vile interactions were a couple when I was genuinely engaged and even once or twice when I was a little turned-on. Not many times, of course, but to be completely honest, there were a few.

I remained an awkward operator, embarrassed most of the time ... and that never got any easier for me. Each time I said hello, my hands trembled a little and my stomach flipped. I stumbled through the initial greetings and struggled to make small talk. It was difficult not to ask personal questions to ease the awkwardness, like "Where do you live?" or "What do you do for a living?" After a while I realized that if I could make it through the first few minutes, I usually picked up a kind of rhythm. I never got very good at it, but after a while, I also was not completely terrible. Turns out, when it comes to phone sex, not being terrible if pretty much all that is required. These men are not calling for subtlety or nuance; they are calling for telephone sex. I did not have to be talented; I just had to be willing.

To clock in each day, I dialed an 800 number and typed in a code. After that, my telephone would only ring from the chatline switchboard, until I called again and retyped the code to clock out. When working, I would pick up the receiver after the first ring and immediately hear a "whisper message," the switchboard operator preparing me for the caller. The best whisper messages announced prepaid calls. A 15- to 30-minute call prepaid with a credit card. These calls offered just enough time to relax and get acquainted, but not long enough to fall in love. Fifteen minutes may not sound like a lot of time, I know, but I imagine once the call has been made and the caller is sitting with his cock in his hand, it can feel like an eternity if done properly.

Bad calls were known as "hard-core calls" or "cum calls." The whisper message before one of these calls was hissed into the phone like an air-raid siren announcing incoming fire. "John wants a blowjob. HARD-CORE, HARD-CORE!" Sexline operators translate "hard-core" to mean a battle of wills. A battle to postpone orgasm by any means necessary. Sometimes I would try a sneaky distraction: "Tell me where you're sitting so I can imagine you. Sofa, recliner? Mmmm, I love a big old recliner." Inside, I would be thinking, "Really, Jenny? Really? A recliner. Is that what does it for you?" With other callers, I would use the subtle shame approach: "God, I love a man who knows what he wants ... but wait on me. You don't want to finish too fast and leave me all hot and bothered. That wouldn't be very nice." Again, I'd have to wonder, is "nice" a real concern to this man, whose only instruction thus far had been, "Suck it good, slut."

I am sure if given a few minutes and a frosty mug or two, most of you could come up with almost every scenario. A dude in lacy panties, a guy who wants to be called names because his penis is tiny and (my personal favorite) the man who wants you to put your feet on his "junk." Simply try to imagine all the things no self-respecting person would admit to enjoying and that is what phone sex involves. The biggest surprise during my experience was the nature of the hang-up. The closing of every call was exactly the same. Click, THE END. It never varied, not one bit. No matter the call type or the caller's disposition, every call ended with, "Pant, pant... click... humm." No one ever offered, "Thanks Jenny, that was great" or even a simple good-bye. Nope, all I got was a grunt and a dialtone, every single time. The sad part is, sometimes I would still be talking, right in the middle of saying something shameful and filthy. Look, I was not expecting a love song or a gift card to Target, but for heaven's sake, an acknowledgement might have been nice.

After three very strange weeks, I decided I had probably learned everything I could from phone sex. I did not hate the men who had called, but I disliked most of them very much. I was not irreparably damaged by the experience, but I was incredibly grossed-out. I had come into the project with a fairly broad sense of sexual ethics, believing healthy sex to be any informed and consensual act of shared pleasure by two (or more) consenting adults. As long as there was no coercion, no children, and no animals, whatever grown people wanted to do together was just fine. It could be tender and loving, but it did not have to be. I was comfortable knowing that some couples would caress each other gently while others would make use of a brass-handled hair brush and a couple of little wooden clothespins. I knew from the start that pleasure for one might not be pleasure for another, and that made perfect sense to me. These men, however, managed to reduce sex to a bodily function, like having a shit or blowing your nose, and that, though not surprising, was a little disappointing.

The day I told my best friend that I had finally decided to resign my position as a telephone actress and begin the process of piecing together my research, his only question was, "Did you learn anything from the experience?" I did not know the answer to that question then, but after taking some time to process, I believe I do now. The answer is both yes and no. Yes, I did learn a bit about professional phone sex (say cock a lot) and about kink culture (say cock a lot), but I did not have any particular revelation about human nature and desire. Working as a phone sex operator simply confirmed many of the things I had already come to believe over the years:
(1) People usually desire most those things that are forbidden to them.
(2) No one is ever as normal as s/he seems.
(3) Sex without context is no more significant than a finger in another person's ear.
(4) Pushed far enough, every open-minded, sexually-evolved person will eventually furrow their brow and say, "Well now, THAT is just plain weird!"

I am still not sure whether desire is located at the heart of suffering or the center of success, but perhaps these two locations are not mutually exclusive. As Lawrence Block so famously said, "Look for something, find something else, and realize that what you've found is more suited to your needs than what you thought you were looking for." If desire is wanting, then perhaps happiness is seeking... And that, dear reader, makes perfect sense to me.

PS: A dirty little bonus:
The kind of kinky sex that people enjoy is varied, to say the least. I'm not talking about sexual disorders and psychiatric conditions; I'm just talking about kinky fetish. During the course of my research, I began making a list of sexual predilections and requested scenarios. What started as six or eight possibilities evolved into a list of fetishes whose specificity surprised even me. This may be the most interesting thing I learned from my brief time working as a phone sex operator -- if it can be imagined, there is someone out there doing it.

Algolagnia: sexual pleasure from pain
Aquaphilia: Sex in and under water
Asphyxiaphilia: Breath Play, restricting breathing temporarily (although it may be worth noting that standing on your ex's throat does NOT qualify as breath PLAY)
Autagonistophilia: sexual arousal from being onstage or on-camera
Autofellatio: Performing oral sex on oneself. (I totally wish I could do this!)
Barefooting: also called Trampling or Trample Fetish
Body Hair (Bears)
Branding/Scarification
Breast/Nipple Torture, Clamps, etc.
Candle Wax (This kink doesn't combine well with "body hai" unless hours of picking wax out of your fur is sexy)
Caning: Most popular in BDSM culture, on the soles of a submissive's feet
Chains
Chastity Devices
Chinese Balls/Ben Wa Balls/Anal Beads
Cling Film
Cock and Ball Torture (CBT. P.S...there exist manufactured "dick paddles" for this kink)
Collar and Leash
Confinement/Caging
Coprophilia: Scat/Shit Play (Two girls, one cup...yuck!)
CosPlay: Costumes/Anime
Cupping: Suction of Skin
Cuckolding: A monogamous couple among whom the female takes a lover and the male partner watches (NOTE: The wife who enjoys cuckoldry is sometimes referred to as a "hotwife" but a husband who does this is still referred to, in most circles, as an asshole.)
Dacryphylia: Arousal from tears
Defilement: Seeing a partner dirty or wet
Denim (Really, denim? Hmmm...fascinating.)
Depilation/Shaving
Dildos: Handheld and Strap-on
Discipline
Doctor/Nurse
D/S: Domination/submission
Edge Play: Withholding or postponing partner's orgasm (Also known as, "Damnit, damnit, damnit!")
Electrotorture: EMS TENS units
Emetophilia: Arousal from enemas
Erotic Reiki (Good, because non-erotic Reiki is just plain weird)
Exhibitionism/Sex in Public
Fang-and-Claw
Feminization: also called Sissificiation and usually practiced by straight males
Fire Play
Fisting
Financial Domination (Mmmm Baby, I get so hot when you pay my subprime mortgage!)
Floggers/Cats
Food Play
Formicophilia: Sexual arousal caused by having insects crawl on genitals
Furry/"Plushy" Play
Gangbangs
Gorean Roleplay: Knights, corsets, dragons, etc.
Hair Pulling
Handcuffing/Shackles
Humiliation (My version of this kink goes a little something like this: "Those pants make your ass look HUGE. By the way, you've got spinach between your teeth.")
Hunt-and-Capture (This fetish is only permissible if the "hunter" and the "hunted" have both agreed to play. Otherwise, it's less a fetish and more a felony.)
Infantilism: Big diapers, baby bottles, pacifiers, etc. (Waaah)
Interrogation
Klismaphilia: Douching/Enema
Knife/Needle Play
Lactation
Latex
Leather
Macrophilia: Sexual arousal involving domination by giants (I have to wonder how this particular kink is actually enacted, but mostly...wow, I want to be 50 feet tall!)
Masks
Masochism: Sexual pleasure from receiving pain
Master/Slave: M/S
Narratophilia: Sexual arousal in the use of dirty or obscene words to a partner (FYI, apparently "Get off me you sick fuck, I'm trying to watch Law and Order!" doesn't qualify.)
Odaxelagnia: the sexual attraction to biting or being bitten
Pegging: Use of strap-on dildo by female partner to perform anal sex on straight male partner. Also called B.O.B. (short for Bend Over Boyfriend, the best-selling instructional video)
Pet Play: Ponies (human equine) / Puppies
Piercing
Pinching (I think my second grade teacher Ms.Green must have had this kink cause that betch could pinch like a sand-crab.)
Podophilia: Foot Fetish
Pussy Whipping (Again, special paddles and whips just for this activity)
Rack/Medieval Devices
Religious Play: Nun/Priest
Retifism: Shoes/Boots
Rimming: Analingus
Role Playing
Rubber
SM: Short for Sadomasochism
Sadism: Sexual pleasure from inflicting pain.
Sensory Deprivation
Sex During Menstruation
Somnophilia: Sexual arousal from having sex with someone sleeping (aka, my last relationship)
Spanking/Paddling
Suspension
Tickling
TPE: Total Power Exchange: A formally negotiated exchange of power lasting any duration, from an hour of play to a lifetime commitment
Urolagnia: Water Sports
Vampirism
Violation Fantasies
Voyeurism
Water Torture
Whips

NOTE: At the risk of sounding like a public service announcement, there is a very important distinction between a kink and a sexual disorder. To put it in simplest terms, a kink spices up your healthy sex life. A sexual disorder becomes your sex life. And as always: I don't support any sexual practice which involves force, coercion, bullying, children or animals, nor do I condone unsafe sexual practices or public sex viewed by non-consensual persons. Beyond that, my advice is simply this: Life's too short to worry about what it's called. Play safe and have fun!

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