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Gay tv sex tel lines

Gay tv sex tel lines

For guidance on the real nuts and bolts, I turned to my co-workers. I found myself in the smoking cage out back with a veteran of the job, a thugged-out gentleman who -- like everyone here, apparently -- happened to be straight. I asked him, "How do you do it? How do you do all this sex talk with men? Doesn't it make you uncomfortable?

I just pretend it's my girl telling me what she'd want to do to me, or what I want her to do to me. So I was surrounded by a dozen or so street motherfuckers talking all tough to each other between calls.

Then they'd get on the phones and turn into glorious sissy boys, purring like pussycats. Were we doing accurate imitations of what gay people really sound like? No, but it didn't matter, because the callers seemed to dig it. And the more you did it, the better you got, and the more you'd lose yourself in the role.

Besides the advice of my peers, I had another resource at my disposal: The place was stacked with them. At first I'd spend my time in between calls thumbing through whatever comic books I had in my backpack, but my supervisor reminded me that Marvel wasn't work-related, and if I needed something to read, I had to grab a porno magazine. Early on, one of my co-workers noticed my exhaustion at looking through the stuff and said, "Don't worry, I got you," as he passed me a Hustler from his own private stash.

Straight porn is only slightly more entertaining when you're already tired of sex, but I appreciated the gesture. Hustler Any lingering enthusiasm disappeared with the words "Papa Roach. My mom, on the other hand, wasn't quite as amused, but lying to her would have been inconvenient. I'm engaged to a woman now, and we have a daughter. But when you have guys getting off at the sound of your voice, it's great on your ego, and it's easy to lose yourself in the role. I wouldn't call myself bisexual.

But months into the job, I found myself becoming more and more For the number, people used credit cards, and that was anything goes. You could say whatever you wanted, limited only by your own creativity and the desires of the caller.

Then there was the number. People calling that line were charged directly to their phone bill, which meant the line was regulated by the FCC. It was still a phone-sex line, but strict rules forbade the use of all sexually explicit or implicit language. No "shit," "fuck," "ass," "dick," "pussy. It was our job to roll with it, and a good amount of the time they didn't even notice.

A little moaning and flirtatious giggling goes a long way. It was a goddamn ridiculous system, but these are the kinds of ass-backward things that come about when members of a mostly puritanical society decide to start making money off of each other's orgasms. Create 10 different characters to represent the kinds of calls we'd be getting.

Being the dork that I am, I named all mine after X-Men. That helped me really flesh out my characters, so while some operators got notes on tweaking their cast list, my first submission was accepted right out of the gate. Of course, at the time, there weren't a million X-Men movies cluttering the X-eitgeist, so they had no idea where I was getting my characters.

My list went something like this: He sounded like me but had more confidence because he was so good-looking and secure. He was tall and blonde and muscular. Most of my callers spoke to him. Then there was Kurt Kurt Wagner, Nightcrawler. He was my sissy boy, my bottom. He was a little shorter, 5-foot-7, brown hair, very thin.

He was more submissive and sensitive. I used him plenty as well. I got one for you too. Then we had Storm.

She was a vivacious drag queen. She was funny and confident and fabulous. Master Colossus was the dominator type. For his calls I got to use a little delaying trick I picked up called the "clap your hands" technique. He was my straight guy. I needed a straight guy because, occasionally, I'd find myself on a "couples call" with a random lady from the office, and we'd either pleasure the caller simultaneously or he'd just listen to us act out a sex scene.

After a while, we started to recognize the voice of whoever we'd be paired with, and we'd meet by the water cooler afterward for a quick debrief. Our conversation was always strictly professional, even though we'd been faux-orgasming together minutes before.

It was just like any other office conversation, only instead of discussing subscriber accounts or the recent merger, we'd be giving each other professional pointers on how better to simulate a throat-job.

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Gay tv sex tel lines

For guidance on the real nuts and bolts, I turned to my co-workers. I found myself in the smoking cage out back with a veteran of the job, a thugged-out gentleman who -- like everyone here, apparently -- happened to be straight.

I asked him, "How do you do it? How do you do all this sex talk with men? Doesn't it make you uncomfortable? I just pretend it's my girl telling me what she'd want to do to me, or what I want her to do to me. So I was surrounded by a dozen or so street motherfuckers talking all tough to each other between calls. Then they'd get on the phones and turn into glorious sissy boys, purring like pussycats.

Were we doing accurate imitations of what gay people really sound like? No, but it didn't matter, because the callers seemed to dig it. And the more you did it, the better you got, and the more you'd lose yourself in the role. Besides the advice of my peers, I had another resource at my disposal: The place was stacked with them.

At first I'd spend my time in between calls thumbing through whatever comic books I had in my backpack, but my supervisor reminded me that Marvel wasn't work-related, and if I needed something to read, I had to grab a porno magazine. Early on, one of my co-workers noticed my exhaustion at looking through the stuff and said, "Don't worry, I got you," as he passed me a Hustler from his own private stash.

Straight porn is only slightly more entertaining when you're already tired of sex, but I appreciated the gesture. Hustler Any lingering enthusiasm disappeared with the words "Papa Roach. My mom, on the other hand, wasn't quite as amused, but lying to her would have been inconvenient. I'm engaged to a woman now, and we have a daughter.

But when you have guys getting off at the sound of your voice, it's great on your ego, and it's easy to lose yourself in the role. I wouldn't call myself bisexual. But months into the job, I found myself becoming more and more For the number, people used credit cards, and that was anything goes. You could say whatever you wanted, limited only by your own creativity and the desires of the caller.

Then there was the number. People calling that line were charged directly to their phone bill, which meant the line was regulated by the FCC. It was still a phone-sex line, but strict rules forbade the use of all sexually explicit or implicit language. No "shit," "fuck," "ass," "dick," "pussy.

It was our job to roll with it, and a good amount of the time they didn't even notice. A little moaning and flirtatious giggling goes a long way. It was a goddamn ridiculous system, but these are the kinds of ass-backward things that come about when members of a mostly puritanical society decide to start making money off of each other's orgasms.

Create 10 different characters to represent the kinds of calls we'd be getting. Being the dork that I am, I named all mine after X-Men. That helped me really flesh out my characters, so while some operators got notes on tweaking their cast list, my first submission was accepted right out of the gate.

Of course, at the time, there weren't a million X-Men movies cluttering the X-eitgeist, so they had no idea where I was getting my characters. My list went something like this: He sounded like me but had more confidence because he was so good-looking and secure.

He was tall and blonde and muscular. Most of my callers spoke to him. Then there was Kurt Kurt Wagner, Nightcrawler. He was my sissy boy, my bottom.

He was a little shorter, 5-foot-7, brown hair, very thin. He was more submissive and sensitive. I used him plenty as well. I got one for you too. Then we had Storm. She was a vivacious drag queen. She was funny and confident and fabulous. Master Colossus was the dominator type. For his calls I got to use a little delaying trick I picked up called the "clap your hands" technique.

He was my straight guy. I needed a straight guy because, occasionally, I'd find myself on a "couples call" with a random lady from the office, and we'd either pleasure the caller simultaneously or he'd just listen to us act out a sex scene.

After a while, we started to recognize the voice of whoever we'd be paired with, and we'd meet by the water cooler afterward for a quick debrief. Our conversation was always strictly professional, even though we'd been faux-orgasming together minutes before.

It was just like any other office conversation, only instead of discussing subscriber accounts or the recent merger, we'd be giving each other professional pointers on how better to simulate a throat-job.

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