Phone Sex, Fetish and Narratives of Desire

Before I was an escort, I was a phone sex operator. For five years, I spent hundreds, if not thousands, of hours on phone sex lines listening to client after client share secrets about their erotic lives. Lives they often didn’t share with anyone else.

I may be biased, but for me there is no better training for in-person sex work than being a phone sex operator. After years in both roles, I can say with certainty that there is nothing that I have encountered as an escort that is as kinky, as specific, or as wild as the things that I heard on Niteflirt and Sextpanther.

Perhaps there is something about the anonymity of the phone call that changes the types of requests that phone sex clients present, but I think there’s more. Part of the charm of phone sex is that it takes place in the realm of discourse and imagination — it is not bound to the limits of the human form or to the laws of physics. In the playscape that a phone sex operator and their clients create, there is no risk of physical harm, so absolutely anything they can dream up is possible.

For this reason, when I think of client kinks, I rarely think of my in-person clients. Though some of them would probably consider themselves to be quite kinky, they have nothing on my phone sex clients!

When combing through the kinks I learned about as a sex worker, so many things came to mind: ignore fetishes, macrophilia, cake sitting, breast enlargement, inflation, panty stuffing, balloon inflation, mummification, feminization, sounding, jerk-off instructions, cum eating, coughing, farting, denial, tickling, small penis humiliation, financial domination, ass sniffing, etc. Before working in the industry, it didn’t occur to me that people eroticized any of these things.

Yet, what has interested me are not the fetishes that are about a particular act or bodily function, but rather the elaborate and hyper-specific stories that many of my phone sex clients wrapped around these fetishes. After all, it's one thing to be turned on by the sound or smell of farts, and another to situate that desire within a complex narrative.

I want to share a few examples with you, but please take them in the spirit they are intended. That is to say, I am in no way gawking at my clients or their desires, but rather, I am approaching them with great curiosity and amazement at the way our minds take in and process the world around us, making it at once more enticing and less frightening.

This is for the clients who opened my world and expanded my imagination.

The Elevator Operator

“I’m an elevator operator in a 50-story building in New York City. I wear a pencil skirt, stockings with a seam up the back, classic heels, and a button-down shirt that hugs tightly over my full breasts, so tightly that it looks as if a button may pop.

He gets on the elevator on the first floor, looks me up and down, and tells me that he wants to go to the 47th floor. I press the button that closes the elevator doors and then glance at him with a naughty look and press floor 50. He tries to protest but I won’t have it.

The elevator starts going up but it doesn’t stop. He looks at me puzzled when we pass up the 50th floor — the one he was convinced was as far as we could go — and continue to ascend into the sky. He gets dizzy as I start to undress and fuck myself on him as we ride higher and higher. We are somewhere in the ether, beyond what he thought was possible. There will be no end to our ride until I’m satisfied and I am hard to please.”

The Tickler

“He calls me regularly, and each time he does we start by talking about the history of Western philosophy. And then the logistics of relationship anarchy. And then the protocols of the dungeon.

I am a reluctant Mistress who would rather talk than domme him, but when he shows up at the dungeon on my shift I take him back to a room. I size him up in boredom and then without asking him why he’s there, I strap him to a table, his arms and legs spread wide. He asks me if I am going to hit him, and after thinking about it for several moments, I deny him that pleasure.

“I am going to tickle you,” I say. But I don’t do it because I notice that his cock gets hard at the sound of the word. “You want to be tick-eled?” I ask. Drawing each syllable out. I watch his cock pulse. So I say it again. And then a few more times. Faster and slower, over and over. “Tickle, tickle, tickle,” I say while I watch the expression on his face.

He cums from the sound of the world alone. And then the next week when I’m working again, he returns. This time I don’t even ask him; I just start pronouncing the word that I know drives him crazy.”

The Liberal Massage Therapist

“I’m his best friend’s girlfriend and I work as a massage therapist in a classy spa downtown. He’s convinced that I don’t like him; he gets a weird vibe from me every time we hang out as a group. Yet my boyfriend convinces him that everything is fine and tells him to book a massage with me to break any of the perceived tension.

He comes into the spa at his appointment time and I tell him to undress and lay face down under the towel. When I return to the room I position the towel and start rubbing his neck and shoulders. Just as I feel him let his guard down and relax under my capable fingers, I ask him who he plans to vote for in the upcoming election.

This question immediately undermines the work I have done to release his muscles; they tense up again. He thinks I would recognize the lie if he said anyone other than the conservative candidate, so he tells the truth, knowing I will disapprove.

I stop what I’m doing and walk out of the room. He wonders for a moment what he should do, considering getting dressed again, but before he makes a decision, I come back into the room with three of my friends.

We take his towel and clothes so that he can’t leave and we berate and beat him for his political affiliation. We deny him the orgasm he was hoping to get at the end of the massage and make him outline the reasons that Republicans are harmful to women. We do not let him leave until he promises that he won’t vote Republican. He leaves with a bruised body and ego. We have converted another one to our side.”

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