JC
I had some wonderful food in chicago the other week

Tonya
oh yeah? where did you go?

JC
The publican

Tonya
hmmm can’t say i’m up on chicago eats
gastropub type place?

JC
yup
piggie-flesh heaven
had some head cheese and sweetbreads as well

Tonya
oooooh
i like funky meats
but i’m always
DON’T TELL ME WHAT IT IS
heheh
someday somebody’s going to feed me escargot without telling me what it is
i’m sure i’ll like it
those damn French know them some food
but uh
no fucking way am i putting that in my mouth willingly
(this has the makings of an interesting D/s scene…)

And it really does beg the question, just how orally submissive am I? I love food, especially trying new things, but sometimes I just can’t get my head (mouth) around it. Take escargot, for example. Everybody tells me they’re delicious, and I believe them. Put enough butter on anything and it’s edible, the French pioneered that. And I love crab and lobster, which are basically just grossly huge sea bugs, but I don’t want to put a snail in my mouth. I’m quite sure I’ll eventually be tricked into eating them, but even if I like the actual taste of them, I may never get over the psychological distaste. See sweatbreads- I’ve had them at least a half a dozen times and they were delicious each and every time. I will still never order them for myself.

I get a thrill out of omakase and tasting menus, the surrendering of my will to that of the chef’s and not knowing if I’ll be challenged to eat something I might otherwise avoid. It’s scary and exciting, and I like being pushed out of my comfort zone. A precarious D/s scene- in theory I am surrendering, but the reality is I could walk out at anytime, not that I can remember ever having done so. Anybody who knows me, knows I’m not a mindless pushover with no personal opinions. But sometimes? Sometimes in food, as in sex, I guess I need somebody to tell me what I want…

The problem with international calls is that they come through on lines which generate dynamic phone numbers. So I can block each number that calls in, but there is kind of no point to that, since when they call back it just pops up as a new number by one or two digits.

So anyway. Today I had what sounded like a group of teenage boys, one of whom said they were calling from Saudi Arabia, call back over ten times. I tried ignoring them, bitching them out, even handing the phone to a guy to see if that might freak them out. Didn’t seem like anything would stop them from calling back until…

http://www.realmofdarkness.net/pc/sb/bb/cornholio/1

I just held the phone up to my computer speaker and played a bunch of clips at full volume over and over.

*listens to the sound of the dispatch line NOT ringing*

This year certainly started with a shock. I found out a couple days ago that a still-dear-to-me former friend passed away on Sunday. She was the woman who hired me at Bay City Blues, way back in 2004 when I first started doing phone sex, long before I was a partner/owner. She taught me most of what I know about the business side of being a phone sex operator, and for a few years we were inseparable friends. However, I started developing my own philosophies about and approach to phone sex, which diverged wildly from hers in some places. We drifted apart over the years, and when we officially parted ways, it wasn’t on good terms. That unfinished business hasn’t sat well with me. I tried talking to her a year or so ago, but she wanted nothing to do with me.

I don’t blame her. I know that in her eyes, I made a hugely selfish decision in “coming out” as a pso, one that adversely affected her earning potential, as she was unable and unwilling to follow suit. I suppose on some levels she was right- it was a selfish decision. I don’t pretend to not be a selfish person; I know that I am. I believe that everybody is, if we get honest for a moment. But I also spend a great deal of my life in service to others on a myriad of levels, so I think I deserve to take care of myself as well. Still, it sucks knowing she felt that way about me. To this day, I miss having her in my life, and I always harbored the hope that someday we would reconcile.

I’ve been relatively lucky to have lost few loved ones in my life. And pardon me while I regurgitate some cliches, but there’s nothing like a sudden, unexpected death to make you reevaluate your life. To make you value your life. And I do. I am so grateful for everything and everyone that allows me the life I lead. As I prepare for the year ahead (Phone sex business expansion! Touring my one-woman show across the U.S. and Canada!), I am trying to be mindful of the little now moments that make it all worthwhile. You’re a part of that. Thank you.

I have written previously about my own run-ins with presumptions and misconceptions about my childhood, most memorably a DIGG commenter who noted “she looks like she was molested as a child” about a headshot that ran with an article I penned for Lemondrop.com about phone sex work. It’s hard for me personally to fight this stereotype, because frankly I go into a kind of shock when someone attacks me this way. It feels so unwarranted, I almost can’t believe someone could be so cruel to another human being. And I’ve never had the words to explain, but Ms. Shane put it brilliantly:

“It’s not funny. Why in God’s name would another human being’s childhood of abuse or neglect be something to laugh about? Tee hee, your uncle raped you! Your mother never loved you! Look at me, being witty! Aren’t we having fun? If you think you’re speaking the truth about someone’s past as a victim, and you’re using it to a) criticize them or b) make a joke at their expense, you’re pretty much a monster. I know comedians in particular are supposed to be edgy and un-PC, and many pride themselves on having no boundaries when it comes to race, kids with cancer, violent crime, or terrorist jokes. But most successful comedians do not pack their sets full of jokes about child rape and it’s not because the audience is a bunch of wet blankets; it’s because it’s very hard to make someone laugh about an atrocity.”

I nearly cried tears of relief when I read that. I was never molested or neglected, and the insinuation that I am somehow profoundly damaged stings, no matter how false I know it to be. Finally, an inarguable and succinct way of pointing out that those who would make such assumptions, and publicly no less, are nothing more than vicious, ignorant bullies. Which, deep down, they probably already know, but maybe a good public scolding might teach them to hold their vitriol where it belongs- eating away inside them at what’s left of their conscience and soul.

Whew. I feel like I just spent a half hour beating a pillow with a foam bat. *grins*

Got my first round of applications in for the Fringe Festival circuit next year. I didn’t win the touring lottery (which guarantees you at least five festivals) but there were 46 applicants for 5 international spots, so I wasn’t really expecting to. So far, I’ve applied to Orlando, Toronto, Winnipeg, and Edmonton. Depending on which, if any, of those I get into, I may apply for Atlanta, DC, Minneapolis, Boulder, Indianapolis, Chicago, San Francisco, and/or Vancouver as well. It feels good to get the applications in- now it’s just a waiting game.

I need to do a re-write of Threads. I made a ton of discoveries during my two runs so far, and there are a number of small changes that have been percolating in my brain. Nothing too major- I don’t think- but who knows? Once I get started…

I am also thinking about finding a director. My last one did a bang-up job, and I couldn’t have created the show I did without him, but I feel like I could benefit from a new perspective.

And that statement is true on so many levels. (More to come…)

I read that post last week, and it has been stuck in my head and my heart ever since. We could all use a reminder that we don’t always know the whole story, and it costs very little to give someone the benefit of the doubt.

Please, be kind to each other.

I had a caller. In the interest of discretion, I will call him PHI (not his initials). I can only say that he has a very unique fetish, one I have indulged for him on phone sex calls, in photographs, and even in person. There was no actual sex involved, though I once asked him if he actually got off during our calls because it was difficult to tell, and he assured me he got sexual gratification from them.

I enjoyed our calls immensely, because the sheer oddity of the fetish freed me to be creative and outrageous. Even so, it wasn’t MY kink- I simply enjoyed helping him get what I figure he probably couldn’t get very many other places. Once he had empirical and photographic proof that I would actually engage in the fetish, our calls left the pure fantasy realm and I would always truly act out his favored scenario when we spoke.

He disappeared for almost a year at one point, and when he popped back up with news of work and health troubles, I felt very sympathetic and compassionate toward him. So when he asked me to make him a custom fetish video, I agreed to do it for a ridiculous price. Fifty dollars. Yes, I know that’s nothing; again, I felt for the guy. I got Cindy to help out- she starred while I directed and filmed- and paid her a whopping $25 for what ended up being at least 2 hours of work, not counting her commute. And guess what? He was disappointed because the video wasn’t of me. My voice was in it, but that wasn’t good enough. I thought that getting Cindy involved was so genius, I didn’t consider that maybe he’d had his heart set on having me on film. So I refunded his money, which meant I’d paid Cindy out of pocket.

I was pretty upset at this point. We’d exchanged a few emails, and as often happens minus tone-of-voice, we managed to ruffle each others’ feathers. I asked him to give me a couple of weeks to cool down and said we could try again after. Time passed, and I agreed to do another video. I made arrangements to have someone come film me, but then they had a personal emergency and dropped out. I delayed the shoot. PHI sent me money (which I had NOT requested yet) and many emails inquiring about the video, including one with paragraphs of very specific direction and requests. I felt my blood starting to boil, and I wasn’t sure why.

I’m still not sure. But I wrote PHI informing him I had changed my mind about doing the video and would return his $50. Again. Naturally, he was disappointed and upset, but his response was extremely hurtful and insulting to me, and I chose to simply file it away rather than respond in the heat of emotion. Now that I’ve had some time to think about the whole situation, I’ve realized a number of things…

First of all, getting really honest, I asked myself why I chose to ask Cindy to do the first video instead of doing it myself. Then I asked myself why I chose to rely on someone who often has personal drama to do something so intimate the second time around. Then I asked myself why I decided to cancel altogether.

While there are lots of justifications and rationalizations I could use which would all make sense, and although I can’t help pointing out that $50 really wasn’t worth this much trouble and heartache, the truth is that I simply hate myself on camera and should never have agreed to make the video.

And that, my friends, is how much a slave to my own vanity and self-loathing I still am, even after all these years and multiple epiphanies. None of this honesty fixes the situation with PHI, and frankly I’m still not sure who owes who an apology. What annoys me the most is the following line from his final email:

“I should not be surprised…I am just another client of yours.”

I think I would be completely mortified and unabashedly apologetic if not for that sentence. What the fuck is so wrong with being just one of my clients? I try very hard to make every single one of my phone sex callers feel special and appreciated, but at what point am I allowed to stop thanking someone for their patronage? Should I just get down on my knees (wait, don’t answer, I’m not done yet) and grovel because a person pays me for my services? Aren’t my callers also lucky to have found someone like me who CARES and puts in the kind of effort I do? And seriously, who else would even consider making a custom fetish video for $50?

Sigh.

1. I want to own a home in Portland. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, yard/garden for the kitties, gourmet kitchen for me, office/rehearsal studio, dedicated dungeon space, view would be nice.

2. A car. I’ve been getting by just fine using a combination of walking, biking, carpooling, public transportation, car sharing with friends, and Zipcar for almost two years now. It has been much easier than I anticipated, but I’m about ready to rejoin the ranks of the environmentally irresponsible. In the short term, a quality used compact car that gets good gas mileage (I’ve often driven Hondas) will more than suffice. Ultimately I’d like to get another Beetle, or a hybrid/electric of some sort.

3. Health and dental insurance. I’ve had health insurance for a total of 4 years of my life, and when I did the math it really pissed me off how much money they made off me during that time. I inherited a deep distrust of doctors and Western medicine from my mother, but I’m starting to get to the age where the idea of being uninsured is scary. I’ve never had dental insurance, and I know my teeth need lots of work.

4. 500K in my retirement fund. It’s an arbitrary number. Really I just want to not have to depend on social security to survive, because I’m pretty sure by the time my benefits start, there won’t be much left.

Those are the big ones, but I have lots more things on my *I shudder to say it* bucket list…

Set sail on a cruise. Go on safari. Buy an RV and drive across the continent.

Argentina, Australia, Brazil, Chile, China, Costa Rica, Cyprus, Denmark, Egypt, France, Greece, Hong Kong, Hungary, Iceland, Ireland, Italy, Japan, Maldives, Monaco, Netherlands, New Zealand, Papua New Guinea, Peru, Portugal, Russia, Singapore, Spain, Switzerland, Thailand, Vietnam.

Vacation home/condo on the beach somewhere. Hawaii is nice, but I’d settle for the Oregon coast.

In my shallow, insecure, superficial moments…Boob job. Liposuction. Full set of veneers.

Have a kid? Oh yes, I think about it. But it has to wait until I tackle numbers 1-4 and some of these others too…

My run of Threads at the 1 Festival, while not as heavily attended as I had hoped, was a creative/artistic breakthrough for me. I found so many new moments in the show! By the end of my Fertile Ground run, I think I was just burnt out. On everything- the writing, the editing, the acting, the producing, all of it. I really had fun with it this time. I experimented a lot more and felt like my performance was more spontaneous and genuine. I’m very good at memorizing lines, but unfortunately my method can sometimes trap me in a sort of sing-songy rhythm. I was able to almost completely break out of that during these shows. Triumph!

In other news, both Bay City Blues and Talk Lust are doing better than I had even hoped. We are growing, slowly but steadily, and I am truly enjoying my re-immersion in the phone sex world. A lot of things have changed in the past 8 years, mostly technology, and the industry is very different than when I started. I spend a ton of time working on ways to better serve our clients, but I have to remind myself that expansion takes time. I get an idea and want it implemented yesterday. Lol. If I’m not careful I can spend 12-14 hours straight at the computer, which isn’t good for me, either physically or mentally.

Sooooo…I had a fuckload of rewards points from an old credit card I paid off and forgot about, and they were going to expire today if I didn’t do something with them. I haven’t been to Las Vegas in years, and it’s one of my favorite places to visit. I know it’s tacky, trashy fun, and I don’t care. I’m not a snob. I love getting lost in the glitz and spectacle, the people-watching, amazing restaurants, and yes a few tugs at the slots. I got a free suite at the Venetian using my points, and found a super cheap round-trip flight! I’m taking my first vacation in over four years. And Cindy is going to join me for the first two days! Even though I’ll have to check in a few times on the phone sex biz (when you’re the owner, the buck never stops stopping here, you know?), I intend to make the most of 4 days and 3 nights…But uh, nothing happened and you don’t know jack, right? Right?!? *wink*

Tonya

For many years, Saturday mornings belonged to J. It just wasn’t the weekend until I heard his silky voice whispering the most deviant delights in my ear. J began calling me within a month or two of my starting at Bay City Blues. Back then I was known as Donna, though the phone sex “character” I played was simply me minus five years, plus a fake name and pictures of an adult model.

From the beginning, J was different. His voice for starters, was one of the smoothest, most mellifluous male voices I have ever heard. It was warm and knowing, sexy but never obvious; J’s voice took its time. He loved making me orgasm and took delight in discovering my personal peccadillos and sexual triggers.

J’s fantasies and fetishes dovetailed perfectly with my own. We were both fond of public sex and exhibitionism, stranger sex roleplay scenarios, hard and rough-verging-on-rape, intense anal, sloppy oral, and lots of dirty nasty name-calling. He quickly became one of my favorite phone sex regulars.

I remember one particular roleplay we did, set at Powell’s Books. I wore knee-high, black leather stiletto boots and a short skirt, no underwear. Wandering through the rooms, I was acutely aware of the click-clack of my boots on the cement floors. The noise was a sharp contrast to the hushed, reverent buzz of the always-busy bookstore. As I made my way around, browsing, I noticed the same handsome man seemed to be following me. We exchanged smiles and flirtatious glances as we cat-and-moused through the aisles. Finally, he cornered me in an upstairs room between a row of self-help tomes and the huge loft windows overlooking the bustling downtown Portland streets. Without a word, he slid one hand up my skirt and one hand into my hair, pulling me into a deep kiss…The fantasy progressed from there, and was one of our all-time best phone sex calls. The details belong to J and me, but to this day I find Powell’s to be one of the most erotic places on Earth, and I cannot enter the store without thinking of that call, or of him.

We chatted some off the phone via instant message and email, but J never expected me to spend much unpaid time with him. He was smart enough to know that I wasn’t the model in the photographs, but he never put me on the spot. He took the time to get to know the girl behind the voice, and he was a very selfless phone lover, always coming up with call ideas geared to appeal to both of us, not just him. Four or five months into our phone relationship, he tried to call me early one Saturday morning. Still sleeping, I missed the call and was pissed, because I knew (based on the day and time) that it was likely him. But then my phone rang again…

I had taken on a secondary character some weeks earlier, a sweet daddy’s girl type who was all the submissive parts of myself rolled into an adorable blonde babydoll named Eve. I had been reluctant at first to take on another character, because I didn’t quite understand how to play multiple girls on the same site and was afraid of getting busted. Eventually the bosses convinced me though, and I found I enjoyed this other idealized version of myself as well. Plus, Eve got the kinds of calls that Donna, a more forward switch-y type, didn’t get because that persona was so strong and charismatic. And there is definitely a subbie side of me that responds to Dominant/Daddy energy.

I knew J called other girls, but I also knew that we had a special chemistry and I was his favorite. So when I heard the whisper message for Eve, shortly after missing the call for Donna, I answered the phone in character, no inkling at all it would be him. (Silly me.) My voice caught when I realized it was J. The dispatcher hadn’t wanted to send him back to Donna since “she” missed the call, and J had asked to be connected to Eve instead. I built Eve to suit my fetishes, to get the kinds of calls I wanted, and I had done too good of a job; it made sense she would appeal to J, as we had such similar tastes.

What to do? At that point, J and I knew each other pretty well. He certainly would know the sound of me getting aroused. In a way it would have been easier if I had a canned fake orgasm for each character, but the sound of me cumming is the sound of me cumming. Lol! It had been drilled into me though- if a phone sex caller asks if the pictures are really you or if you play more than one character, deny. Deny, deny, deny. As if the guy didn’t know on some level that the girl he’s talking to is not really that 19 year-old porn starlet, sitting at home taking cheap phone sex calls under a pseudonym on her off time… *snort*

But anyway, we got about 7 or 8 minutes into the call when suddenly J went quiet for too long. And I realized I had gotten so turned on, I wasn’t paying attention to maintaining my high, breathy Eve voice. J said something like, “Uh…I’m sorry…There’s something…Wrong…” And then he hung up.

I freaked. I knew he knew. And my first thought was not “oh darn I lost a caller,” but “oh god I hope he doesn’t hate me for lying to him!” It struck me: he was someone I cared about, and I would miss him if he disappeared out of my life. He was one of the first regular phone sex callers that I realized I actually valued as a friend, not just a customer. Since then, there have been many more but this is about J…

Later that afternoon, “Donna” got an email from J, very politely explaining that he tried to call me that morning and had taken “Eve” when I wasn’t available. He then apologetically asked if I was Eve. I didn’t really know what to do, and it wasn’t a conversation I felt like I wanted to have via email/IM. So I emailed back asking him to call me, which he did. Bless his heart, he paid so that I could explain. And to my relief and astonishment, he wasn’t angry; he understood the way the phone sex business worked, and he didn’t begrudge me the deception.

From that point on, he would even call Eve (or other characters of mine) for specific character-appropriate fantasies, though Donna remained his preferred girl. We settled into a routine of Saturday morning calls that was so established, he would email me to let me know if he had plans that would cause him to miss our weekly phone date. He wrote me stunning poetry and was extremely supportive of my creative aspirations. I trusted him and cared what happened in his life. We were so much more than just pso and customer.

Our phone sex was incredible, some of the best I’ve ever had. Our connection was undeniable. We continued on for years. And then something started to change. I think we both felt the shift coming, so it wasn’t a complete surprise when I got the email from J telling me he had to stop calling. He was beginning to feel like an addict, always thinking about his next fix. Only satisfied when he was on the phone with me, and as soon as we hung up, he’d start counting the minutes until the next call. Now, I’m paraphrasing a bit here, but you get the gist. It was both awful and wonderful to hear.

I knew immediately it was the right thing for J, so I could not be upset over his decision. In fact, I was glad he could recognize that phone sex was becoming a negative influence on his life and take care of himself enough to set and stick to boundaries/limits. I felt very little personal rejection, because the way in which he broke off our professional relationship was very kind and honest. But God did I miss him. I still do.

I think of him fondly, and often. We are in touch once or twice a year now, and I know he reads this blog sometimes, but out of respect I keep my distance. Don’t want to be the asshole dangling a syringe in front of a junkie, you know? There is comfort in the knowledge that should I ever need him, or vice versa, I have no doubts that we would be there for each other in whatever way we could be. It’s not like we said goodbye- we didn’t have to. We just both recognized and accepted that people grow and things change, and that is the natural order of life. It’s not a bad thing; it simply is.

But my Saturdays will never be the same.