I had a clear list of hard and soft limits when I started experimenting with kink. Or at least, I thought I did. What I realized over the past ten years, is that many of those limits were entirely dependent on context. Some hard limits dissolved in specific situations or with certain partners. Soft limits could turn to steel during the negotiation process, and sometimes I couldn’t figure out why I was suddenly feeling so uneasy.
“Person X did/said _________, is that ok/normal?”
I hear this question from newbies a lot, and I understand what they mean by it. Is this accepted behavior in this community, and is it something I should just get used to? I know they’re simply trying to get their bearings and determine if/where they fit in. But what matters is not whether it’s ok in the kink scene, what matters is whether it’s ok for them.
You get to set your own boundaries. Period. Now, your limits may cause fewer people to want to play with you, just like having niche kink preferences may result in fewer compatible partners. Setting your standards means some people may not meet them, but learning how to take care of yourself and ask for what you want/need is a huge part of navigating the kink ocean.
Spend time on introspection and figuring out where your comfort levels are, and learn to communicate them as clearly as you can to any potential playmates. Recognize that this is just a jumping off point. Be prepared for limits and boundaries to change as you experiment, but be wary of people who treat your limits as an invitation.
I once told someone I was playing with for the first time not to kiss me on the mouth during our play. He then spent much of the scene moving his face in close to mine, often quickly and unexpectedly, as if he were going to kiss me but never actually did. He might have thought he was mind~fucking me or demonstrating his domliness by taking me right up to the edge. Instead he was ensuring he’d never lay a hand on me again. I expressed a limit/preference, and he spent the duration of our very first play encounter testing it. I wasn’t able to relax, because it felt like he might kiss me at any time and I’d have to stop the scene.
Skirting the edges of my boundary without actually crossing that line isn’t technically a consent violation. But with a brand new partner, what was he trying to accomplish? It made me seriously question his judgment, and subsequently, his safety both physically and emotionally as a play partner.
When someone (especially anyone new to me) communicates a limit, I do everything in my power to show them I’ve heard it, respect it, and will honor it. Even if it means adjusting my normal style of play, I will avoid doing anything that might be construed as testing that boundary. Sometimes that means we end up not being compatible partners, but I’d rather not play at all than constantly be questioning what lines (mine or theirs) my partner will and won’t cross.
Eliciting a safe word shouldn’t be the objective. Anybody can whack away at something until they destroy it. You know what takes skill? Not breaking me. Building a rapport and connection that allows both of us the freedom to explore and expand our horizons. When that happens, I may trust and respect you enough to consider playing on the edge with you. Until then, my limits are not your To Do list.
I’m pretty damn happy with my life, and I try really hard to make decisions that cause me little regret. But I think if you asked sixteen year old me what she thinks of now me, she’d be disappointed that I haven’t traveled more. So when this once in a lifetime opportunity to plan a trip anywhere in the world fell in my lap a few months ago, I was overwhelmed with possibilities. After much discussion with H, we settled on France and the planning began. We did two nights in Lyon, two nights in Beaune (the heart of Burgundy wine country), and six nights in Paris. I posted some pictures to Instagram and a ton on Facebook- feel free to check there for the visual feast.
I’d never been to Europe before, so I did my due diligence before the trip and read all the “how not to be an annoying American tourist” and “what to expect in France” articles. Lots of things they mentioned you’d notice once you got there were spot on. For example, what the ever loving fuck is wrong with our bathroom stalls? Why do the doors and walls not go down to the floor? You don’t realize how weird it is until you go somewhere there’s actually privacy in a public bathroom. Also, pay toilets are a thing I wish we had here. Seriously.
Also, stores and restaurants are actually closed a couple days of the week, usually Sunday and/or Monday. Like, not open. Like, potentially missing out on revenue and not milking every last capitalist drop of possible earnings. It’s almost as if these people have lives or something. And the customers who might normally shop or dine in those establishments? They just figure it out instead of leaving shitty Yelp reviews.
People eat dinner late. And make reservations. And wear scarves. And they have 894 different ways to wear said scarves, one of which was taught to me by the haughty saleslady in the boutique where H got me my very own Parisian scarf so I could blend in. Or try to anyway. I asked her in my terrible French if she could show me how to tie it like hers. She said yes, but the look on her face said “doubtful.” LOL. Those damn Frenchwomen are frighteningly stylish. It strikes you: they’re allowed to age gracefully and remain sexy/stylish. I want to be perfectly coiffed 60 year old walking my dog in Paris someday. I better get on that.
Speaking of dogs, you just stepped in some poo. You can’t avoid it. You will do it because there’s dog doody on the street and you’ll be so distracted looking up at the incredible architecture and saying “I want to live there!” every five seconds. And so much art and history everywhere you look, it’s overwhelming.
I hope you’re not allergic to cigarette smoke. If France has a Surgeon General, they’re not warning citizens not to smoke. Or they’re being ignored. I smoked off and on for 20 years. Mostly socially or to pass the time at work, and often I’d go days without a cigarette. Haven’t had so much as a puff in over two years, and have barely missed it. Maybe once or twice out on the town, friends have excused themselves for a smoke break and I’ve felt that nostalgic twinge. But no real cravings until France. Something about sitting at a sidewalk table on bustling Paris evening, drinking wine and smoking cigarettes. I wanted a cigarette so badly. I just ended up drinking more wine.
Oh. My. God. The wine. And the cheese. And the butter. And basically all the food and everything I drank and holy crap WHY DOES EVERYTHING TASTE BETTER? I also ate in my first Michelin starred restaurant, which was a bucket list experience for sure. Not sure I could stomach spending rent on one meal ever again, but talk to me when I win the lottery. Here’s me spending more money than I should have on Belon oysters and rose wine…
There’s more I’m sure, but jet lag y’all. Plus the time change. And it’s clear you missed me, because the phone hasn’t stopped ringing since I got home. Not that I’m complaining, mind you, I’m just already scheming how I can get back to France…
T
Now that I’ve been back to full time phone sex work, I’m reminded that there’s a negotiation of sorts that happens with almost every new caller. It’s a verbal sparring, an exploration of boundaries and limits and vocabulary. A compatibility test. I call it The Dance, and it goes a little something like this…
Caller: It says online that you have no limits. I want to make sure that’s true.
Me: I have no limits while we’re on the phone. During our call, you can say or do anything.
Caller: Are you sure? I like really dirty, fucked up stuff.
Me: Trust me. I won’t say it’s impossible to shock me, because every time I do the Universe makes me a liar. But I’m pretty sure there’s a greater chance of me saying something that freaks you out than vice versa. How about this- if at any time I become so uncomfortable with your fantasy that I can’t handle it, I will politely let you know.
Caller: Okay, great!
Me: My only limits are that outside the context of phone sex, you treat me like a human being and know the difference between fantasy and reality.
Here’s where it gets interesting. There are two common responses to this: disinterest and relief. Some guys just sort of disengage at that point. They don’t often hang up altogether, but regardless of how hot the call is, they don’t usually call back either. I think the reason is simple- on some level, they don’t want there to be a difference between fantasy and reality no matter how illegal, immoral, or impossible their proclivities might be. They want to believe the fantasy is 100% real right up until the point they disconnect and dissociate. Then it no longer matters.
These are the same callers who cannot or will not articulate what they want. Instead, they repeatedly insist, “I want to know what you like! I just want to please you!” But when I tell them honestly, they’re disappointed because the truth is they don’t actually just want to please me. What they want is for my personal fantasies to magically complement their own so they can believe I’m getting as much satisfaction as they are. “But haha you’re so lucky you get to enjoy yourself and you get paid for it!”
I’m happy to speak with these clients, but they don’t really want me. They don’t actually want a real person on the other end of the phone. And that’s ok. I’ve come to understand what I once judged as cold and impersonal phone sex is actually a much needed service and in its own way, exactly as personally tailored for the customer as they need. There are callers for whom the veil of anonymity (whether real or perceived) provides a peace of mind necessary for their release. They simply don’t tend to be repeat clientele of mine.
On the other hand, there are some callers whose relief is audible when I express my limits. They need to know I am an individual capable of consent, and a willing participant in their fantasy. They want reassurance that I’m not a mindless drone barely paying more attention than contempt, or someone being forced to engage with them. These callers often have wildly different desires, ranging from extremely depraved to sweetly romantic, but what they all share is a need for human connection.
Now that I have returned to being a full time phone companion, I’m realizing how much I’ve missed providing this for people. And I won’t lie: it’s incredibly flattering that so many previous callers have expressed their excitement over my return. I’m glad to be back, too! I eagerly anticipate getting reacquainted, or if you’re a brand new potential client, I look forward to dancing with you.
Tonya
Because yes, it really has been almost a year. Fuuuuuck. I just posted my schedule for the Winnipeg Fringe Festival on the A Story of O’s page, and I hope to book a venue for a run of the show in Portland before the end of the year as well. I may start writing here more. I may not. Lots of change in my life over the past couple years, and I do miss this as an outlet. We shall see. In the meantime, you can find me on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and Fetlife as @TonyaJoneMiller. I tend to update social media with much more regularity than this blog.
As a self-produced performer, I can’t afford to be one of those “oh I never read my reviews” actors. First of all, I’m convinced that 99.99% of people who say that are lying. We can spout our lofty artistic intentions all we want, but the truth is that if we didn’t want to affect people, we’d do skits in our basements for an audience of indifferent cats. I want to reach people, to challenge, inspire, and entertain them. I want to foster dialogue that might never happen otherwise, and to open hearts and minds.
Audience members often approach me after a show to share their own experiences. Somehow me sharing my stories gives them permission to share theirs, and I love that. But critics are able to influence others to see or not see my show, and the producer in me knows I must read all my reviews and use what I can from them to help fill seats.
I’ve gotten pretty good at dealing with poor reviews. I’ve learned that it’s ok to allow them to bother me for a little bit, and I’ve learned how to move past them. I’m able to assess whether the reviewer didn’t “get” it, and I’m also able to determine whether there’s valid, constructive criticism I can use to make my show better. I know that, particularly with A Story of O’s, not everyone is going to like the stories I’m telling. They make people uncomfortable and challenge their assumptions and misconceptions. This is intentional, a huge part of my calling as an artist.
So I won’t lie: it’s gratifying and relieving when I get positive reviews like the ones I linked to above. They help sell tickets, and I’d rather play to more people than less. This year at London Fringe, I’ve been blessed with some glowing reviews, and I wanted to share them with you.
A week from today, I leave on tour. After only doing one festival last year, it feels good to be gearing up for a four festival run. Of course, I had to switch things up. So for the first time ever, I’m performing two different shows in one season. You can find show time and ticket purchase information for all A Story of O’s and Threads by clicking those links, but here’s a basic itinerary…
June 2-14
A Story of O’s at London (Ontario) Fringe Festival
June 17-28
Threads at Ottawa Fringe Festival
August 13-23
Threads at IndyFringe Festival
September 9-20
A Story of O’s at Vancouver Fringe Festival
This post has been a long time coming. As you can see, I haven’t written much lately, mostly because I’ve been dreading writing this. I don’t know what to say or how to say it eloquently, so I’ll just spit it out. (Heh.) After almost twelve years of doing phone sex full-time, I need a break. There, I said it. Whew.
If you are or have been a client of mine, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I can’t begin to tell you what this job has meant to me, what you have meant to me…The amazing people I’ve “met” over the years, both callers and operators…The financial freedom it allowed me, which enabled my creative endeavors and tours…The countless orgasms shared with complete strangers to dear friends…The conversations, oh the conversations I have had, the things I have learned…I could never adequately express my appreciation…
But twelve years is a long time at any job these days, and I find I need a change. You probably already noticed I’ve been cutting back my phone sex hours drastically, and I’ve managed to tell many of you myself on calls, dispatch, or via email. I’m calling it a partial retirement, as I am still taking select calls by appointment. However, my availability is severely limited. I’ve been lucky enough to find another job I enjoy, with a small local company, and it’s even food-related, so I get to work with another medium I love. But it’s a M-F, 9-5 thing, and that means you get me on nights and weekends only.
I know this makes it difficult to arrange, especially when privacy is often impromptu, so I expect I’ll lose many of you. I hope you find a stellar replacement for me and only wish I had someone specific to refer you to. I fear phone sex is slowly going the way of the typewriter though, which is part of the reason I’m having to more or less close Bay City Blues. It’s just too hard to find other quality operators and keep them. Not sure what I’m going to do with the websites eventually, but I can’t bring myself to turn them off completely yet. Who knows? Maybe BCB 3.0 will rear its head someday.
But for now, I’m trying to adjust to life in the non-sex-work world. Did you know most people put pants on before they go to work? Lol! Seriously though, my new job is pretty great, and they’re even willing to let me do a few festivals a year, so I still get to fringe it up in the summers!
Speaking of which, it’s almost festival season again! I’m doing A Story of O’s in London (Ontario, not England) and Vancouver, and Threads in Ottawa and Indianapolis. This is my first time in Ottawa and Indy, and I’ve never done two different shows in one season, so there will be a steep learning curve I’m sure. But I’m looking forward to getting back on the road- after doing five festivals each year in 2012 and 2013, only doing Edmonton last year felt like I was missing something.
Anyway…So there you have it. My big news. Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, maybe I’ll be able to post a little more frequently. This is not goodbye. It’s just hello to a new me that isn’t going to be at your beck and call quite as often as I have been for the last decade. Again, thank you, thank you, thank you for your support and patronage over the years. You’ve changed my life in unimaginable ways and taught me so much about love, sex, and human connections. I am honored to have been your phone sex provider and proud to call many of you my friends.
(Wow. I just re-read this and I’m tearing up. Feels like a big deal. I think I need to go cry now.)
Many of you don’t even know I was ever married, but Halloween was our wedding anniversary. I found out last week that my ex-husband just passed away in Arizona. Those of you who knew him, know he was a profoundly damaged human being. Our relationship was inequitable, unhealthy, and abusive, albeit not physically. I was young and naive, but I loved him. Even after I left, I only ever wanted him to find the strength to be a good father to his daughter (with his first wife) and the courage to become the person he was capable of being. But I knew the chances of that happening were slim.
I was completely unprepared for how much the news of his death has affected me. I’m letting myself be sad. I’m letting myself miss the parts of that life that were good. Today, I’m choosing to focus on the sweet, happy memories.
RIP, Michael John Fisher. You’re finally free.