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Friday  - November 21, 2003
Vanilla Guys and Emails Denied 


Arugggggggggggggggggggggggg. Wherefore art thou, Rupert? If Jon wins, I swear to God I am OFF Survivor forever. I WILL break the addiction and never watch again. I swear it will be so. Fuckmeat sandwiches and other obscenities. 

I’m back. In town. In charge. Shakin’ things up. 

Actually, no I’m not. I’m just an exhausted little slut. Happy to be home. Done with my dancing shoes for the time being and happy to sit back, relax, and talk dirty. Or dirt, as the case may be.

So, let's talk vanilla for a minute.

I’ve noticed an influx of guys writing to me and calling me that are expressing similar concerns and I want to address it. Without fail, the guys who call me from the Phone Sex Slut Diary are my favorite johns. They’re generally witty and creative with a sense of humor, but they are also all the flavors of the rainbow. Skittles has nothing on my guys. They are alternately shy, curt, dominant, submissive, demanding, meek, sagacious, happy, reflective, sensual, frustrated, and any number of other adjectives. In other words they are just REAL guys looking for a little no-obligations communication or to make a connection where there aren’t any of games or mixed signals. 

But they are, overwhelmingly, vanilla. Now, granted, I appreciate that my definition of vanilla is slightly more French than the average, but still. I keep getting emails and new voices that say to me “you must think I’m pretty boring after the other guys you write about.” Let's be clear. I write about the guys that make for fun, interesting, or shocking good reading. I write about the guys who don't mind that I write about them. I write about the guys who other phone sluts might learn how to handle. Every guy I talk to doesn't want to re-define the reaches of the phone sex universe.

But casual sexuality is far from boring to me. Quite the contrary. I find it comforting and exciting that just talking about a blow job can excite a man to orgasm. I am, stripped bare, kind of a vanilla girl myself. Sure there are exotic spices that tickle my taste buds, but I think basic sex is still tres yummy.

Okay, okay. Yes, I skew a toward age-play and incest phonesex fantasy, true, but that doesn't mean I don’t enjoy the little things. In fact, I love describing blow jobs. I love thinking about and describing the way I’d roll my tongue and lap at beads of sweat and pre-cum. I enjoy using succulent language -- phrases like “lathing your glans” or sloppy phrases like “slurping on that sopping wet cock.” I like the way the word dick feels in my mouth, or the way that cock grows on the tongue. I like explaining how I’d lick beneath balls or hold my lips just a hair’s breadth away so that my hot breath would whisper across the shaft; moaning with a deep throat full so that the vibrations ricochet down to the prostate.

Creativity and sexuality isn’t always about mythical creatures or elaborate toys. Sometimes it’s just about the intensity in a drop of sweat. The briny heat of interlocking lust. Sometimes it’s just about fun and fucking and not thinking. 

Yes I enjoy the role play. I delight in the different, but I also get a kick out of the commonplace.

Please, any of you guys reading this -- whether you ever intend to call me or not -- don’t sell yourselves short because you don’t want to anally rape aardvarks with Japanese-anime elastic penises. Phone sex, or any sex for that matter, isn’t all about what’s new and different or what’s wilder than the last. Sexuality isn’t about keeping up with the Joneses (or getting up with the Joneses for that matter). 

It’s about getting hot and getting up with what you HAVE. It’s about stretching the intensity of what already gets you going. It’s about that trembling rush that shudders through you after you’ve cum in buckets and that last tremulous whimper of exhaustion. And it’s about feeling so fucking content that you whistle and head for the shower with a grin on your mug.

If phone sex is anything, it needs to be FUN first and everything else second. And if fun for you is fantasizing about cumming on a cheerleader’s perky tits or shoving jellyfish sushi tentacles up Lucy Liu’s twat, neither is better or worse than the other. Vanilla Coke or Ginger Beer, or Black Lemonade -- whatever flavor does your body good.

And, for what it’s worth, none of the above is lip service. I really mean it. I get off on far more vanilla calls than I do on complex ones. It's all about intensity.

Now. Having said that, I’m going to revisit bitchy, evil Doxy and rant about the never-ending flux of email I can’t answer. You may want to stop reading here and prefer to think of me fondly.

The following is a list of emails I am no longer answering. EVER.
(Catty sarcasm phasers on stun. Naw, fuck it, on kill)

#1. The “how do I get started in this business” emails. I have reference pages devoted to this. I’m not going to hand you fish, but if you want to learn how to fish start by visiting the resources section. Reading is fundamental. I don’t do pet projects and there isn’t any room under my wing. I want to help disseminate information to potential sluts, but I can’t help EVERYONE personally. 

#2. The “what services should I work for” and/or “are you hiring” emails. See #1, but also please take note that I AM AN INDEPENDENT PHONE SEX OPERATOR; I DO NOT OPERATE MY OWN SERVICE. Asking me if I am hiring only proves that you are too lazy or disinterested to read my site. Yeah, that really inspires me to help. 

#3. The thinly veiled (and not-so thinly veiled) hitting on me emails. My Doxy time is money and most of you are not that charming. Those guys that ARE that charming will tell you that they still rarely hear from me because I’m buggered dealing with all the other drivel in my inbox. If you’re so desperate to make contact, either A) put your money where your typing is and call me convince me you’re worth my time; or B) go find a lonely housewife on a message board somewhere to chat up. And don’t pull the “I’ll hit on her by acting like I’m not hitting on her” maneuver. Been there. Done that. Printed the t-shirt.

#4. The "I've added you to my site so please tell me when I can expect a link back from you" emails. You are NEVER getting a link back from me if your site is just another ho-hum sex promo scam. If your site is cool I will still reject you out of hat for sending me a form letter trolling for a link and presuming I owe you something. If, on the other hand, you've written me a personal letter asking for a link and I haven't done it, either A) I haven't had the time, or B) I couldn't bear telling you that your site is wretched and I'd never link to it. It is much more likely to be B. If your site is cool and you ask with etiquette and consideration, I assure you, you'll be listed or mentioned as soon as I'm able. But you DO take note of how often I update -- right?

#5. Any email that contains less than 10 words. Especially the ones that just say “hi.” If you really have that little to say, please don’t bother.

#6. Emails telling me that I’m wrong about the current administration and that I’m an idiot for insulting 50% of my potential client base. 
A) The current administration is an embarrassment to the notion that given infinite time and infinite monkeys with infinite typewriters, the chimps will eventually type the works of Shakespeare. Quite frankly the monkeys currently in office couldn’t even find the fucking typewriters. 
B) 50% of my potential client base can either respect that this country was founded on the concept that debate (even intense debate) is good and like-mindedness is not a pre-requisite for all human interaction OR patriotism…or they can leave me alone and purchase Ann Coulter’s latest cunt ramblings and action figure. Six of one, half dozen of another.

#7. Anything containing the words “Christian” “Savior” or “Jesus Christ.” Honestly. Don’t you people have an abortion clinic to picket or something?

#8. Anything written in ALL CAPS. It was cute and kinda rustic in 1995. That quaint charm has worn off. Now it’s just rude and ignorant.

#9. nethang written in digital ebonics or obnoxious chat shorthand like lowercase i’s, 4 in place of “four” or “for” and 2b in place of “to be.” The liner notes to Purple Rain were a form of creative expression not a model for communication. 

#10. There really isn’t a number ten, I just wanted to end on a round number.

Okay, bitchy Doxy is now going back to her cave. Hopefully to stay for a while. She's mostly just cranky about Rupert.




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