Has anyone asked if they could listen to you peeing today?
I’m hoping the answer is no, although on one dreadful afternoon not so long ago, my own answer would have been yes. The following is an account of the single, awful day I spent as a sex chat line operator.
During a conversation about quick money making schemes, a ‘friend’ mentioned that I’d be probably be quite good at being a sex chat line operator, and it would be easy money. I looked into it on independent website forums. It seemed legit. Lots of women raved over how simple it was to make a generous amount of money:
‘I do it while my little ones are at school!’
‘I’ve made enough for a luxury holiday!’
Out of curiosity, the promise of easy cash, or god knows what else, I applied. They got back to me straight away. I had the ‘handbook’ sent to me by email – reading through that was certainly an eye opener and should have been enough of a warning, but the money… ooh, the money.
It said that before I could be an operator, I’d have to take a telephone test of ten questions, with a required pass mark of 80% otherwise my details would be deleted from their system. Sadly, I passed with flying colours.
Next, I had to speak to someone on the main helpline, in order to choose the areas I’d be ‘acting’ in. Naturally it was a bloke, why wouldn’t it be? I sat awkwardly as he asked me which of the fields I wanted to perform:
“Anal?” – No (embarrassed childish giggle).
“Submissive domination?” – Yes.
“Aggressive domination?” – No.
“Black or Asian?” – What? No!
Once he’d gone through them all and I’d picked the ones I felt comfortable with (ha!), he gave me a unique PIN number that I’d have to dial into the phone whenever I wanted to log on. “Now all you have to do is record your greetings for each section, then you can start. Best of luck, and have a good day.” Nobody seemed to be acknowledging that this was the worst thing I’d ever done in my life, maybe I was over-reacting?
Recording the greetings was hard. They had to be overtly sexual, with ‘giggling, and possibly sexual noises thrown in’. I’d never done anything like this before; it was embarrassing, idiotic and completely alien to me. It already felt like I’d gone too far, but I continued as it seemed ridiculous to stop now. Just think of the money, think of the money.
Once those messages were done, the only thing left was to log on for real. The handbook explained that, as soon as I answered the phone, a whisper prompt would let me know the callers preference, based on the areas I’d recorded greetings for. I looked at the clock. It was 12:05. I’ll start in an hour I thought to myself, and then switched pre-school cartoons on in an effort to make the world a nice, innocent place again.
Half an hour later, in a desperate attempt to just get it over and done with, I logged on. The phone rang almost immediately, and I felt my blood run cold. I picked up and pressed the answer button, my legs shaking so much that I had to sit down. The whisper prompt was a friendly woman’s voice, announcing the caller’s preference in a completely matter-of-fact tone: ‘Just turned 18.’
Then all of a sudden everything was live. I forgot I was supposed to speak and actually jumped when the caller beat me to it.
“Hello?”
He sounded fairly old. Already my stomach was churning, but I bit my lip and squeezed my eyes tight shut, willing myself into character.
“Hi!” I replied, in what I assumed was my best 18-year-old voice. I decided not to mention Justin Bieber to enforce the fantasy, he probably wouldn’t know who I was talking about anyway.
We got the pleasantries out of the way, he seemed very sweet, and I reminded myself he was probably somebody’s grandfather so he couldn’t be all bad. Somebody’s sexually frustrated grandfather.
“I’ve got a big cock” he (lied) said, proudly.
“Well done” was the only thing I could think to say. Christ, I was bad at this.
But… I must have done something right , as the call lasted 14 minutes, the latter half of which involved him (somebody’s filthy grandfather) begging me to pee so he could listen. It was at this point I realised how useful taps actually are, as he came loudly to the sound of some sensual dribbling from our old faucet friend ‘cold’. Then, almost as soon as his spunk was fired into orbit, he hung up without a goodbye, or thanks. I confess to feeling a bit shocked. It’s not like I wanted a cuddle or anything, but it still stung slightly.
The second caller had a terrible almost Dutch accent-like speech impediment, I could only make out TITSH, PUSHY and ARSH-HOLE. I also gathered he wanted to SHLOWLY SHTICK HISH FINGERSH UP MY SHWEET ASH. He came and went quickly. So to speak.
Third and fourth were even quicker. At this rate I wasn’t going to make any money!
The fifth was making a sandwich. “It’s good old ham and cheese as the base, but then I’ll be adding more ingredients to make it extra tasty.”
I wondered, not without some concern, where this was leading…
Yet strangely, it seemed all he wanted to do was chat about the sandwich he was making. The handbook had said you’re in no way allowed to lead the conversation into a sexual direction unless the caller does, so I was happy to listen and make yummy noises in the right places. It beat the theatrical fake groaning into a cocked hat.
The sixth spoke obsessively about how much he loved his wife, how she was always so busy and he was so lonely: “She’s just gone out now and I’m alone” he almost whimpered.
“Will you keep me company? Will you be very, very nice to me?”
That was it. As soon as he’d gone, I logged off, knowing I’d never ever be logging on again.
I then puked my guts up and lay in the corner crying, thinking about what my mum would say.
I knew I had to stop before I ended up hating men completely. I know that’s a terrible thing, but I’ve honestly been horrified by the whole experience. It was, and still is, something I can’t believe I ever got involved with. I felt like I’d totally lost sight of myself throughout the entire situation. I genuinely admire women who can do that job. Or have to do that job in order to survive.
On that awful afternoon, I made less than five quid. Goodness knows how many desperate wankers you’d have to get off in order to make any kind of living, and I have the utmost respect for any woman, or man for that matter, who can make a living from it.
It won’t work for me though. I can’t make a living when I’m silently dying inside…
Comments
Beauty Ed
That sandwich making caller was me. I can’t ever make lunch without phoning a sex-line.