August 27, 2005
Who Are Those Guys?
Voice comes to you through a spell, a trance. The best voices are not you, they're a little away from you. ~ Barry Hannah
You know their voices, but hearing them speak while looking at them feels oddly creepy.
An oldie but a goodie.
August 26, 2005
The River Tam Sessions
Time is a river which carries me along, but I am the river; it is a tiger that devours me, but I am the tiger; it is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire. ~ Jorge Luis Borges
It's hard for me, as a sci-fi geektress not to see the obvious parallels between the cult fan base of Joss Whedon's Firefly and the fans from the primary Star Trek mythos.
Stop me if you've heard this one:
A science fiction visionary who has paid his dues in the competitive rat race of the broadcast television industry by achieving a few modest successes gets a shot to launch the show he considers to be his masterpiece. This new offering draws on traditional themes that viewers should be able to relate to, but is unique and somewhat brave in the depth of its scope and substance. The network, unable to relate to it, rejects it without ever giving said visionary the opportunity and acts on the hereditary instincts of their place by denying it breathing room with all the gusto of parental indifference. A scattering of viewers mourn this passing; they enjoyed what they saw during the show's brief existence. They mutter and complain and infect others with their enthusiasm until the dollar signs they generate begin to draw the attention of those who sought to murder creativity in its fetal state.
So they make a movie.
There are a lot of things that could stop Serenity from being a mainstream hit. It could be too inbred and only appeal to its existing fan base. Maybe the audience or the method of storytelling won't crossover to a film format. Maybe the film can't possibly live up to expectation. Maybe the once brilliant visionary will have lost his edge and his work will fester into self-indulgence and special effects nonsense. Maybe it'll just be bad.
Or maybe the planets will align and the visionary, his fellow creators, the cast, and audience will be in step and this movie will go where no Trek movie ever managed to get before.
The Firefly mythos has better weapons to fight for its life. Whedon has a marketing toll Roddenberry never dreamed of. He has rabid fan bases with net connections and Buffy conventions have obviously taught him how to feed the beast.
In a stroke of Blair Witch reminiscent marketing brilliance strange "excerpts" have begun to surface on Firefly fan sites. These clips provide glimpses of River Tam's "sessions" at the Academy. I know it's marketing, but it's marketing done RIGHT.
And, since these obviously must have been written and shot by Joss and he is the likely sneaky distributor, and given his propensity for preserving and respecting his own complicated time lines, then we're supposed to get EXACTLY these excerpts right now -- between the end of the series and the start of the movie.
Hinky little bugger.
So far as I can tell there are three sessions we've being teased with as of now. They all tell us a great deal without telling us anything. You can find them with mirrors at Session 416 or simply follow the links below that open in Quciktime on Internet Archive.
Personal theoretical nonsense:
According to this convincing time line we can guess that River went to the Academy sometime in 2514 and Simon rescued her around May of 2517. Joss doesn't tell us how often the sessions are held. If they're taped everyday then 416 would be a year and a couple of months after River's arrival. Or maybe they were taped every few days and 416 was the last session.
Also, as a friend of mine continually reminds me -- we have not seen the alliance do anything that was outrightly evil. They are the bad guys from the Browncoat perspective, but other than being bureaucratic asses we haven't seen them do anything completely black hat.
So I'm going to throw this out there because it would be SUCH a Joss thing to do.
What if River is bad and she really does need to be stopped for the safety of God, alliance, and baby kittens? What if the crew of Serenity is actually doing something really awful they don't realize by harboring her.
What if our lovable scruffy gun-on-hip smuggling buccaneers are actually doing the WRONG thing.
Wouldn't it just be delicious?
...Perhaps there is a little bit of witch in you, Katrina. ~ Johnny Depp as Ichabod Crane (via the pen of Andrew Kevin Walker)
August 25, 2005
Le Bordel de Hutch
After I die I shall return to earth as the doorkeeper of a bordello and I won't let a one of you in. ~ Arturo Toscanini
It has been a long time since I have done an entry about a phone sex client. The reason for this, of course, is because I've shifted my practices in the industry. And that has proved the basis of several revelations which were probably obvious to most that have known me for any length of time now. Sometimes even a good phone slut can just be slow.
When I was taking dispatch calls, I worked under the assumed name I selected when I started work for my first phone sex company. The men who called knew me as "Zoë" and not Doxy. As such, I thought there was greater freedom to what I wrote. I could be honest and critical or funny and catty without the hassle of someone taking it the wrong way and complaining to the company. I didn't want to cause Rio any headaches.
Johns were fun to write about because there is a certain percentage of them that fit into "types" and explaining the types of calls is a good beginner's insight into the job of phone sex. I also took call after call after call (working dispatch) and revealing a new type and/or individual every few days wasn't difficult.
Over time, it became clear to me that most if not all my clients enjoyed the way I wrote about them (when they knew about it). If there were objectors, I never heard from them. The ones who found me via the web or who just read the diary and thought of themselves as one of the "types" listed were not offended, but generally amused. I've also never had a client complain about being referred to as a "john" or be offended because his kink was written about with sarcasm and/or amusement. I wish I could say the same for my fellow sluts, but well, I can't. By and large, the flack I've gotten over this journal has been from the PSO community and right wing nutjob sect.
But the phone sex clients I've attracted through Phone Slut Diary / Phone Slut Blog are a different level of clientele. Or, to be more accurate, the nature of the business relationship between myself and my current clients has evolved to a different level.
Doxy is a much more "real" part of myself than "Zoë" ever was. "Zoë" took every call that came in, regardless of what kink or client was involved and she convinced every john she talked to that his kink was her favorite. "Zoë" performed mostly "get him off in fifteen minutes or less" sessions. As such, "Zoë" was much closer to the average phone sex worker than I am now.
As Doxy, I'm far, far more spoiled. I don't do calls under 30 minutes anymore. It's been ages since I even tried to hurry a session just to get the client off. These days, I engage in long, leisurely sessions where I learn more about my clients' personal lives, feelings and sexual depth. (Don't get me wrong -- I *do* also get them off.)
It's harder to poke fun and be sarcastic about people whom you spend hours per month speaking with and developing an (albeit, guarded) camaraderie with. My clients now have evolved beyond a few snide observations or a single punchline. Writing about them with flippancy feels insincere and immature.
It's possible I've evolved within this industry. Blerg. A sex grown-up. How droll.
At any rate, it's high time I did an entry about a client again. If for no other reason than to provide compare and contrast materials from those I used to write about at the genesis of this Diary/Blog's evolution.
And I can think of no one I'd rather write about than Jeb "Hutch" Tenor.
Hutch is an older client, as are the majority of my regulars these days. I suppose it's something about my "Daddy's little girl" fetish that attracts them. He's been in a wonderful marriage for more decades than I've been alive, but, as with so many men I speak with, there are simply sexual disconnects at home. And there is only so much couples therapy and uncomfortable conversation you can endure until you just give up, take stock, and decide to stay or leave and make adjustments.
I speak to husbands like Hutch regularly both on the job and off. Enough to know that two people can line up and be soul mates in dozens of different ways and still be utterly at odds regarding their mutual sexuality. I imagine there are wives dealing with the same problems from the opposite side of matters, but I don't speak with them nearly as often.
At any rate, Hutch is 95% happily married but that other 5% is the BIG ONE. And so, Hutch had to decide -- does he bury his sexuality forever, or find outlets? Then if he opts to look for an outlet, does he find a physical outlet, or a fantasy outlet? Hard questions.
A physical outlet can be more fulfilling. I'm damn good at what I do, but I still fall short of a warm, sultry body in bed beside you. Still, physical outlets have more pitfalls. With greater reward comes greater risk. For one, finding the right sultry body is often challenging and there are serious physical health concerns and the annoying occasional legal concern. Also, while some might find my rates to be steep, I'm still less than half the price of a descent escort. Thus, men like Hutch often weigh their options and I end up a lucky little slut with a Grade-A new client.
The evolution of my and Hutch's playtime has been fascinating for me. In my first call with Hutch, I had him pegged as a Dr. Kissing-Her which is a pretty standard fantasy type. The scene: a compromising situation centering upon a young woman in her kindly older doctor's office and a little coercion later cuts to the oh-so-respectable Doc with his hands in naughty places. This is a much more complex and seduction-based fantasy than the "gas her and have your way with her while she's under" fantasy that I think of more as a Dr. Octopus fantasy.
However, we left the Dr. Kissing-Her fantasies behind in the dust of our first two sessions and established what we now affectionately refer to as "The Bordello."
The Bordello is a family-run business that started quite simply with a Mommy cast as a lady of the night partnered with her friendly neighborhood pimp-daddy (who also happened to be her husband). In the regular post-fantasy psycho analysis that Hutch and I engage in, we explored the idea that such an arrangement was a fantasy way to sexualize his real-life wife.
Unlike many of my clients who experience sexual frustration with their partners, Hutch's fantasies are free of hostility. He is simply a very gentle soul. By which I do not mean that he has no sense of anger or hostility or violence. We're human animals and we have those elements in us. But he takes no pleasure in them.
This is a source of ongoing curiosity for me because it is so contrary to the norm. Most often when a partner that is sexually frustrated engages in a fantasy session with me which includes a character based on their partner, it is generally in a somewhat violent venting capacity. The character-partner is generally placed in situations of physical sexual vulnerability or humiliation/exploitation. It is not at all unusual to have a client want to talk about his wife being raped or tricked into a gang-bang, or being forced to watch her husband engage in sexual acts with other women while she's hog-tied and ball-gagged.
Any Psyche 101 student understands the basis of such fantasy and the obvious therapeutic value they can have (although I imagine the wives themselves would be shocked out of their mittens to hear them). And I don't kid myself. I don't have a degree that would allow me to professionally state they're all engaging in healthy outlets. But common sense gives me a pretty reliable instinct of when something is an expression of emotion and when it's harmful foul play. I think taking power over their partners in fantasy is merely a way of venting frustration for the lack of power they feel one-on-one in their relationships. But then, who knows what evil lies within the hearts of men?
It varies from client to client, in my experience, as to whether these fantasies display an active (or latent) disrespect toward the partner. Most often these men have the utmost respect and concern for their spouses or significant others in the light of day. But the dark often beckons us in fantasy play.
Still, callers like this are almost always far more benign than you can imagine. Most of you reading this journal entry wouldn't believe the hours I've spent listening to my clients boast about their spouses and significant others. Yes, I hear about the sexual dysfunctions of their relationships, but I also hear about how incredible they are as moms, or how amazing they are as companions. A typical statement is something like "I just know we could be perfectly happy together if she could just get over X." X is generally some combination of sexual hang-ups. Of course the wife is probably thinking "We could be so happy together if he'd just stop asking for sex act X."
Ne'er the twain shall meet.
There are those would would feel that using a phone sex service in itself is an act of disrespect. I'm obviously biased when I state that I disagree.
First of all, most of my clients like this have generally spent many years in expensive therapy that has left them right back where they started (or close to it). Except now they know all these new psyche terms and role-play conflict resolution techniques they can use at parties. My rates are lower than the average therapy session and they get to make themselves all sticky after -- so, you know, bonus. Seriously, though, by and large, you just can't make everything line up and play nice when it comes to relationships.
A good friend once told me that he married with his "head" and not his heart. This yielded him a good mate, a extraordinary mother, a charming, kind-hearted companion and years of sexual dysfunction that he's still bogged down in. I think many of my clients married with some combination of their heads and their hearts and completely forgot about their cocks. Granted, going around life led by your balls is a bad idea, but when choosing a life partner, I like to think it's a good idea to remember your balls do require some attention now and then.
As to the disrespect, I say eye of the beholder comes into play. Let's remember, these guys are opting to use phone sex in place of escort services often because they don't want to put their partner in any physical health risk resulting from their chosen sexual outlet. And, while fidelity is a nice concept, I'm not one to advocate hanging on a sexual cross one's entire life.
Yeah, okay, I'm biased. It would probably be hard for me to admit my bread and butter was bad, even if I thought that way. But I've had some of these clients for years now. I know them and intimate details of their marriages. And, by and large, my influence has been helpful rather than harmful. You can't imagine how many guys don't know how to shop for their wives' birthdays, or don't realize how the simplest little detail can make the difference between "aren't you dead yet" and "honey, I'm so sorry."
As a Cyrano, I'm occasionally brilliant on their behalf and the rest of the time, I like to think that I do no harm and help to keep their head...errr...heads on straight.
We can't control the fantasies our minds generate. I know I can't. And sometimes it's better to lean into the fall instead of fighting it. The clients I deal with are all too aware that the fantasy wives they exploit in our sessions are completely separate beings from the women they share their lives with.
And Hutch is acutely aware of this when we discuss it in one of our plummy amateur psycho-analysis sessions.
I do often regret that the one unhappy seed in otherwise healthy marriages is the same thing that makes my favorite clients need my services. But I don't create those situations. And, in the cases where such clients have made progress with their wives in addressing sexual disconnects, I like to think I've always been supportive and encouraging, even when it meant losing that client. So, I don't spend too must angst in the dwelling.
But, anyway, I'm engaging in major digression.
Hutch doesn't engage in exploitation and/or humiliation when he sexualizes his wife in our fantasies. Quite the opposite, she is generally the character in the position of greatest sexual prowess and power. Her services are for sale in the fantasies, but she's always an expert seductress in high demand. She enjoys what she does and does it well. Her services are rendered in very intimate and almost gentle forms and it testifies to the affection and respect he has for her in all other walks of their life together.
Such sessions always leave me wanting to dial her up and explain "you know, this man is insanely in love with you -- I promise you that blowjobs can be lots of fun if you'll open your mind and let me walk you through one." Although I don't kid myself that such a conversation could ever take place.
Plus, I'm always well aware I only get half the story from a necessarily limited first-person perspective. But I feel a general sense of affection and kinship toward such women and although I know they'd likely see my involvement in their relationships as a great betrayal, I feel kind of honored to keep their secrets safe within the confines of sexual fantasy. The basis of that mindset is far too complicated a part of my psyche to be the fodder for a sex blog, but it is what it is. I don't resent, disrespect, blame, feel superior to, or mock any of these women. I feel a certain sense of bizarre sisterhood toward them -- like someone who gets to watch the life of another only through glass; experiencing them by an awkward pantomime based merely upon opinion and hearsay.
Yeah, yeah, I know. I digress. Again.
The Bordello has also expanded its services over time to include a young Doxy, (the ingénue of her expertly skilled Mommy) who services clients and then crawls into bed with Daddy to describe them. Newly added to the cast is Hutch Jr., a little scamp who has also been servicing clients as well as engaging in naughty romping adventures with Mom and Sis.
I like the Bordello. I like clients like Hutch. And I like the fact that this new phase of my profession has allowed me to focus on this type of developing relationship with my clients. But it has created a disconnect between myself and the "average phone slut" as obvious and steep as the disconnect that often exists between my clients and their partners.
When I started Phone Sex Slut Diary (here morphed into Blog), it was to present an average working girl's perspective. But, either due to time or personal quirkiness I've come to realize I'm not the average working girl. I'm not saying I'm better. I'm just saying I'm different.
And I think, looking over my client base and the place in this industry where I find myself now, I'm getting to a place where I'm okay with that.
August 11, 2005
Diane Lane's Mom the Bona Fide Hottie
Mom was better endowed. ~ Diane Lane
While I was innocently trying to find out the name of the actor who plays the lusciously fuckable Mr. Martini in the
Said bio informs us that Diane who I've been indifferent to, but who seems a pretty enough gal, is the daughter of one October 1957 Playboy Playmate named Colleen Farrington.
And Colleen is/was one yummy sip of sensual. There is a small gallery of her images here (God bless the Russians even if their servers are S-L-O-W).
However, the image that had me at hello was:
Anyone wishing to share additional images of Miss October should do so at will. Such yumminess cannot be doomed exclusively to the pleasure of the ghosts of the annals of Playboy past.
August 09, 2005
I Have a Note
If you start to think of your physical and moral condition, you usually find that you are sick. ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Summers are lazy days. Even for ADD "time to make the donuts" types like me, the urge to procrastinate and put off becomes nearly overwhelming. Traditionally I have planned my vacation time in Summer for just this reason. Also, "the biz" has lent itself to that cause, being as things get slow around the hotter months. Or, at least they used to. In recent years, there hasn't been the dip in Summer that used to be the norm.
This time, however, my long absence wasn't due to partying and travel and lazy days with novels by the pool. Instead I found myself dealing with the exhausting tasks of home repair and being ridiculously ill both lending to that delightful romp of weakness caused by mental and physical stress.
As for the home repairs I won't get too specific. There was rain outside the house and then, quite unexpectedly, there was water INSIDE the house (that's bad). Plus there was a horrific bout of air conditioning being broken, which meant that it was around 95 degrees in my living room. The walls were sweating. Satan was sending up people to my kitchen as punishment: "Get your asses in gear, Spawn, or you're going to Doxy's."
Almost everything has, to date, met with repair or a band-aid to hold it until repairs can be fully made. And, as anyone that deals with home maintenance knows, that's pretty much as good as it gets. Plus I have a new entertainment center in the bargain. Yay.
I'm going to be equally vague about getting sick. Because there's just no way to make sick sexy. Except there is a funny footnote about my being under the weather. When I run fevers I tend to get extremely randy. I have lurid licentious dreams (yes, more so than usual) and crave fruit and pasta. I used to think this was a whacked out part of myself until I read Animal Dreams by Barbara Kingsolver and discovered another woman writing about vaguely the same quirk. It's an irony of sorts because in such a weakened condition I could no more fuck than fly, but the mind is oh-so-willing.
It seems to me that when you get sick in Summer it is always a more violent illness than other times of the year. The first Summer I spent in the Midwest, I was staying with friends and I got much the same sort of bug I had this time. It wasn't a sickness involved with any manner of disgusting, but merely physical and mental weakness that made any movement an exertion beyond contemplation. Back then I was nursed back to health by a dear friend who practically spoon fed me homemade soup and home canned peaches. I still say it was the magic peaches that finally got me well after two weeks of bone shuddering chills and feeling sleepy 24/7.
At any rate, I'm back to about 75% functioning within normal parameters. I may yet take it easy, which is a luxury I am grateful to be able to consider. That I have structured my life into the position where I can be sick and rest until I am fully well is something most people can't do. They have families, time clocks to punch, or just the obligations of everyday life that prohibit napping in the afternoon. Besides, who wants to get fully better when you've got incubus dreams, fresh pink grapefruit and pasta ala carbonara?