Confessions of a Male Phone Sex Operator

I do gay phone sex for fun and profit. Mostly fun at this point, actually.

I've worked for "psychic lines" for years. When the opportunity came (came?) up to do LIVE GAY PHONE SEX, I couldn't resist. I quickly created a profile for a hung, horny stud that hangs out at the gym, dominating the other closeted gay dudes, stealing them away from their haughty, cunt-like girlfriends.

I thought maybe I had hit on a cash cow. No dice yet. But, I have made some money.

Problem: Dudes call up to jack off. BUT, most of these fuckers are so, uh, "quick" about it, it's hard to keep them on the phone for an extended period of time. Many of them want to be humiliated, dominated, cursed at in the filthiest language imaginable, and you have to be particularly descriptive.

Me: "You're gonna be screaming like a bitch when I shove my twelve inches of man meat straight up your little brown shit hole, you dumb motherfucker. Then, I'm gonna pull out and make you LICK MY WHITE MAMBA CLEAN, you pathetic fucking dickless little worm. You got that?"

Customer: "Yes , oh yes master! Oh, are you gonna breed me? I want to be fucked in the ass by you, baby!"

Me: "Bitch, I'll be riding you bareback in the locker room. Then, me and my buddies are gonna throw you on the floor for a little golden shower of fun. Hope you're thirsty!"

You get the picture. It's not long after (usually about sixty seconds) that the electronic voice comes on to inform me the caller has hung (hung?) up. Another satisfied masturbation addict; a dude with jism dripping off of his knuckles, and a big, stupid grin on his double chins.

I guess it helps that I'm, at the very least, pretty much a sort of celibate bisexual. Haven't gotten head from a guy since my buddy got drunk, and went down on me twenty years ago. Second best fucking head I ever got; the first was the anonymous head I got from this insane woman; in public, no less. Sometimes I sure do miss the sensation of having lips wrapped around my cock.

But, life is what it is. Dudes call. I titillate them, ask them if they're jacking off (they invariably are, or will) and then the studly domination begins, with plenty of filthy language to spice things up. I try to keep the voice down, but I know_I JUST FUCKING KNOW—the old ladies that live in this building have gotten an earful already, and that there is gossip going down.

I mean, say one of the old bitches (excuse the expression) is getting ready for church one Sunday morning, and she overhears me ask Brad if he has his finger up his ass, and his knuckles on his love-monkey. I mean, how the FUCK is she going to partake in spiritual edification with THAT particular image floating around in her wrinkled, white scalp?

But, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, and this man needs the cash. Except, of course, I haven't been making a lot. Yet.

It's not that I'm no good. I have ratings and reviews to suggest I'm one hot piece of imaginary ass. Maybe it just hasn't been long (long?) enough. Yet.

Of course, I've recorded a "story" audio to sell. Sold it, too. Once. I can't really add a gallery. I'm not an impressive enough physical specimen. Yet.

(Yes, I go to the gym. Every other day. And I work out for two hours, sometimes. And I pump weights and watch the guys, the BIG GUYS, sweat, and I know when I'm looking at a superior physical specimen. Which, at this point, is still not me. Yet).

I suppose I could write sex stories to upload and sell. But, I'm going to take this nice and slow; like screwing my best buddy in the ass, maybe. I DO get turned on when the calls come (come?), and I'll start yanking my noodle right along with them, to help kill the boredom. Out of purposes of "realism," you understand; like, I'm a weird cross between a male whore, and a method actor.

I've started doing things to mentally get me into the role. Hell, I listen to Madonna and Morrissey now. I put up a poster of Depeche Mode. New Order is the order of the day. I find I don't much listen to Metallica anymore (Note: I'm not suggesting Metallica are homophobic, or that listening to metal makes you anti-gay; or that, conversely, gays don't listen to metal. Not by a long shot. I mean, you ever heard of a dude named Rob Halford?).

And I'm finding my badass gay identity very quickly. I'm liking this.

Dude in a Diaper

The weirdest motherfucker so far sent me pics through my profile, pics of him dressed in a diaper, with a pacifier in his mouth, and various objects inserted in his ass. He was hugely fat, and claimed he liked to be humiliated. A few humiliating messages, however, and he folded like a cheap blanket. He ended up blocking me. Boo-fucking-hoo.

Otherwise, the other weirdies want weird things like having their feet rubbed, while I rev up their truck, and wanting me to "breed" them. Not sure what the hell that is supposed to mea—I wasn't aware two men could "breed" anything together, unless they really fucked up my education in high school biology. Be that as it may, I agree that, indeed, Master will do that nice and slow, then pull out, with his cock dripping with shit and jism, and then make them gobble his crank with the sweet and salty man-juice sliding nice and easy into their (mostly) flabby bellies.

What a job.

Is it worth it?

Hell yeah. Not just "worth it," either. Actually, a helluva lot of fun. You get done when they get off, and you can't help shaking your head at the folly of others. You're providing an important service, perhaps, to guys too fucking pathetic or unattractive to go out and find themselves a real, live sexual partner. It's a socially-positive role.

I should end this little confessional by stating that I one hundred percent support the LGBTQ community, and that I think they're, by and large, terrific people. Nothing I've said about the customers who call me should be taken to generalize gay or lesbian or transgender people. Hell, I've dated, and even married bisexual women, and, well, I did let a dude suck my dick. And then I rubbed his quite considerable Johnson a tad. BUT, I never sucked his dick.

But, that was the only affair. Now, I repeat: all my close friends have always been gay or bi. You suppose that's just because they're cooler? But, I don't want to seem patronizing.

I'm, in point of fact, a little lonely.

Damn, I wish somebody would call.

Happy Pride Month!