I wrote this report on March 21, 1995 …
Today, the topic is phone sex. Every night on T.V., I see ads for phone
sex and I want to understand this phenomenon. When I turn on the tube late at
night, there she is on my T.V. screen ... "Hi, I'm Sabrina ... (attractive
young blond with a killer body, wearing a revealing red satin teddy and
straddling her bed as if she's riding in the Kentucky Derby) - Do you want to
get to know me? Call 1-900-GET-LAID and take me for a test ride." Chuck
Yaeger stand back.
I am really not all that interested in having sex with my phone, but I
know that there are a lot of lonely people out there who, for whatever reason -
perhaps because they've struck out at the bar scene, or they're shy, or they
have leprosy, or whatever - would be happy to have sex with anyone or anyTHING,
as long as it was quick, anonymous, didn't require commitment, and could not,
under any circumstances, give them a communicable disease.
So, what happens here? You, the phoner, calls the phonee, and for three bucks per minute (which,
incidentally, is probably more than a real life hooker gets turning tricks in
Times Square) you are "aroused" to the point of "supreme
personal satisfaction" when said
phonee whispers x-rated stuff in your ear like: "Oh baby, you're my magic
wand, yes ... ooooh you get me so hot ... oooh you've touched that special place
... ohhh ahhh ooooh, etc. etc." Depending on your nationality, maybe she
even bleats.
Frankly, I never liked phones. I might be the only person who could call
up for phone sex and experience performance anxiety. That would be my luck. There
are a couple of observations I'd like to make at this point. First of all, that
deep, sexy voice on the other end of the line, the one for which you're paying
more than some lawyers charge on an hourly basis, probably isn't the nubile
blonde you see in the ad. More than likely, she is a hairy, Twinkie-hoovering
manatee, with serious B.O. and the disposition of a wharf rat, who lives in a
trailer strewn with the debris generated by her brood of twelve welfare scum
adolescent trolls, three of whom are on juvenile probation for aggravated
assault. These phone sex jobs don't exactly attract the cream of the crop. Secondly,
aren't videos and magazines a better deal? It's the gift that just keeps
giving. I know it's a tough call, but in my humble opinion, not based on
personal experience of course, bopping the baloney to a video or making the
scene with a magazine is arguably a better value than getting your rocks off to
the voice of some poxied trollop, long distance. Then again, I'm old fashioned;
I believe in human contact.
Finally, there is the issue of privacy. You wear a disguise, you buy a
video or a magazine ... no one knows. You call up Jabba Galore, and the phone
company knows, the FBI knows ... really, anybody who wants to can find out.
Also, your ten year-old can call her too. I'd like to see him/her walk into
Marty's Adult World and buy a porno magazine or a video. They have rules about
stuff like that.
All I can say is, thank goodness I'm happily married. Life is getting
too complicated for the lonely.
JWO Jr
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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