Last Saturday, I did what I find myself doing all too often: in a drunken haze, I daydreamed about a life of doing nothing.

I’ve heard people say they would simply be too bored not working or that they couldn’t possibly stay at home for a living.

This is a joke right? I mean, people can’t be serious.

You’ve seen Office Space, right? That’s me. I would do absolutely nothing. Not a damn thing.

Unfortunately, when it comes to making this dream a reality, I seldom have a realistic idea that doesn’t involve the lottery (sure, I play once in awhile), my band (I had hopes of fame…but then everyone’s schedules started to conflict) or require me to learn a new trade or invent some ridiculous gadget.

But this was a particularly rare kind of drunk – one where my mind was flooded with ideas that weren’t impossible. One really hit home.

I snatched my cell phone and googled “phone sex jobs”. To my surprise, there were several listings with direct numbers to apply. I called two of them and sold my personality via slurred voicemails. Claiming I was outgoing, accepting of all things sexual and – I believe the word I used was “spunky” – I also bragged about my five years in “theater” and how I won best actress three years in a row

Convinced I hadn’t sounded too drunk, I hung up the phone, sat on my living room floor and played Freecell by myself.

On Sunday morning at 11, I awoke to my cat’s demands for food. Pulling my aching body off of my bed of carpet and Miller Lite cans, I stumbled into the bathroom in search of aspirin. The honest mirror showed me quite an embarrassing reflection as I pulled a sticky three of clubs from my matted hair.

And then, of course, the phone rang.

For the first time since I can remember, I did not screen an incoming call from an unfamiliar number.

“….Hello?”

“Kalie, finally I got a hold of you. You’ve got a great voice, hun.”

“What?”

“This is Donna with the PSO agency. Let’s get ya started.”

Oh….THAT.

Dream Life, here I come.

***

For some reason, someone telling me I had a great voice seemed really weird to me. I sound like a 14 year old. It must just be a self-conscious issue because Donna immediately demanded I start “repeating things after her”, one of them being, “get your fucking ass off of the ground or I’ll get my whip – you will listen to your mistress.”

I took a deep breath and tried not to giggle as I followed her lead.

Donna emailed the same typical New Hire forms I fill out every time I start a new job. A follow-up email had a 14-page PDF attached; it described what kind of calls I would be getting and a basic outline of my character for each. As the Big Fat Slut I weighed over 200 lbs. When I was a MILF, I had children and all the teenage boys wanted to bang me. My personal favorite was the Transvestite – where I am described as being a “very special lady with a secret.”

But I was warned that I must gain a caller’s trust before I told him I had a 7-inch penis.

Donna emphasized that I needed to get my ‘Barely Legal’ character down, as it was one of the most popular. (Surprise!) ALWAYS be 18 years old, living with my parents, still in high school, then I could throw in some descriptions that matched my physique in real life.

I was instructed to read the entire attachment and then call and introduce myself to the owner of the company.

A man named Dan answered the phone and I muttered that I’d been told to introduce myself. Much like Donna, Dan complimented my voice and assured me that I’d be perfect for the position. Not shockingly, his idea of an “interview” was remarkably similar to phone-sex role-play and focused exclusively on the ‘Barely Legal’ character I was told to perfect.  It soon became clear that I wasn’t the only one who thought I sounded young. I was being type-cast over the phone.

Dan sent me an email with the login procedures and told me to be ready to work in a few hours.

At 3 p.m. I stopped pacing and chain smoking and logged into the system. I sat at my computer desk that was now covered in props and breathed words of encouragement.

“You can do this.”

“This is hilarious.”

“You’re not a horrible person.”

***

The monitor said my first caller had dialed in on the “Barely Legal” hotline, so I quickly threw my hair up into pigtails and began to paint my toenails to help me stay in character.

“Hello?” I answered.

I heard a heavy-breathing male on the other end.

“Hi,” he said.

I’d been told not to let the call fill with dead air. It was my job to keep the conversation going. Unfortunately, I had not practiced how the call would actually go and had been focusing more on what my character liked to do in her spare time and what the names of her friends were.

“Ummm..what’s…your name?” I asked.

“Randy, what’s yours?”

“Samantha, but you can call me Sammie.”

I was really proud of this one. Samantha was the name I had decided was the name for all of my characters, but Sammie was strictly for being ‘Barely Legal’.

“That’s a sexy name.” Randy replied.

He likes my name! I’m already so good at this!

“What are you doing right now…Sammie?”

“Right now I’m painting my toenails. I couldn’t decide what color I wanted to use, but I decided to go with purple. But I didn’t want it to be too purple, you know? There’s a fine line between lilac and lavender and I wanted to get it just right. I’m sure I spent over half an hour looking for the perfect shade.”

Silence.

“Hello? Are you still there? Hello?”

Shit. I had obviously gone on about nail polish for far too long. I had already gotten cocky.

But there was still hope; sitting in my pajamas and working from home all day was still within my reach. If I could pull this off it’d be nothing but Waffle Crisp and The League on mute 24/7.

I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“WANT A BLOWJOB?”

“Yeah, baby. That’d be nice. How about you get down here and unbutton my Levi’s?”

Randy wasn’t wearing Levi’s. He called my hotline with his penis out and in his hand and we both knew it. It especially bugged me that he specified his brand of jeans when I knew his underwear was around his ankles.

“Okay. I’m struggling to unzip your fly with your big huge…weiner in the way.”

Weiner?

“Mmmm,” he groaned, “maybe you should use your teeth.”

Okay – what? This guy wasn’t even making sense. How could my teeth be any way helpful in that situation? Three minutes into the phone call and I didn’t feel dirty or embarrassed, I just found myself annoyed and desperately wanting to correct the flaws in his sexual scenario.

But I bit my tongue and then, his zipper.

“Got it,” I whispered, in a poor attempt to sound sexy.

“Pull it out, Sammie.”

Sammie was impressed by Randy’s large penis and because she was so young, she was kind of intimidated.

“Wow,” I exclaimed. “I can barely wrap my hand around it.”

“Then try wrapping your lips around it, baby.”

BING! I recalled the PDF had contained detailed phone-blowjob instructions.

“Yeah? You sure you’re ready for this?”

I was filling time as I scrambled for my guidelines.

“You sure you can handle it?

Randy mumbled some more grotesque dirty talk on the other end as I skimmed through the BJ tips. Shit. I had skipped the first 4 minutes, which were strictly dedicated to the ballsack. Fine by me, balls aren’t really my “cup” of tea anyway.

A helpful hint starred at the top suggested I use a sucker to make slurping more convincing. I reached for a sour apple Blow Pop, one of the props I’d strategically placed before the call.

I made slurping and gagging noises for over five minutes while Randy groaned on the other end. Knowing he couldn’t tell what I was saying, I began to read out loud from the Diablo 3 instruction pamphlet next to my computer. This was a terrible idea for someone with severe Attention Deficit Disorder. It wasn’t long before I forgot I was supposed to be pretending to give a blowjob over the phone. I got down to the bubble gum in my blow pop and crunched the remainder of the hard candy with my teeth, still reading Diablo 3 character descriptions to Randy…

“Kalie, the caller is gone,” the monitor informed me.

What had I done? My ticket to freedom burst into flames. The days of waking up at 11 had slipped between my fingers. I could have been paid 26 cents a minute to file my nails or knit a scarf. I could have been sunbathing while describing my DD’s and I royally fucked it up.

“Oh shit. I’m really sorry!”

“No, you did great, babe. Our callers always hang up after they orgasm.”

***

My first phone-sex call was possibly the most disturbingly sick thing I had ever done. I’d actually been on the phone with a man jerking off to my voice.

Blow Pops and Waffle Crisp and Diablo 3 have been forever ruined.

But in spite of it, I can’t wait to get my first Transvestite call.

Comments

comments