“Hi, Can You Whinny, like a Horse?”

“One of my most memorable calls was also one of the grossest. It was a fetish cat. A scat fetish. Most times I would aggravate the caller into hanging up by refusing to talk ‘shit’ with him, but this night I was feeling frisky. So I indulged in his request and gave him the shittiest call ever. I started out by telling him I was a vegan. After several minutes of conversation he gently asked if I could ‘go’ while we were on the phone, and I told him I could. He wanted to hear it coming out, farts and all. (So gross.) Then he wanted to eat it and clean me. While describing how soft and colorful it was, I told him there was a piece of asparagus that I apparently did not chew too well. Naturally, I asked him to get it for me. I cracked him up. He was laughing so hard, he had to hang up, because he couldn’t get back into our fantasy.”


He couldn't get back into the fantasy? Well, yeah.

Damn, you're a demanding sex worker, lady. Of course, you are getting paid by the minute, so I can see your point. If you're going to want skat-sex talk, you are going to need to be able to bring your A-game. Cutting the conversation short because of your fragile fantasy space collapses at the drop of an asparagus spear takes food out of the mouths of babies (so cute).

This photo essay of phone sex operators must have been so much fun to do—honestly. Sexually imaginative, intelligent, women who can arouse you with their honeyed voices alone: who wouldn't want to chat them up—about anything.

I particularly want to talk with this woman:

“Gary was watching a ‘World's Strongest Women’ show and saw a woman pick up a motorcycle.

‘Oh I could do that,’ I offered.

‘Could you?’ he responded, breathless.

‘Yes. How much do you weigh?’

‘160.’

‘Oh. I could bench-press two of you.’

‘Oh my god… I'd like to see you lift up my girlfriend's car.’

‘What kind of car does she have?’

‘A Mazda Miata.’

‘Oh yes, I could pick up a Miata. In fact, I would love to.’

‘Really?!?!??! Oh my god! What if my girlfriend was inside?’

‘I would just pick it up, lift it to my shoulder level, and then hoist it up over my head, with your girlfriend inside. I'd slowly turn around in a circle with it held up in the air, with your girlfriend screaming in the front seat.’”

A part of me may miss getting paid for this when I move on.

Did you see how she asked him his weight? That's called “selling the fantasy”—pure genius.

Someday, I'm going to marry a woman just like her.