Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Phone-Sex Operator: female, 29, Williamsburg, in a heterosexual relationship, bisexual.
DAY ONE
10:45 a.m.: On the train into the city, I realize that I haven’t had sex in exactly a week. My boyfriend, a musician, has been averaging four hours of sleep a night, generally passing out the second his head hits the pillow.
2:05 p.m.: My first phone-sex call of the day arrives. Calls are forwarded to me at home, and I get paid per minute.
2:53 p.m.: Another caller. “I’ve actually never done this before…” Right. “I’m a model…” Ding ding ding, we have a liar!
4:43 p.m.: Caller wants me to “scream.” I have to pull the “New York City –thin–walls–neighbors–will –call– cops” card.
11:30 p.m.: Go over to my boyfriend’s apartment. He knows about my job and is neither threatened nor particularly into it. Finally, finally have sex, in various positions, in bed.
DAY TWO
3:02 p.m.: Back on the job. A guy yells at me for about five minutes to fake an orgasm. “Harder! More aggressive! Louder!” Then he calls me a tease and hangs up when I won’t tell him my address.
3:39 p.m.: This caller sounds underage and then hesitates before changing the subject when I ask what year he was born. He repeatedly says, “I love you.” I’m touched but must hang up on him anyhow.
7:26 p.m.: I describe my body to a new caller. Then I figure out that he’s looking for a female wrestler. The call doesn’t last too long. He calls again a few minutes later, and I switch up my name and physical description and am rewarded with a longer call.
Midnight: Go to boyfriend’s house and, delightfully, get lucky. We lie down to “go to sleep,” which leads to him on top. This is more like it!
DAY THREE
1:27 p.m.: More callers. Everyone’s so boring today, including me. Is it this god-awful heat?
2:55 p.m.: This caller drops the N-word near the end of the call. I swear, it’s getting more and more common for callers to start throwing that around as a turn-on. He hangs up, so I don’t get to give my polite “racism is not sexy to me” speech.
4:05 p.m.: A new caller claims that the cleaning woman he employs wants him. Right.
11:30 p.m.: I go to my boyfriend’s house and … three nights in a row! I go down on him, and he returns the favor.
DAY FOUR
1:20 p.m.: I have the day off! I drop off a prescription for the birth-control ring, a new thing for me. I hope its nausea and crazy-making properties do not prove too powerful.
1:40 p.m.: Go to doctor and get HIV test results. Negative.
2 a.m.: After watching my boyfriend play, I get home and unsuccessfully try to seduce him. He apologetically passes out.
DAY FIVE
1 p.m.: Talk to boyfriend on phone and looking forward to getting laid. He’ll call me when he’s done working.
4 p.m.: I e-mail a Web mistress about potential foot-fetish modeling work. I’m actually exceptionally uncomfortable with my feet, but there’s no nudity and potentially good money.
1 a.m.: Still haven’t heard from my boyfriend. I call him, and wouldn’t you know it, he’s asleep. I’m sympathetic, but this is getting old.
DAY SIX
2:26 p.m.: My first caller likes women in either “the 18 to 19 or mid-40s age range.”
4:11 p.m.: This guy’s a talker, which is good, because what he prattles on about is so unappetizing.
5:28 p.m.: Guy with a fetish for kneesocks and leg injuries calls.
9 p.m.: I have an actual date night with my boyfriend that ends in extensive sex. Score.
DAY SEVEN
2:10 p.m.: A barely legal call comes in, which is extremely boring. Pretty soon I find myself jumping the gun and cheerleading him to orgasm. I just can’t take it anymore.
10:30 p.m.: Go over to my boyfriend’s apartment and again have extensive sex.
TOTAL: 0 actual orgasms while on the phone, two instances of sexual arousal while talking on the phone (to boyfriend), eighteen orgasms mimicked while on the phone, 25-plus orgasms heard over the phone, and five actual orgasms with boyfriend.
