By Jason Fierstein
Arizona Daily Wildcat
Flipping through the back of the Tucson Weekly, I was sure to find the mother lode: names and numbers of the most stimulating and erotic women that any college man could crave. Although many looked appealing, there were two that looked tantalizing enough to jump on like a sex-crazed sociopath.
The first ad, so discreetly titled "Lusty Dates Ä Join the Orgy!" seemed to be the perfect no-man's land in which to plunge to quench my arid curiosity about the world of phone sex.
"Candy," an 18-year-old possible temptress with long blonde hair who I had anticipated juicy sex narratives from, turned out to be a woman with a twangy Texas accent (being from Lubbock) who was interested in chatting.
I bluntly asked her, "What are your sexual fantasies, Candy?" and she replied, "What the hell are you talking about?"
I informed her that this being a phone sex line, she should feel at liberty to whisper sweet nothings into the ears of the sex savages on the line. She explained to me that this was merely a chat line and that no porn would be thrown around in here. I hung up quickly on her in pre-stimulated embarrassment.
"Hot Heather: Live and Uncensored" turned out to be much more than the average "Hello, Grandma, how's your Sunday afternoon knitting going?" telephone call. I was sent directly to the central titillating data bank where young males' desires are actually processed through a legit matchmaking computer application.
I gave the sex operator my bio: six feet tall, short blonde hair, hazel eyes, college sophomore at the University of Arizona, and in the mood for fun with erotic babes.
"Your sexual preferences? Either shy, aggressive, dominant, kinky or animalistic," inquired the phone sex operator lady. "Kinky," I proudly answered back. "Friendly chat or phone sex?" she proceeded. I needed to tell her the magic words to open the door to the Dominatrix women that would soon be talking to me from their dungeon cages, those two taboo words that make politicians and parents alike shutter: phone sex.
She plugged these references into the data bank and I was quickly connected to a "hostess" of love. "Brandi" magically appeared, an 18-year-old vixen and teaser who said that she too, was from the Tucson area (OK, sure you are, "Brandi.")
Brandi claimed that she was five foot six, had "light baby blue eyes" and blonde hair. She told me that she had been pursuing a job as an actress or dancer, or some other mirage of a Hollywood dream. I rejected these background tidbits and proceeded into the meat and potatoes of the call: hot, orgasmic-lovin' courtesy of a tele-tantalizing woman.
We started small talk like any good couple should, and she proceeded to tell me to lie down on my bed and close my eyes.
It was like Disneyland, Mom!
She whispered, in a New York accent, that she would start off by manipulating parts of my body with her succulent lips. She wanted to know if I liked this. I was feeling an ecstatic queasiness like a pre-pubescent junior high schooler going for cleavage on the first date.
Her soft and soothing voice convinced me that we should proceed onto her silk-sheets laden waterbed with mirrors surrounding the perimeter of her lust boudoir. She described how she was easing out of her black lace panties and black bra, size C, and made sure to tell me that she was in the buff floating on the waves of the bed. She had consequently transformed me from a flaccid, intimidated coed into a John Holmes porno-king clone in a matter of seconds.
"Brandi" did confide in me the fact that her real name was "Courtney," either an act of truthful goodwill or another lie to psychologically tempt male callers into spending more time and cash on the phone. She gave me her extension number because she said that we might get disconnected soon (probably another money-squeezing stunt).
Then, she began to frighten me during her instigated phone coitus session. It was as though she had actually brough herself to climax over the phone and I was in a dazed stupor when she panted sighs of ecstasy. She was on the verge up until that very moment when . CLICK!
We had been disconnected like she had predicted. I had lost my phone sex virginity to someone who dumped me even before bodily fluids started to flow. What insanity!
But, children, the lesson of this story is that when you combine pure sexual drive with American capitalism and greed, most anything can happen. Sex is the subtle force which drives men to their graves and crumbles ancient empires.
Truly, sex over the phone lines is quite an interesting sociocultural look at our lifestyles and, hey, for about $3.99 per minute you might even find a pervert or two out there just lookin' to get off.
You May Survive" is a regular alterNation feature in which Wildcat reporters take a little risk and brave unusual situations or commit acts that Wildcat readers may or may not want to take part in themselves.
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