Mercury Poisoning Part 5

                In the sea of mind- numbingly dull and mundane jobs that is my "career" history, I actually had one that

paid reasonably well and was quite interesting to boot. I answered an ad in a local alt paper for a "telephone

actress" and officially worked for the company in a rundown office building for a year or so before I got the nerve

and/or the sense to figure out that all it takes is one phone call to the right guy or two or ten, a cell phone, and a

P.O. Box to cut out the middle man, so to speak. It's a heck of a lot cheaper for the guy in the long run. You would

not believe how much some of these men spent on phone sex. I was very reasonably priced, I thought. I'm by no

means a greedy person, I basically just wanted rent money. Is that so wrong? I think not! And I was very good at

my job. I think my customers would give me a high satisfaction rating. Anyway, most of the callers were ordinary

run-of-the-mill guys just looking to bust a nut - I'm a classy lady, I know- and talk about blowjobs or fucking a

cheerleader and man, did that shit get dull! Yawn. No offense, but there was not a hell of a lot of creativity there.

I was always more than happy to talk to the guy with the castration fantasy (you'd be surprised at how common

this is, by the way), or the man who wanted you to pretend be a 50 foot woman crushing buildings and cars, just

destroying a whole town and yes, at the end, his testicles, with your giant high heels- crunch! At least these men

offered me some original and interesting conversation, and as long as children were not involved I was fine with

whatever it was that got them excited. Some women there had no problem indulging the occasional pedophile who

called. I was, and still am, horrified by this. How could they in any way, shape or form encourage that shit? And

some of those bitches had kids of their own! That shocked me, and I am damned near unshockable. A few of the

regulars were just lonely and wanted real converstation of the non- sexual kind. I tried my best to avoid them.

It just made me sad to think of how lonely and vulnerable they were. On the other end of the spectrum were my

very favorites: a small but dedicated group of "regulars" who, after testing the waters with me and apparently

growing comfortable would proceed to tell me these incredibly detailed and almost tender and heartbreaking

stories about how they wanted to be with a man. I don't use the word "heartbreaking" lightly here. I just wanted to

tell them to stop being so afraid of the fact that they are "curious" or yes, maybe gay, and just LIVE your life and

maybe actually meet a guy that you really like and can sleep with and maybe even fall in love with and live out

these fantasies and just try to be happy. Doesn't that just make sense? It seems quite obvious to me that you are

asking for trouble if you try to deny who and what you are, and that the world would be a hell of a lot nicer if we

all tried to be just a little more open- minded and honest and tolerant with one another. Now you tell me, how

come a poor girl from a crappy place like Cleveland can see this while so many others can't? But you know what?

They weren't paying me for my opinions, they were paying me to listen. And the truth is, where the fuck did I get

off thinking I could solve their issues, sexual or otherwise? I wanted to be the Mother Theresa of phone sex,

passing out my nuggets of wisdom to these confused men about the beauty of living life honestly and without

fear. Meanwhile the thought of actually opening my heart, or anything else for that matter, to a partner filled me

with terror.


                One of my regulars and probably my very favorite was a self-described "sissy boy" with a wife and

kids and a wild imagination filled with meticulously thought- out and detailed gay fantasies. He was really smart

and possessed a really wicked sense of humor as well. I am by no means dominant by nature but I think l did

quite well for a novice, and he seemed to agree. He was actually my first "freelance" customer, so to speak,

and helped me out quite a bit financially for a time. Even helped me get a new car. That's horrible, right? I tell

you, I don't know how strippers and hookers and hustlers do it: actually look these tricks in the eye, face to face,

and take their money. I am not making a moral judgment when I say that because I believe if someone wants to

pay for sex and someone's selling and everyone is of age and consenting, then it's nobody else's business. I'm

just saying, it's hard to sell a piece of yourself. At least it was for me and I was miles away from these men. I

think maybe I'm just a soft touch though. But this guy and me, we ended up talking about a lot of things besides

sex sometimes and before too long he asks about my childhood. He basically says, you're too smart for this.

Why didn't you go to college? Why are you getting paid to listen to pervs like me beat off? Not in a cruel way, of

course. He's just quite a bit older than me and a father and I think he has grown a little concerned about my well

being in a way that takes us both by surprise. So I ask, why are YOU calling me? Why are YOU so obsessed with

this kind of sissy, submissive shit with more than a little bit of seriously freaky religious overtones? Deflect, that's

my M.O. But I do have a valid point, he concedes. He tells me a bit more about his sexual compulsions and then

here's the kicker: he tells me he was molested. Somehow I knew this was coming. This is the stuff that makes me

really uncomfortable, but I find myself telling him, you know, my early childhood is a blur. I have some vague

memories of being in the second grade, and I know it was second grade because I remember the hideous dress

I was wearing because, just my luck, I am wearing it on "picture day", and there's this old dude and if I'm not

mistaken he's some kind of therapist, if that don't beat all, and I can't really remember what happened exactly but

suffice it to say, it wasn't good. And then I find myself telling him about being in the woods at twelve with a grown

man and it's pretty horrifying to actually say this shit out loud and he's so sad for me and I'm sad for him as well,

because he has a wife I'm sure he loves and beautiful kids and a really good job and yet he is just so unhappy

and ruled by his compulsions. He is really intelligent and imaginative and creative and, like me, really fucked up

emotionally. I do a disappearing act shortly after this chat, of course. I really hope he's doing well.