Cameryn Moore, PHONE WHORE

My extreme sub (hi, Gary!)
September 3, 2009, 6:38 pm
Filed under: Cameryn 101 | Tags: ,

I have one caller, Gary, who reads this blog. Has read this blog, at least. I don’t know how often he visits. I talk about him to my partner, to a couple of friends; to them he is my “extreme sub”. I believe him, that he does what he says he does. And if I believe him in that, then it’s a fact that no one else I know goes nearly as low. In the land of extreme submission, Gary is the most brazenly, flamboyantly humble of them all. To be specific, he’s a toilet slut, a sort of time-lag shit-pig who hates the act at the time but for days and weeks afterward wallows in his perversity.

Most of our calls, though, are normal. Like, we talk about stuff for 45 minutes or so and then I talk about force-feeding him my shit, and then we wrap it up and say good night until next time. In that prelude time, we talk about anything, and a couple of months ago I told him about my plans for the Phone Whore play and audio downloads. He said, show me the blog, maybe I have some ideas for marketing. I took a leap of faith and told him.

Since then he’s been away, to East Asia and Europe, on business. The fact that I even know why he hasn’t called, tells you a little something about our relationship. Last night, finally, he called. I was pleased to hear from him, and told him so. I asked him about the trip. I asked had he seen the blog yet. Yes, he said, It’s interesting. I’m a little hurt, though, that you haven’t mentioned me.

I told him that I felt protective of my connection with him, that it would feel strange to talk about in public. I told him that I wrote about him in Phone Whore, a whole paragraph. (Yes, I even asked him to donate to the play!) That seemed to settle it. But after we had our scene, and we said good night and hung up, I realized that it wasn’t settled. Not for me…

I know what you want to hear, Gary. Apparently the fierce possessiveness that you heard in my voice last night, the part that made you come, wasn’t enough to convince you. So I’ll tell you, right here, in public:

In my mind’s eye I can see you crumble and cry beneath wave after wave of filth. You are resplendent in your despair, and beautiful when you break. I wish I could be there when that dom couple down South degrades you so thoroughly. And I’m glad you keep choosing me to hear about it, and ask you pointed questions, and listen to your voice dropping low and trance-like, and make you relive that degradation all over again. I cherish that power. So much that I’m giving you this post as a thank-you gift.

So read it over again now, imagining it in my voice, and come all over that nice leather sofa of yours. Now lick it up. Do it.


You’re welcome. Call me again soon.


Nature or Nurture? or, how to raise a phone whore
August 26, 2009, 8:42 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: ,

One thing about training for phone sex work is that mostly, it doesn’t exist. They toss some supposed transcripts of calls at us, maybe a few lists of synonyms for “vagina” and “penis”, and throw us in. My current company let me listen to three or four phone calls before I started, and I could ask questions of the operator after. At the time I thought that was … insufficient, but after hanging out on a PSO forum and reading about the experiences of other PSOs, I realized my good fortune.

A couple of different schools of thought emerged in this thread about training. One was that just about anybody could learn to be a decent PSO, if they had proper training. The other camp basically believe in survival of the fittest; throw your candidates into the deep end of this really scary, dank pond, they say, and see who resurfaces.

It sounds harsh, but I’m starting to appreciate the sink-or-swim approach. I mean, look at the skill set needed for PSO work: outgoing, talkative, mentally flexible, sexually open, unflappable. It’s not even a skill set, is it? It’s a personality profile, emerging from life experience in a way that is difficult to trace and impossible to replicate. Like morel mushrooms or edible acorns, they show up where they show up. You can’t grow them, you just appreciate them when you find them.

So actually, I don’t know how to raise a PSO. (That’s just as well; I don’t think there’s a lot of call for that parenting manual.) But the folks who would try to train people for the lines, their “training packets” are not helpful, either…. “Be yourself.” “Follow their lead.” “Keep ’em talking.” How? HOW?? If the rough-and-tumble, give-and-take of conversation with strangers doesn’t come naturally to you already, it sure as shit isn’t going to suddenly happen when you’re talking about shoving a dirty dildo into someone’s mouth.

The truth is, every decent-to-good PSO needs those traits, but we all get there in different ways. Me? I got my go-get-’em chops and assertive voice from being raised in a big family, doing activism, living through a sequence of unlikely personal choices that blew the doors off my sexuality. Someone else might come to it after a lonely childhood, two marriages, and four years of telesales. There’s no pattern to it, no sequence of learnings that can be recorded and slipped into a training module.

So we stumble into the deep end, all of us newbies, and some of us, somehow, get our heads above water and breathe. It’s a messy way to recruit, but it might be the only way.

Big Cock Candy Mountain
August 12, 2009, 6:14 pm
Filed under: Naughty Song Rewrites | Tags: ,

In my non-sex-work performing life, I have frequently appropriated and rewritten Broadway show tunes and other well-known lyrics for satirical purposes. It’s an odd way to relax, but I’m good at it and, well, there you go. So after a recent call–a particularly rapid and exhausting review of Physically Impossible Sex Acts, Parts 2, 5, and 7 (in 15 minutes)–I was not surprised to have the following emerge:

(sung to the tune of Big Rock Candy Mountains, which you can hear versions of all over, in O Brother, Where Art Thou, and also in kids’ radio programming sometimes)

Big Cock Candy Mountains

In the Big Cock Candy Mountains there’s a land that’s fair and bright
Where the girls all shave their bushes and you eat out every night
Where the glory holes are open and the sun shines every day
On the birds and the bees and the testicle trees
Where the urine streams, where the dildo reams
In the Big Cock Candy Mountains

In the Big Cock Candy Mountains all the cocks are hard all day
And the dogs are always willing and the boys all like to play
And every drawer is brimming with piles of lingerie.
Oh, I’m bound to come, gonna get me some
where the beds will shake and vibrators hum
In the Big Cock Candy Mountains

In the Big Cock Candy Mountains you never change the sheets
And the little streams of pussy juice leave white spots on the seats.
The choirboys go commando and the priests don’t seem to mind.
There’s a lake of poo and other goo
If you step in that, I’ll lick your shoe
In the Big Cock Candy Mountains

In the Big Cock Candy Mountains the floors are always clean
So if that horny mood should hit, you can drop and start your scene
The men are long and tall here, ev’ry girl a sex machine
I’m a-gonna to stay where you fuck all day
Where the cream and honey just flow that way
In the Big Cock Candy Mountains

(tip of the battered hat to Harry McClintock)