Cameryn Moore, PHONE WHORE


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.



The 7-Minute Sub (no, it’s not a sandwich)
August 3, 2009, 8:16 pm
Filed under: The Power of Words | Tags: , ,

When I get a call, the dispatcher gives me a quick-hit low-down on what the caller likes, according to their records: likes big tits, doesn’t talk much, likes strap-on. These few words, called “whispers”, are priceless. We need them to get started, because getting from zero to “likes to be pissed on”, for example, in under 10 minutes is tough. Twenty questions would not be enough, is what I’m saying.

But some whispers are, how shall I say… useless. Not because of the dispatcher, but because of the caller, and because of the inadequacy of words, and the inherent self-centeredness of everyone’s sexual world. One whisper I particularly dislike is “wants to be dominated”.

Because on a seven-minute call, unless it’s part of an ongoing, regular phone relationship, you aren’t experiencing domination. You’re experiencing someone being loud and stern at you while you get to do exactly and only what you want to do.

The seven-minute sub, if it was a sandwich, would be your delicious choice of any imaginable ingredient in the world, on two slices of grocery-store sourdough, with maybe some mayo. I would be wearing a hairnet and high-heeled boots, and I would hand your sub to you on a plate and yell, “EAT IT!” at random intervals. But you don’t mind the noise because it’s exactly the sandwich you want. At least the filling is, and that’s what people order sandwiches for anyway, isn’t it?

The seven-minute sub wants the domme call because he wants to lick my ass or worship my boots and he can’t imagine any other way that he would do that without a strong woman being involved.

The seven-minute sub is the ultimate bratty bottom. He doesn’t need a safe word, because he can pull out of his bottomness at any time and say, “Actually, I’m not into that…” Or just say “NO!” and hang up, like one person did on me last week.

The seven-minute sub is playing at it. Some might say that all phone-sex subs are playing at it, that there’s no way to truly dominate someone over the phone. My experience? Not true. I have several regulars who take everything I dish out and are clearly relishing the feeling of being dominated. I have a particular favorite whom I have told to lick his come off of his leather sofa at the end of the call, and he does it, no question, even though he’s already come.

Point is, you can get there in 90 minutes, or even 10. But seven minutes of phone-sex domination is just a scold and a wank. I’ll do it for the money, but believe me, the longer you give me to make you a sub, the tastier it’s going to be.



I know you’re there, I can hear you breathing
July 23, 2009, 7:50 am
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: ,

There is a lot more silence in my work than I would have thought, had I been thinking at all about phone sex before I started doing it. And there are enough different kinds of silence that I would be fully justified in developing separate words for each…

  • That silence between calls when I don’t have any of my other work to do, so I’m waiting for the ring and it’s not there. It’s echoingly empty, slightly resentful, a vacuum that goes on for-fucking-EVER.
  • The silence you get on the street at 2:30 in the morning, when that other silence gets too much and I need to relieve the pressure on my ears. Outside, the silence is calm and dark and velvety, and I relax into it.
  • The slightly staticky silence after the dispatcher calls me and I’m waiting for the caller’s phone to ring. That’s a busy silence, where I’m taking the two sentences the dispatcher gave me about what the guy likes and brewing up ways to get there. (Because no matter how many times I take a fart call, I just CAN’T figure out how to be smooth about it.)

Anyway, the silence that I’ve been thinking about most these days is more transient than these, harder to pin down because it blows by in my calls and I don’t even realize it’s there until afterwards, when I replay the conversations in my head and occasionally wonder, “How did I know to go there when the guy hardly talked at all?” It’s those sporadic silences, blinking open and closed like eddies in a rushing river of narrative, that I am learning to love.

There is where I catch my breath, and rather than immediately plunging back into the story, I sit still, even for a fraction of a second, and wait. And listen. I am silent, and the caller thinks he is being silent, too. But I can hear the creak of a chair, the slight whispering squelch of a well-lotioned hand, an involuntary intake of breath. Sometimes I even imagine that I can hear his brain humming along at high speed, like the subliminal whirr of a roomful of very expensive computers.

The quiet is not just for me. It is the space I make for my caller to sigh, or moan, or say yes, or add three more teenage girls into the scene, each with slightly different nipple sizes. Lacking visual cues, I need verbal ones, and there must be space for the caller to give them. I used to talk over my callers a lot, when I first started. I’m slowly learning to find the natural rhythm of the action, and when each phrase within our call comes to its natural conclusion, I pause. I wait. I am silent.

And then, because I only have 15 minutes, or 10, or 7, I take a deep breath and dive back in.

(I just realized that silent and listen are anagrams. That is exactly perfect.)



The “real” question
July 10, 2009, 3:23 pm
Filed under: The Power of Words | Tags: ,

Call endings vary, just like the callers. If they’ve been raised properly, they thank me, even if it was a 5-minute blow-job, and wish me a good night. Sometimes they just hang up, as abruptly as dropping a vibrator on the floor after you’re done with it. (I don’t take it personally, any more than the vibrator does.) But occasionally, one of my callers asks the question:

What do you do in real life?

By that he means, “What do you do when you’re not bringing men to orgasm on the phone?”

Now, I don’t have a problem with the question. It helps keep me grounded in the totality of who I am. So I tell him: I’m a writer. I’m a choreographer. I’m a performer. But I don’t know why he wants to know. Is it just one more detail to add to the fantasy? Is it something like the “hooker with a heart of gold” stereotype? Does it make it better or worse for the caller if I’m a grad student, a dancer, a desperate housewife, a sorority sister getting her kicks, a out-call prostitute resting her cooch, an environmental activist, an underpaid junior-high teacher, a feminist playwright? I’m not sure.

There’s also an issue with definitions: what is “real”? Is the life I lead on the phones, are the encounters with Jason T. and Frank N. and Teddy F. entirely unreal, transient, without metaphysical or emotional value? Because here’s the thing: I have had sessions where the caller cried for a couple of minutes afterward, the cathartic impact was that real. And I have had extremely satisfying sex with my partners that is essentially the same as phone sex, that is, mutual masturbation with dirty-fucking-pig talk.

And this is one of my premises, in all the work I do: Talk, of the dirty-pig variety or otherwise, is real. Talk makes us human, and helps us to interact with others. “It’s just words.” Well, yes. And no. It’s words, but not just. Whether you’re using words to flirt, fuck, or foment social revolution, you’re creating a space in two or more people’s heads where change or challenge or awesome dirty-pig sex–or all of the above!–can take place.

So I will never meet any of my callers, and our talk may end in nothing more than a damp paper towel, but those 10 minutes, exchanging words, are just as real as the rest of our lives.



This is a phone-sex blog
July 5, 2009, 11:37 pm
Filed under: Cameryn 101 | Tags: , ,

This is not a phone-sex blog. You won’t find a number anywhere on this page that you can call up and buy a 10-minute block of time with Cameryn. (Nor will I sell my panties to you. I need them.)

This is a phone-sex blog. I am a professional phone sex operator (under a different name). Phone sex is what pays my bills, and not only that, it is something that I am fascinated by and enjoy.

There is a lot of down-time with the job, though, waiting for calls to come in (I work for a dispatch company). So I’m developing a line of creative and educational “by-products” of phone-sex work, and also am looking forward to getting out some of my thoughts right here about the issues that frequently come up through and around my work.

What else is in the works? I’ve been booked for a dirty-talk workshop in mid-November in the Boston area, and am working feverishly on the script and fundraising plans for a one-woman play, Phone Whore, with a target of getting it onto the Canadian Fringe Festival circuit in the summer of 2010 (I’m planning a benefit showcase for the latter half of August). This blog is also going to be expanding dramatically over the next couple of months, as I add an event calendar and audio components (both free and pay-to-download).

Long story short? Sexy + intelligent + straight-up + self-pimping = Cameryn Moore, Little Black Book Productions, and this blog. If you enjoy it even half as much as I do, your panties are going to be a little damp all day long.

First question to readers: what is something you’ve always wanted to know about phone sex work? (If you’re a fellow phone-sex operator, what is something you’ve always wanted to tell people about our work?)