I still get a jolt when my work phone rings. In the 30 seconds before the caller will be connected I go through a quick (now ritualistic) mental prep-list, which begins with a deep breath, and ends as I give my perfected, sex-kitten “hello”. The anticipation is a rush, and I am, admittedly, a little disappointed if the caller is someone I’ve talked to previously.
New callers bring real challenges, and I enjoy figuring out the puzzle of what each one likes and wants.
As I’ve mentioned before, it’s rare for first time callers to tell me up-front why they’re calling. Most of the time I have to fish it out of them–slowly put their fantasy together, and adapt my role quickly with new information.
Sometimes it’s an awkward and clumsy process.
I’ve learned, however, it’s the calls I stumble through which create the best platform for understanding myself. They provide the harshest lessons—moments I am tested, and reflect back upon most while doing this job.
Many of my calls have elicited a strong emotional response from me. I’ve heard a lot of heartbreaking stories, participated in fantasies I did not enjoy, and even had a few calls gross me out. While these certainly aren’t pleasant experiences, I get over them quickly, and usually learn something valuable about myself.
Since starting this project I have only had a few truly awful calls…
This was one of them.
The first thing Tom said after hello was that he had not called me to cum.
A phone sex operators job is primarily about male masturbation fantasies. I’ve only had a few first-time callers who haven’t called me to cum. Mostly these have been girlfriend seekers, or gentlemen feeling me out for a longer, more detailed, role-play call later in the night. With both types there has always been sexual arousal and flirtation involved.
“Is it okay if I ask you some personal questions, before I tell you why I called?” Tom asked.
He was nervous–stuttering and pausing.
“I need your advice, Chloe. I need help,” he said.
It’s somewhat surprising how many times I’ve heard a caller utter those exact words.
Tom let me know he did not want a run-down of my PSO bio, and asked that I be truthful with my answers. He said we wouldn’t be playing characters–just two real people having a conversation.
This is a common “get-to-know-you” technique used by lonely girlfriend seeking callers. These men invariably want to know the “real” me. They want an affectionate connection, and to have our time together feel genuine.
This approach, along with Tom’s nervousness, and his statement that he didn’t want to cum, led me to assume this would be a “get-to-know-me” call from a potential new regular.
Unlike most girlfriend seekers I’ve talked to, Tom wasn’t interested in my personality, youth, or personal history. His questions were less personal, and more demographic–not things a man would generally ask if he wants me to be his pretend girlfriend. Was I married? How long had I been married? Do I have children or nephews/nieces? These questions were red flags; something in my assessment of Tom was off.
It was time to go fishing…
He didn’t take the bait.
Instead, he surprised me with one of the strangest requests I’ve heard since becoming a phone sex operator…
“Chloe, I want you to record my confession, and turn me into the police.”
This completely threw me off, and had me pushing the fantasy reset button–definitely not a girlfriend seeker. My head was spinning through the possible reasons for his request. I thought, maybe this is going to be a weird domination/punishment fantasy.
I told him it wasn’t possible for me to record his call (I use a basic land-line phone, which is preferred in the phone sex business). We discussed this back and forth. It was a matter-of-fact type conversation. His tone held no hint of arousal or sexual need, and he seemed genuinely distressed (unusual for phone sex).
“Tom, why don’t you tell me what you have done, and I can decide for myself if you should be turned in to the authorities.” I put a little impatience in my voice.
I was testing him–to see if he desired punishment. Tom seemed responsive to my change in approach, and I was becoming more certain by the seconds, that he had a “I’ve been a bad boy” fantasy.
While dominating men is not my favorite thing to do, it’s unfortunately quite common in paid phone sex. These calls are rarely sexual for me, and consist mostly of thinking-up outrageous plot twists to get my caller off. It’s acting, and I’ve learned to have fun with them.
I said, “Is that why you called me, Tom? Do you need to be punished?”
I was getting into the role, channeling my inner Domme. Tom seemed to be playing into it as well–he expressed shame for his actions and worried I would judge him harshly once I knew his crime. (These emotions are typical in punishment fantasies.)
I soothed Tom by reassuring him he could tell me anything, and I would not judge him.
I wasn’t prepared for this…
Tom was a high school teacher; 9th grade history. Earlier in the day (this call was late Friday night), he had been caught having sex with one of his female students.
“She didn’t want to–said she wasn’t ready, but I did it anyway. I raped her. It was rape. I raped her in my classroom, on my desk.”
Ugh/yuck–when I heard this I felt my tummy drop.
During the “encounter” another female student opened the door and witnessed the rape. She closed the door without saying anything. Tom panicked, sent the victim home, and nervously waited in his classroom for an hour–certain the police would soon arrest him.
The witness phoned him at home a few hours prior to his call with me. She begged him to confess to authorities. Tom asked what she would do if he didn’t turn himself in, and she told him if he hadn’t been arrested by Monday, she would call the police herself.
I had started holding my breath at some point while Tom was talking–I let it out slowly, while I processed his “confession”. My skin was crawling as I tried not to visualize his words. A teacher raping his 14yr old student is not a fantasy I want to participate in–ever. Immediately, my objective became getting through the call without it moving any closer toward fantasy gross-zone. We only had 5 minutes left on the clock. I started asking Tom questions, to fill the time and keep control of the conversation.
“Why can’t you turn yourself in, Tom?” I asked.
“I can’t. I tried before I called you. I’m a coward.” he was choking up as he replied–the real emotion caught me off guard.
“You could file an anonymous tip online,” I offered.
Tom didn’t answer most of my questions. His thoughts were coming out as disjointed ramblings–saying things like “this is really happening,” “I’m a bastard,” and “I deserve this.”
Until this point I hadn’t considered the possibility that Tom could be telling the truth. This is phone sex, and my past naivety with callers has made me skeptical of any far-out stories. Who calls a PSO to confess a crime they will be turned in for regardless? I can imagine, possibly, some sort of “Tell-Tale Heart” confession but this was not a get-it-off-his-chest type thing–his request seemed unnecessary and over-complicated.
However, if Tom was playing a role, he was convincing and completely committed to it. I was beginning to think about this call from an entirely new perspective–questioning what it would mean if Tom’s confession, was in fact, true.
There were a few other things, beyond Tom’s raw emotion, that left me feeling unsettled with the call. One was the lack of sexual descriptors in his story. Normally a man’s fantasy can be predicted by his choice of words, or where he puts his focus but Tom didn’t seem aroused and he was definitely not getting off.
We were running out of time. I spent the last moments trying to get a handle on what Tom’s motivation was for his call. I needed answers before he hung up. If I never heard from him again, I would always wonder about the truth (fantasy Vs. reality).
I began asking for verifiable information I could use to prove or disprove Tom’s confession. I asked for, his and the victims first and last name, the town, and the school.
Tom answered these questions without hesitation.
I was getting nervous. It was beginning to sink in that Tom may be, in fact, a rapist teacher, whom I was about to turn in to the police.
Holy shit, could this be real?
Tom again asked if I would record his confession and turn him in to the police. Hearing his request a second time, with new information, gave me the chills. I hesitantly agreed.
“Chloe, do you think your operators have the capability of recording my confession?” he asked.
I encouraged Tom to call them. I selfishly hoped this would relieve me of the duty of turning him in, or at the very least, make my company aware of the situation. If this was real and I was about to be dragged into a criminal case, I would need their advice.
Tom said he would call me back after he had spoken to the operators.
When the line disconnected, I turned straight to Google and started searching out the information Tom had given me. The city turned out to be common, and I kicked myself for not asking which state. The high school name was less popular, but with simple variations, I was able to locate three potential cross-over schools/towns, in a matter of minutes.
My heart was pounding and I kept looking over at my phone, expecting it to ring.
I searched for Tom, 9th grade history teacher, but didn’t find an exact match. The girl, on the other hand, produced too many options, but none paired with the high school name or town exactly.
To be honest, I’m not sure how valid my search was, between nerves and perceived lack of time, my brain felt scrambled. I found nothing in a fifteen minute internet search, which completely supported or ruled out the information Tom had given me. I was stuck and all I could do was wait. I thought about calling the operators, or my boss, but I didn’t. I sat in my office chair, staring at the computer, feeling sick and waiting for my phone to ring. When it did, I jumped and stopped breathing again. I didn’t really want to answer it, but how could I not? I had cued up my iPhone to record as much of the conversation as I could (listening to it was creepy)–I pushed record and answered the phone.
Tom started our second conversation, by telling me he had spoken with the operators but they had refused to hear his request. I asked him exactly what was said.
“Didn’t even let me ask. Just kept saying ‘sir, this is a phone sex line.” he said, sounding irritated by their lack of concern.
He wanted to know if I had found a way to record his call and when I told him no (my iPhone was mostly only capturing my end of our conversation), he suggested texting his confession to me and I agreed.
Tom said, “Will you do it then, Chloe? Will you turn me in?”
I told him if everything matched up, I would have no choice.
“This is really happening.” he said.
His words echoed my thoughts exactly–I was scared.
While I listened to the playback of the call, I can hear the exhaling of my uneasy breath, the stress is apparent in my voice. I agreed to call the police in his home town and report what he had told me. It was an intense, frightening moment. I kept thinking about the girls, the rape victim and also the witness. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t do whatever I could to help them.
“What information will you need to turn me in, Chloe?” he asked
The first thing I asked for was the phone number of the school, or his local police.
His answer, “Let’s save that for the end, Chloe”
“Umm, okay. What state do you live in, Tom?” I asked.
“Can we begin by verifying the information I’ve already given you, and move forward from there?” Tom suggested
I listed off the information, and he confirmed they were each correct.
Then he said, “What’s next, Chloe? What else will you need to call the police?”
Again, I asked for the telephone number or the state he lived in, but he avoided answering the questions, again. This was the moment I knew Tom’s confession was bullshit.
Over the next few minutes, Tom’s story fell apart. At first, he refused to give any more verifiable information, then the conversation began to shift. He started asking me questions; how I felt about him and what he had done.
As quick as that, I was back to being an anonymous phone sex operator. My relief was palpable, but I also felt a little silly for believing him. This is phone sex.
During our last ten minutes, Tom’s fantasy was revealed, and I have to say it was a good one–complex, with vivid, well thought-out details.
Want to know what it was?
I’ll give you a hint…
he wasn’t into little girls.
Until next time…
Kisses and Luv, Chloe