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Phone Sex: A Good Call?

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Crank calling was the thing to do in junior high and high school, back in the day (circa 1980s). This involved making phone calls to someone you weren’t supposed to call to convey a message you weren’t supposed to deliver.

Once, when I picked up the phone, a crank caller admitted he was calling for my (prettier, more popular) sister. Nonetheless, he flattered me: “I heard she has a sister just as cute.” So I stayed on the line until he asked, “Do you give blow jobs?” Looking back, I can almost see myself as Buckwheat having just, say, stuck his finger in a light socket; with frazzled strands of hair on end, shocked beyond description. All I could think to do was hang up on the crank caller.

I wasn’t as shocked when asked the same question recently. Ultimately, though, I’m left with some dismay and reminders that – regardless of how enlightened I think I am – I’m extremely naïve, especially when it comes to men and sex. The possibility that a man would want to have phone sex, and only phone sex, with me, had never entered my mind.

My recent non-sexual sexual interaction started with that moment when a gal catches a man eying her. We women know the look. It’s the one that says, “Wow. I want you.” And when we catch him giving the look, he quickly realizes he’s doing it and winces, blinks, or looks away.

After catching this man's glance, I thought, he’s charming. There’s something sexy about him. And our subsequent phone call discourse quickly escalated into flirtatious sex talk. We shared what we do and don’t do sexually (no threesomes or anal sex for me, no limits for him); how many partners we’ve been with (I can calculate on one hand, his are countless); concerns about dating people past their thirties who possibly have little to no sex drive, because we’re both hungry for sex; and more. As for blow jobs, I said “No. It’s gross” then amended this to say that “if the guy’s very giving, I’d consider it.”

Our discourse aroused me, especially when he whispered that he wanted my pussy. (I hadn’t mentioned the tabby lounging nearby, so I’m quite certain he wasn’t making a feline reference).

After closing my phone and washing up, I checked to find a few condoms in my dresser that hadn’t yet expired. I beamed, assuming I’d finally have use for them. It seemed certain we’d be dating, and having sex, in the near future. I even emailed my closest guy friend to tell him, “I may get some action this weekend.”

But that wouldn’t be the case. I talked this man into taking me out a few times, explaining, basically, that you need to romance a woman if you want to get laid. We had a nice, platonic time together, though I detected he was distancing himself. Meanwhile, the heated sex talk by phone continued.

“I won’t have phone sex,” I finally clarified.

The last time we got together, he made advances towards a prettier, younger woman, in my presence.

I later confronted him: “You said you want my pussy and then make the moves on someone else.”

“I don’t know what I want,” he admitted.

I do. He wants sex at no cost – no emotional or practical investment. He wants female sexual attention and all the excitement that includes, without any semblance of a real-life connection. So phone sex works for him. It works for many. Virtual sex (i.e., sex by phone or on-line or any other means besides in reality) is highly popular. Via a quick Google search, I found this robot that gives hand jobs, and slews of articles on phone sex.

Yep, I was/am naïve. Now I know that some men are so scared of any investment, they want the relationship to start and end with phone sex. I’m sure this is true for some women too, in fairness. And some people are so stifled by fear, they’re unsure of what they want, but phone sex is safe. They’ll readily initiate it.

There’s nothing morally reprehensible about this. Phone sex can fill a void, especially for couples in long-distance relationships. I only wish I’d been wiser to the realities of the whole phone sex thing, and this man’s intentions or lack thereof. Instead, I’m left with a slight sting of rejection and disappointment, along with condoms that are about to expire.

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