Phone sex is a multimillion dollar a year industry — I just don’t get it. Phone sex just doesn’t do much for me.
I’ve tried — God knows I’ve tried. Inevitably I start laughing. The absurd mechanics of trying to remove my pants and deal with God-knows-what while holding a phone is enough to kill the mood for me right off. But hey, that’s just me, and I’m obviously in the minority.
Since I couldn’t figure out the allure of phone fucking on my own, I thought perhaps I should enlist the help of a friend of mine, Divina, who has worked in the phone sex industry for many years. I figured I could spend some time with her, interview her a bit, listen to some calls, study her habits, and then document all of my findings in an essay of extreme sociological importance.
I hadn’t seen her in quite a while, so I called her up, told her what I was doing, that I’d like to hang out with her while she worked the phones for a day so that I might lift the veil from the face of this secret world, exposing the truth of whatever lay beneath, and tell the story to the world.
“Yeah, whatever … you got any booze?” was her reply.
I affirmed the presence of liquor in my cupboards, and she said she was on her way.
Here’s the way a basic phone sex system works: Customers thumb through ads in publications that range from glossy porno mags to local neighborhood papers. They come across a small advertisement, usually in the back of the publication featuring a very alluring male or female, with a phone number to call for “some real hot talk.” In the past, the number would typically begin with a 900 prefix. This meant that the caller’s next phone bill would contain a pirate-like gouge, probably something around $3 a minute, just for dialing the digits.