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December 2001



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Sunday - December 23, 2001
WANT SOME CANDY, LITTLE GIRL?

I have to confess my favorite calls are the dirty old men. I don't know why. Maybe because an intrinsic part of being a phone slut is the playful enjoyment of being a tease. Maybe because it falls in line with my personal fantasies and fetishes. Or maybe I'm just a sick twisted fuck. All possible.

But, I've had an increased number of dirty old men calling around these holidays. All loners and bachelors. Men with too much money and too little affection in their lives. 

The funny thing about these guys is that they start out so shy. They will call and huff and puff a little into the phone and then hang up on you. I so totally fucking hate that. But once I've spoken with them a few times and cooed at them sweetly, they come around. They start to walk to chit chat a little before the seduction. And they say "thank you" and "goodbye" after.

It's fun to peddle these guys in reverse. They start out using you like a hooker and end up calling to talk. I begin being labeled as a "cum guzzling whore" and somewhere along the line turn into "sweetheart." The transformation is a blast. 

I don't know much about these 50-somethings. I wonder a lot about what kind of crabapples they must embody to be at a stage in life where they have to pay to have a phone slut be affectionate to them - for it to be a gesture they so embrace. And I think about those first phone calls. About how they were expecting and ready for a female voice to use as a receptacle for their grunted lust. But, how eagerly they veered off in favor of the terms of endearment.

I once took a phone call from a dirty old man who just had a fantasy about fucking the brains out of some young, hot cheerleader. I was his neighbor girl and he lured me into the house and just fucked me like the cock-hungry whore I was (aren't we all?). At the end of his slam-bam-thank you-batgirl routine, I casually whispered "good-bye sweetie" (I'm southern - "sweetie" is a staple of conversation). He did a complete double-take.

What did you call me?

Sweetie.

And then he just fell quiet for a moment and hung up. Not a fucking clue what to think about the experience. Since then, he calls regularly. Only he's much less carnivorous in his fantasies. It is not so much about devouring me as it is "come sit on my lap, little girl, and let me touch you" - which I suppose could be considered more sinister by some due to the increased level of intimacy we share.

I don't know. On the surface there is nothing more straightforward than a dirty old man. But, they're so much fun. 

Maybe I've just always wanted Santa to creep into my room to deliver more than toys. 


Ho Ho Ho 






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