I try very hard not to over-romanticize this job. Because there are many times when it really isn`t as much fun as it should be. I am never certain if I`m painting an accurate picture of the industry itself, or just my personal experiences. However, seeing as this is a journal of my somewhat personal experiences, there`s no getting around that. The truth lives and dies with me as I see fit to dole it out. And, while I try to be frank in what I offer, I am also guarded. It is a tightrope walk. Every entry.
I mentioned to Sinn today that I often feel like an alcoholic who had taken a job as a wine tester. I had a phone sex fetish before starting this job, and I know that my reflections could be viewed as both rose-colored, or jaded depending on the point of view.
I was also talking with Rio about the life expectancy of a phone slut. Contrary to popular belief, phone sluts are not immortal. We definitely have a shelf-life. There is only so long you can do this and have your heart in it (or, other organs as the case may be). Rio herself worked phone sex for many years, but the idea of taking a call today repulses her. She`d rather have bamboo shoots under her nails. The blush is definitely off the rose. You are only a crunchy pickle for so long.
So, I try to stress the sick-o kinks and the hardcore pervs because they are the tobacco of phone sex. You lose one year off your phone slut life for every regular demented ape you have to deal with. I should call the whole genre Cancer Johns.
But, there are other johns who are the counteragents of the cancer johns.V.J. Paradised is one of them. VJ has been calling for a while. He started out calling as a fluke and went through the usual denial.
I never called one of these things before.
I`m not going to do this every week, I`m just having fun.
Right. For two months now. Like clockwork every Friday and Sunday.
But it`s okay. A lot of these guys seem to call because they don`t have anyone else they can talk to about their hang-ups. Still, others call because they just want to talk to someone unguarded. I`m anonymous and attentive. Okay, so I`m not cheap, but you know, two out of three ain`t bad.
VJ likes to talk about film. Movies. He`s a movie connoisseur, which suits me because I am as well. We talk about sexual tension in The Professional. We talk about our affinity for foreign and independent films - about how a zealous violent sequence in film can be artistic if presented right. And lately we have been confessing our evil secrets.
So, amid a scattering of sexual hang ups (he wants to snowball, but can`t gather the courage to ask a girl to do it with him), VJ confesses one of his shameful movie likes. And I confess one of mine. And we`ve fallen in the habit of laying hands on each other`s guilty pleasures and comparing notes later.
This week I confessed to Hudson Hawk, and he gave up 8 Seconds. I know, I know. But it`s fun in a twisted sort of way. When most guys want me to watch a movie, it`s something starring Jenna Jameson, so, this is a nice change. I can handle overly-sentimental rodeo stories that feature a Baldwin.
I`m not deluded. I know that the shelf-life of a regular can be even more brief than that of a phone slut. But it`s nice to have a little fun before reaching our expiration dates.
I also had a nice note from a reader and other diarist who asked permission to add one of my poems to his site. Stormchild. It has begun to strike me that there is a small ring of journals that are somewhat incestuous. We peek over one another`s shoulders and read and often what appears in one journal will pop up in a few others. Sometimes I have the amused thought that there are no readers - just diarists going their rounds.
Um, sort of a postscript for those of you who might have been wondering, I am not an absolute moron. I know these entries are riddled with broken links and grammar errors. I`m working on needling Sinn to help me revamp the journal method and software because as it stands, it`s just a tad too complicated to make revisions.