Memoir

234. Blue Days Black Nights (Doo Wah Doo Lang)

Adam Holtrop/Flickr Creative Commons

Adam Holtrop/Flickr Creative Commons

“Southern Belles, what’s your name, hon?”

“James.”

“You feeling naughty tonight, James?”

“I have a couple of questions. Are the women really southern?”

“Born and raised.”

“I mean, with accents?”

“They’re all southern girls, darlin’.”

“Okay. How much is it?”

“Fifty dollars for 30 minutes, and you can talk about whatever you want.”

“Anything?”

Anything.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay. Give me 30 minutes worth.”

“Okay, baby. Just give me your credit card and phone number and one of our girls will call you right back.”

“One more question: Can she be short and blond?”

“She can be whatever you want, sugar.”

WIMbot_Web_BW_sm“Hello?”

“Hey, is this James?”

“Call me Jim.”

“Hey, Jim. I’m Sunset. You horny tonight?”

“Jody.”

“Huh?”

“Can your name be Jody?”

“Okay, Jim. It’s Jody. I’m just laying here on my bed brushing my blond hair. What are you doing?”

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Fuck those guys.”

“Oh, you like watching me fuck other guys? That’s hot.”

“No, I don’t like it. You broke my heart.”

“Aw, I’m sorry, baby. Come over here and let me suck your dick and make it all better.”

“No, stop. Don’t talk like that.”

“What?”

“I don’t want you to talk like that.”

“You don’t want to talk about sex?”

“No.”

“Then why did you call a phone sex line?”

“The operator said I could talk about whatever I wanted.”

“All right. What do you want to talk about, Jim?”

“Why did you leave me?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to argue. Why did you leave me?”

“I wouldn’t have been fucking all them boys if you wasn’t fucking all them girls, you son of a bitch.”

“That’s not true. I was faithful to you.”

“You’re a liar, motherfucker.”

“I loved you more than anything. I loved you more than myself.”

“You sound like a pussy. I needed me a real man, not a faggot.”

“I just want to know why you left.”

“Because you’re a limp-dicked faggot.”

“I’m sorry, this just isn’t working. Thanks for trying,” I said.

“Whatever. It’s your money,” she said, and she hung up.

I grabbed another beer and sat back down at my typewriter.

Categories: Memoir

2 replies »

  1. Vintage James (I guess I can’t call you Jim) Stafford. You got me wondering, “Is he really going to do this?” and then took a big left turn. I have to admit, when I was bleeding from a broken/betrayed heart, it never occurred to me to do this. Not that having another beer is any better, just cheaper.

    Like

  2. From my brief stint on the other end of that line, you were not a rarity. In fact, the minority of men wanted to talk about sex, they just wanted to talk. They were lonely, felt unattractive, too shy to ask a girl out, disfigured in some way……I had a young girl once who just wanted to talk to someone because her boyfriend went out almost every night with his buddies, she had no friends and no one to talk to.
    I quit the job not because I was embarrassed about working a phone sex line, but because it felt shitty having lonely people pay money just to talk. Talking some sexy bullshit to a faceless stranger was so much easier, I could do it while I was reading a book. Talking with people who needed some kind of human connection other than sex and were willing to pay for it hurt my heart, and there were just way too many of them calling.

    Liked by 1 person

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