By Marlayna Dawson
For over six years I worked as a phone sex operator. Guys told me everything – and then some. Sure, I already knew about fetishes – who doesn’t? But you would not believe some of the fetishes I heard about on the job.
The strangest came from a weekly caller who fantasized going scuba diving with a woman, sharing one oxygen tank. I guess it was all about risk and danger for him. I was highly committed to the job, and to make it sound realistic I put my head in the sink, underwater, and gasped for air in between talking. Hey, this was far from the worst thing I ever did on the phone – but I sure felt silly. Besides, nothing about this fantasy turned me on. But other fetishes did, for instance, food. Eating and/or playing with food before. During. After. As foreplay, main event, and afterglow.
The funny thing is, I used to have an aversion to mixing food with sex, ever since the time my ex-husband and I fooled around with maple syrup. It was such a sticky mess, especially in my hair, that I vowed never to merge kitchen and bedroom activities again. But then a customer changed my mind with his sexy – and mouth-watering – fantasy requests. A simple man, Rick’s favorite sex food was the most common: whipped cream.
It’s obvious why whipped cream is popular between the sheets. It’s thick, white, and creamy, and it’s easy – even fun! – to apply. It’s delicious; even without sex eating whipped cream feels sinfully decadent. The first few times Rick called, he talked me through the fantasy, and once I picked it up, I did what I always did on the phone — talked him to a climax.
“I’m rubbing mounds of whipped cream all over my pussy,” I whispered. To make it realistic, I actually squirted whipped cream on myself, then ate it after I hung up the phone. This was no big sacrifice! Rick started calling every night, and soon I was buying cans of whipped cream by the dozen. I considered buying stock in the company.
Not only did I cover my lower erogenous zones in whipped cream, I also experimented with my nipples and even my asshole. I dipped a silicone dildo into a bowl of the stuff, and masturbated with it. “I’m teasing my clit with a cool delicious dildo,” I told Rick. I squirted some on my hand so he could hear it, and used it as lube. “Now I’m putting it inside.” With a sigh and a moan – absolutely genuine – I slid the dildo all the way in. It would mean a shower after the call; after all, Rick wasn’t there to lick it out of me. But I made him feel like he was.
“Ricky, baby, go down on me now, clean out my pussy…does it taste good, pussy juice mixed with whipped cream?”
He went nuts. And speaking of nuts, eventually he added them to our nightly dessert – along with sprinkles, chocolate chips, and cherries. When he got around to hot fudge, I only pretended to agree – remembering my experience with maple syrup, I couldn’t deal with anything that sticky.
It’s been many years since I spoke to Rick, or did phone sex…and yet, even after all this time, I can’t walk past a bakery window full of éclairs and cannolis without buying one, taking it home, and partying with every sex toy in the house.
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Marlayna Dawson lives in California. A former phone sex worker, this is the first of two columns by Marlayna.
To see a video about dirty talk, check out Talk to Me Baby by S.I.R. Video diva Shar Rednour.