When a regular client stops calling (I’m a phone sex operator) I often don’t know why. Perhaps he’s gotten a girlfriend, or moved on to another operator, or maxed out his credit card one too many times talking to me. I can’t call him up demanding answers. Such is the nature of the business.
Sometimes when my older clients have vanished I’ve wondered if they’ve died. For the most part I can only guess, but I do know of two clients that have definitely passed away.
The first client was nicknamed Crazy T. He was in his late 70s. He called me obsessively for two years. He become a favorite caller when I was in school. I was in the midst of an intensive term and didn’t have time to do many calls. My brain was zapped from the course work and I didn’t have the energy to deal with demanding callers.
CT was an ideal client. He said I could call him any time and talk for as long as I wanted. He meant it. I would come home for lunch and call him up to talk for an hour. Later that night I would call him again and talk for an hour or two before heading to bed. There were many days where CT was the only client I talked to.
The calls themselves were amongst the easiest I’ve ever done. Once we settled into a routine I could even eat or read while talking to him. How? CT loved the idea of torture. He wanted me to hurt him in multiple ways — spankings, floggings, canings, whippings, nipple piercings, cock and ball torture, cutting, face slapping. The list seemed to go on endlessly. The beauty of CT was that he did most of the talking. He would ramble on and on about one of the above tortures. I could hardly get a word in, indeed he didn’t seem to need me to talk much at all.
When he wanted me to talk he would ask me to say something specific. “Say you’ll torture my balls Mistress.” I would say “I’m going to torture your balls by kicking them until you cry.” Then CT would be off again rambling, moaning and rambling again until he wanted another specific statement from me.
Why did I call him crazy? Because the longer we talked the more incomprehensible his ramblings would become. Near the end of the call they sounded more like mutterings than meaningful sentences. He often would chant words. “Torture” was his favorite. He would literally chant “torture, torture, torture, torture” over and over for minutes at a time. If he was talking about licking my pussy he would chant “lick it” or “suck it” repeatedly.
It was a perfect match for my busy schedule. I didn’t have to concentrate on CT calls. I often put my headset on mute and ate my meals while he chanted. I was able to do homework while he read me long passages from his retro SM books or chanted his favorite kinky words.
He also called other ladies and his constant calls with me eventually thinned out. But his obsession had so perfectly timed with my intensive term that I didn’t mind when he started calling less. He was there when I needed a caller just like him. His calls became more sporadic and then faded away completely.
Around a year later I heard from another PSO that he had died. His health had been steadily getting worse. In addition to medical problems he was an alcoholic slowing drinking himself to death.
I didn’t cry for him nor did I grieve. But I did have a moment where I paused and reflected. Unknowingly he helped me during a period where I still needed to make money but didn’t have much time. And I had given some excitement and companionship, albeit it over the phone, to a lonely old man in the last years of his life. Though we never met we both helped one another in our times of need.
Latex Geezer’s case is far more complex. LG expressed his desire to meet in person during our very first call. I didn’t take him seriously — lots of guys tell me this. After we had talked for awhile I felt comfortable enough to do an in-person with him. He was a state away and drove down to see me.
We met at a restaurant for lunch. He was old; I knew this already. I didn’t expect the skin to be sagging so much and for him to look so frail. “And he wants me to spank him,” I thought as I looked at him across the table.
Back in his hotel room I focused instead on his crossdressing. I’ll be honest — he wasn’t a pretty site dressed up in a corset, panties, stockings, and heels. I put on my sex worker smile and worked on his make up and jewelry. He had a fetish for latex, thus his nickname, and we incorporated it in almost every scene.
We did several professional sessions together. I did spank him in time but it was more lightly smacking instead of spanking. I made sure to use noisy toys to give the illusion that I was spanking hard.
Then after a session he asked me to marry him. I was taken aback. Was he serious? I was young enough to be his daughter and barely young enough to be his granddaughter. He wanted to move past the pro sessions and become my personal slave/husband. I said no. Actually I said no many times because he asked me repeatedly. Though I told him I had a husband he conveniently forgot this and chose to believe I had a boyfriend instead.
LG had money to throw around and offered to buy a home in my area if he could be my personal slave. He implied that he would eventually put the house into my name. On a visit we went to a real estate agent where I pretended to be his niece. We looked at several houses together. He didn’t like my choices, nor I his. Ignoring my advice he chose a big house that was overpriced. He would split his time in his home state to be with his grown children and in his new home to spend time with me.
As for being my slave, I told LG I already had a partner that met my sexual and kinky needs. I made it very clear I did not want a live-in slave. Since he was no spring chicken he couldn’t do hard labor for me. That left him with the option of personal assistant slave. We worked out an agreement. He would run errands for me and I would occasionally play with him. The scenes we’d do would be crossdressing, feminization, maid training and light spanking. He agreed and seemed happy with the situation.
Around this time I made a bad mistake as a sex worker. I believed a client who was used to getting his fantasies fulfilled in a pro session would be content to fulfill the duties I wanted fulfilled as a personal slave. In short, I believed something that was too good to be true.
At first it was great. I sent him to pick up groceries, look up info, run all over town to locate a hard to find item. I’d stop by his house and dress him up as a maid. He’d serve me my favorite foods. Afterwards I’d put clothespins on his nipples, spank him or tie him up and make him watch a BDSM video to tease him.
But things quickly went downhill. We began to bicker almost every time we got together. He started making excuses instead of fulfilling orders. He’d question why he even had to do tasks. This made me stop doing scenes with him. If I wasn’t getting my end of the bargain then why should he?
He did continue to take me out to dinner. I’ve eaten at some of the best restaurants where I live because of him. Our politics were diametrically opposed, he didn’t understand many of my interests and I couldn’t talk about my personal life, so conversation was always lackluster.
After a spanking or crossdressing scene he would complain that we didn’t go further. He kept dropping hints that he wanted to please me in every way since I was such a sensual Goddess. I knew what he meant and ignored him.
It was in LA where things finally fell apart. My husband, Sera, and I had gone out to LA on a roadtrip. I agreed to go to the hormone doctor with LG as his support. In my mind this was another trade. I fulfilled his fantasy of going to the boobie doctor — he paid for part of my vacation. LG took Sera and I out to dinner.
He demanded to lick my pussy. He had given me money for LA so he wanted something in return.
I was pissed. How dare he say such a thing! I reminded him that sexual service was never part of our agreement.
LG sneered that if he couldn’t be my sexual slave then he was giving the house to his children. I had always suspected he might do this so it didn’t come as a shock. We fought and yelled as we drove through LA rush hour traffic. I will give him credit though. I ordered him to drop me off at my hotel room and he did.
That was the last time I saw him in person.
We kept in contact over the phone. He started having health issues though he downplayed the severity. December was busy for him. He had several grandchildren and didn’t have time to check in with me. I was glad for the break. The trade we had agreed to had completely fallen apart. It felt like constant work to deal with him and I was no longer getting paid.
The last I heard from him was in January. He said the time apart had helped him and now he was committed to being my slave. I didn’t believe it. After many refusals to do what I told him he’d come back pleading with just this line. He promised to return in the spring.
But then he vanished. I didn’t realize right away. My husband and I were moving across town and I got wrapped up in my own life. My last conversation with LG had been a typical argument so I was glad to have some time apart.
A few months later I dreamed of LG. He was in a hospital bed with a gown on and tubes in his arms and nose. His children surrounded him. He sat upright and reached out his arms. “Mistress, Mistress, Mistress” he called over and over. He family was shocked but he kept calling out to me. I woke up with his voice in my head.
As I drank my morning coffee I googled his name and “obit.” Sure enough, up popped his obituary. It was April 6th but he died at the beginning of March.
Did he really call out to me on his deathbed? I have no way of knowing. But the dream felt real. Even typing it out gives me a little chill.
No matter what we called it I considered LG to be a client. He liked to call himself my slave. But he never really was.
With hindsight I realize LG wanted to be an Erectionland slave. I would play with him in the dungeon, fulfilling all his fantasies because they were my fantasies too. The only work I would make him do would be frivolous if it did not somehow fulfill his desires. Today I realize LG wanted a girlfriend who would fulfill his every fantasy. What he didn’t realize was that because of his age and his health he needed to pay to get all his desires met. I never should have agreed to a trade — I should have kept our relationship a professional one.
When a client dies it brings to light the odd relationship we had. On one hand our relationship was professional. They were a client and I was always Happy Sexy Mistress, eager to fulfill their every sexual fantasy. When the call ended our relationship dissolved in a sense until they called again to renew it.
On the other hand I often develop a sort of friendship with my clients. Yes they’re still paying for the sexy talk but sometimes it feels more personal. We can talk as friends before getting dirty. We can ask about each others lives and want real answers. Several callers tell me about their wives and children. When a much liked client calls me I genuinely smile because I know it will be a fun call.
It’s like we’re in a limbo relationship. Would I fulfill their fantasies for free? No. Would I be sad if some of my favorites stopped calling? Yes, definitely.
With that being said — Did I mourn the deaths of Crazy T and Latex Geezer? Yes and no. Both men lived long lives.
Crazy T was able to fulfill many of his fanties, although his extreme torture fantasies stayed in Erectionland. While he got crazier with age I suspect, what I know of his history tells me he had a full life. I didn’t miss him on a personal level. On a professional level I did because he was such a great caller. I still feel a surge of gratitude when I think of CT. He really helped me by calling obsessively when I was in a financial bind and for that I’m thankful.
As for Latex Geezer? Again, it’s yes and no. Despite our bickering LG was a part of my life. My clients are a part of my life and I a part of theirs. LG’s passing caused me to realize this. Initially this was a somewhat unsettling realization. Just because I hang up the phone doesn’t mean I stop affecting a client. I change their life. The effect is sometimes minuscule, occasionally profound but I guess mostly it lies in between. I give them something; I fulfill something. Clients open up and share a part of themselves with me that they often cannot share with anyone they know.
And my clients affect me as well. My humor is much more crude after doing this job for five years. I don’t live a “normal” life but add sex worker to my list of odd doings and I become even weirder. I have become a better listener and am more empathetic. I can see good in people that normally I would dislike immediately.
Latex Geezer was one of those people. His politics were extremely conservative, he had a streak of racism and bigotry, he was dismissive to people he viewed as beneath his class. He professed to worship women but expressed sexist sentiments. Though he infuriated me on a consistent basis, though we argued almost every time we met, though he was a rude, demanding man I could see a good side to him.
To most people LG was a successful, happy man. He had a loving marriage before his wife passed away, children and grandchildren who loved him and a long, successful career. But that is not the LG I knew.
I knew another side of the man. LG loved crossdressing. While he was honored in his profession I knew he wore panties to work almost every day. All the years of his loving marriage I knew he had pressured his wife to dress him up in panties and stockings; she occasionally indulged him but did so grudgingly. It is true he loved his children but I knew he disliked their frequent stays at his home because it left him with no space to spread out his many, many sex toys and clothes.
In some respects his life was one of repression. He had so many desires. By the time he gave himself permission, his age and health had made realization of his fantasies limited. If he had started 10, or even 20, years earlier he could have done so much more.
No one in his personal and professional life mourned that side of him. But did I? Again, I have to say yes and no. I look at it more like reflecting and remembering his life.
Since learning of his death I’ve tried to learn lessons from Latex Geezer. Our relationship became so convoluted but he unwittingly taught me things. I will not repress my desires like he did. I will not deny my dreams. I will live life now instead of putting it off until I am too old and feeble to enjoy it.
Is this mourning? Maybe. Perhaps it is the best way to deal with a client’s death. Our relationship is so mixed, so fluid and so hard to define that I expect mourning to be no different.
P.S. Protect yourself from the coming data-powered panopticon by getting a VPN.