Call Me

by Gillian Jones

  “Come have a seat,” she taps the leather roller chair, “and I’ll go over the CALLRIGHT system, the main types of callers, and…” she hums, contemplating, looking at the clock, “…yeah, I think that will be enough for tonight. I don’t want you overwhelmed.”

  “Sounds good. I like the idea of easing into all this, seems like it might be a lot.” I say. Destiny seems oblivious to my reluctance. I think she’s too much of a happy-go-lucky person to recognize if I were completely freaking the hell out. Which I’m not, of course. Of course not.

  “Perfect. Then next shift, we’ll review everything from tonight again, I’ll have you listen to a few calls, answer any more questions you have, then I’ll support you on a call of your own. And then, my little protégé, you’ll be all on your own!” she says, clapping her hands excitedly, the excitement actually becoming a bit contagious when she makes it sound so easy and breezy like that. I guess the training isn’t all that involved, which makes sense, since you’ll never know what type of role you’ll be playing until you’re in the moment.

  Being on my own is my goal.

  I need to prove I can do this.

  The sooner I clock in, the sooner I can make the money I need for my tuition.

  Chapter 11

  Ellie

  “I can’t believe I’m about to admit it, but I’m starting to feel a bit excited,” I say, as I roll up beside Destiny in the training chair, reaching into my bag for my handy-dandy Hello Kitty notebook. I have a feeling I’m going to need to jot notes, seeing as I still can’t fully believe I’m doing this.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” I say, opening to a blank page, scribbling Computer, Possible Callers, and Tricks from Destiny as my heading, while she boots the computer to life.

  “First thing is, make sure you log into the CALLRIGHT app on the computer.”

  I watch as she moves the cursor to the small red rotary phone icon.

  “This is where you’ll find all your caller log info, and where you’ll track your callers. It even lets you see who and how many are waiting in your call queue. If you’re lucky, you’ll also see what type of caller they might be, that is, if they decide to share that information.”

  “Wow, the system tells me all that?” I ask impressed.

  “Yeah, it’s genius. The automated service gives clients the option to say if they’re looking for a specific fetish scene, dom/sub, or whatever type of call; there’s a prompt system that gives them options to be as detailed as they want to be, or not. Once it gathers the details, it will direct them to the girls whose profiles match what the caller is requesting…if they are available, of course. If not, it bounces the caller to the next free line. In a few weeks, you’ll update your profile, stating which types of calls you prefer. You might find you excel with the dom/sub calls and want to service only those clients over, say, companion calls and so on. Most of us are like me, I’ll take any type of caller. It keeps it new and fresh.”

  Listening to Destiny, I try to jot down as much of this useful information as possible. Who would have thought so much planning went into running a phone sex line?

  “Now. To make the most money, you should accept every call. You don’t have to accept every call that pops up, but, personally, I recommend that you do. More calls means more money, the longer the calls, the more money, and the more you answer, the better chance you have of building a call back list of regulars, which means…”

  “…more money.”

  “Right. And that’s the big windfall, your regulars. Some of my regulars call three times a week—trust me that’s a good chunk of change—and over time, you’ll find them the easiest calls to get through because they’re predictable and you’ll know how to get them off. Make sense?”

  “Actually it does. So, think ‘more, more, more’, and know my goal is to be so good that they’ll want to call me again and again.”

  “You’re getting it, 69! You’re a-gettin’ it.”

  “I feel like this is an easier-said-than-done situation. This is all straightforward so far, but the actual calls are freaking me out a bit,” I share honestly.

  “You’ll deal just fine. Think money. It’s all about the money,” Destiny says. “Now, back to the calls. The system will track everything for you, every single call, dropped call, lost call and each call’s length. The system will display a profile based on their responses, along with whether it’s a new caller to your line or a repeat caller. The system is great for regulars, they can punch in our names when prompted ensuring they end up on our line. Just be sure to give them your number, which for you is 69. It’s honestly this, like, crazy entity of a system that scares me with its abilities. Truthfully, I just log in, hit accept and make the magic happen. I don’t bother trying to figure the system out,” she says, laughing, then has me log in, making sure my password works.

  “How do we feel about that? Easy enough?” She looks at me, waiting for a reply.

  “I think so. Seems pretty straight forward, but I’m with you, I’m not even going to try to understand the system,” I shake my head.

  “All right then, let’s talk caller types.” Destiny logs back into the CALLRIGHT icon, finding her name. “I’m going to put my colour on yellow. You use yellow when you need to pause your line, so, to use the washroom, or if you need to leave your suite for a few minutes to grab food or whatever. Just be sure you put it back on green when you’re done. It’ll be on red, indicating you’re off-line until you log in and move it to either yellow or green.”

  “Got it—green, go; yellow, no. Red, off-line completely.”

  “Yep.” She moves to face me. “Really, there are probably four main types of callers you’ll experience most often. First, there are The Regulars. These are the whales to the phone sex operator, these are the ones who will call anywhere between two- to four times a week, looking to talk to only you every time. These are the callers looking to get off and fast. They are sometimes shy men who have a ton of crazy scenes they’ll want to role-play with you. Anything from a threesome to mutual masturbation to anal, it all depends on what they’re in the mood for. In my experience, these calls usually last anywhere between five to fifteen minutes. The longer you can keep them on the phone, the better, seeing as they call so much. The Regulars will be your bread and butter. They’re fun and love to play and they vary between all genres of caller types. You might even find one you’ll apply your discount to.”

  “My discount?”

  “Never mind for now, Greta will tell you about it, my job is to focus on teaching you the good stuff. And we only have about an hour left tonight.”

  I make a note to ask Greta about the discount that Destiny mentioned rather hastily.

  “The second type of callers are what I like to call the Either/Or situations. These callers are either the Bossy Bastard, where they want you to submit to their every command or they will be the complete opposite and be all Pansy Wansy, getting off completely by being at your mercy, allowing you to take complete control of the scene. Those ones go off like lit fireworks at submitting to a powerful woman. These calls tend to be the longest and sometimes require a very vivid imagination. Dominatrixes do not get enough credit, if you ask me. That gig is tough.” She cracks her gum. “You still with me?”

  “Yup.” I scribble the last of the notes, circling my reminder to look up various dom/sub scenarios on Google.

  “The third type are The Needy Babies, as I like to call them. The easiest of the lot if you ask me. They tend to call in the evenings, mostly first-time callers who are unsure and need complete guiding, and are unsure if they even want to get off. They might be the nerdy guy or the shy guy who just wants some companionship and aren’t looking for any hanky-panky. They may just want someone to talk to, to simply listen to them.”

  “So they don’t want to get off?” I ask, a bit confused. “Why pay for us when they could go to a social group, or counselling for that matter?”

  “I think they like the possibility of g
etting off, but they might be so shy that they may not even want to admit they’re horny. Experience tells me they do get off, they just aren’t as vocal about it. Except for the chatter boxes. Those guys will seriously talk your ear off and that’s it, they could care less about coming.”

  “Jeez, maybe I need to mark that type on my preference sheet,” I joke.

  “Naw, they get boring, trust me. You’ll want the exciting calls, makes the job fun. Anyway, the fourth type is what I like to call The Picky Fucker. This is your fetish caller, the one we tend to get the most. They are seriously the most unique of the bunch, but also require the most work and creativity. You’ll want to laugh at some of the things they’ll want you to say or pretend to do. And you will not believe some of the shit that turns them on. This is where you’ll use your props the most. That being said, they happen to be my favourite callers because it is seriously never a dull moment with them.”

  “What sorts of things are we taking about?” I ask, turning the page, ready to make a list of other things I might want to google.

  “Well, there are the common ones, like feet, water, thunder and lightning, and furries.” I want to ask her to explain them all, because, honestly, I don’t have a clue what the hell she means by furries, or thunder, and, frankly, I don’t think I’m ready to hear it just yet. So once again, I circle those terms for later. Double circles.

  “Then there are the more obscure ones like tripsolagnia, coulrophilia and—”

  “Hold it, wait. What the heck is that? Tripso—what? Coul—what?”

  She laughs at what I assume is the face I must be giving her. “How about this? I explain these two fetishes and we call your first day of training done? I don’t think you can handle listening to a call tonight,” she giggles.

  “I think you might be right,” I nod. “Okay. I’m all ears, so please share, the suspense is kind of killing me.”

  “Okay. The first one, tripsolagnia, is the act of getting off while getting your hair shampooed by someone else. And coulrophilia…that’s a clown fetish. People who get off fantasizing about sexual acts with a clown. I’ve never had these ones, but Cinnamon and Ruby have.”

  Oh. My. God. Did I mention that clowns scare the bejeezus out of me? There is no effin’ way I will be pretending to be a clown. Nope. No way, no how. I’m silent, letting the information settle before opening my mouth. “Remember that small tinge of excitement I had mentioned feeling earlier?”

  “Yeah,” she laughs.

  “I think my nerves just ate it!”

  Gulp.

  Chapter 12

  Ace

  She’s too smart.

  She’s too fucking beautiful.

  “I shouldn’t do it.” I try to talk myself out of doing what I’m about to do, like some sort of crazy person. “You’re asking for trouble,” I mutter, my hand on my laptop’s track pad where I keep moving her name under the column where my own name sits in bold type as a thesis advisor. The column in which I know she should not be placed.

  I’m sitting at The Froth House, the local coffee shop on campus, waiting for my buddy Mercer to meet me for our usual morning coffee. It’s a trendy spot with a large fireplace in the centre that is surrounded by a dozen small tables and chairs and a perimeter lined with booths, and always packed. The coffee is good and the staff is great. I’m a big fan, coming here to work between classes rather than my office or professor’s lounge.

  It’s been three weeks since classes started, and so far everything has been going smoothly. Except for my current predicament: that is, do I or do I not assign myself as Ellie’s advisor? Here’s the thing: the idea of her working intensely with Jax, or Sam, or hell, even Joelle—my teaching assistants this year—irks the hell out of me. Especially after hearing her in class, and reading her intro paper. I learned a lot about all the students and have based the pairings on those intro papers. It’s clear that Ellie is bright. Her introduction paper was well-written, conscientious and was dripping with her passion for film.

  Needless to say, I’m very interested in hearing her thesis plans now, along with whatever else she may want to discuss. Hell. I’d listen to this girl drone on about anything at this point. On top of being eye-catchingly gorgeous, she’s got the brains too, and that intrigues me. A lot. I’m not sure what it is, but something compels me to her, despite not having had any further close encounters like that first day. It’s been weeks of stolen glances, lingering stares and subtle smiles. I sense her interest has been piqued about me just as much as mine for her. I see it in the way her chest rises then falls when I catch her watching me, and how her mouth lifts to the side when I reciprocate and it’s her catching me staring a bit too long. I’m going to get myself in trouble here. I can feel the pull to the dark side already.

  “See? She’s too distracting,” I scold myself, hitting save one last time, but leaving her in my column, of course. Piss it. I can do this. I’ve got five other students to help too; she’s the same as them, a student needing support and guidance. Besides, I’m a professional. Yeah, pep talks are good. That was a good one, Ace. “Right. I can do this. And I will not allow myself to cross any lines. She’s my student. I am her professor.”

  Lying bastard.

  I shake my head while powering down my laptop. Looking up, I’m in time to catch my buddy Mercer entering behind a small crowd. Thank Christ. I need his distraction. Mercer waves an imaginary mug, offering to grab me another. I nod, mouthing my thanks as he joins the long line of coffee-seeking enthusiasts.

  Mercer Reynolds and I have been friends since our first day of university. Having been assigned as roommates at the University of Western Ontario, we hit it off immediately and have stayed in touch since. He’d been trying to get me to transfer to U of T since he started teaching here four years ago. Mercer has his Ph.D., and is head of the kinesiology department.

  Dr. Reynolds has been a big help in getting me settled here. I managed to rent an apartment in the same building as he and his sister, Chelsea, in Toronto’s Annex neighbourhood, which turned out to be the perfect location because it’s close to both work and enough places to eat, shop, and have an active social life when I choose. Not one for serious relationships, living in Toronto will be great for casual dating and hooking up when the urge hits.

  Between my job and my own filmmaking, I’ve not had time to pursue any kind of long-term relationship in years, despite my grandparents’ wishes. Growing up as an only child, I was raised by my grandparents after both of my parents died in an avalanche while heliskiing at British Columbia’s Blue River. Being my only remaining living relatives, they raised me from the age of twelve on. It took a long time to adjust to life with my Grandma Lily and Grandpa Paul, but we all survived in the end and I wouldn’t be where I was today without them. We didn’t always have a lot, but they loved and supported me regardless.

  Mercer pulls me from my thoughts, placing a steaming mug of coffee and some cream pods in front of me. “Hey, big guy. How’s it hanging this fine morning?”

  “So far, so good. I finished assigning advisor groups for my master’s thesis students. I need to get the preliminary meeting started next week to make sure everyone’s on track, knows his or her direction. I need to weed out the idiots, save the ones with potential, you know…the norm”.

  “Sounds fun. I still can’t believe you wanted that class. Seems like way too many extra hours, if you ask me. Sports medicine is where it’s at, brother. I get to workout anytime I want, and I personally keep our national teams fit and safe.”

  I laugh, “Yeah, you’re a regular Dr. Feelgood.” We both chuckle.

  “How goes the documentary? Now, that’s the real question,” Mercer asks, taking a sip of what I assume is his usual, a triple-shot latte.

  “It’s good. I’ve got a few more interviews lined up, and I met with Alice and her pimp, Sly, last week. We wrapped up their interviews, and I was able to shoot a couple of vignettes about the life of an illegal prostitute here in the city
. So, yeah, it’s going really well. Thankfully, I’ve not run into anything too dangerous or involving the police thus far.”

  “That’s…awesome. I can’t imagine following a pimp and ho downtown at night, though. Must have been scary, even for a big boy like you. Maybe we need to buy you some pepper spray?” he teases, striking a nerve with the “ho” comment.

  “Hey, man. I’m tough, downtown is my playground at night.” We both laugh, “But be nice, shithead. Alice is a sweet lady; don’t call her a ‘ho’. She’s doing what she needs to get by, and no little girl grows up wishing she might one day be a prostitute. You wouldn’t believe the desperate shit these women have to do to support themselves, or the ones they love. Alice isn’t like Chloe, the other prostitute I interviewed. Alice isn’t doing this to support a heroin addiction, she’s doing it to keep a roof over her and her daughter’s heads. It’s mind blowing when you go behind the scenes; everyone really does have a story. And we shouldn’t judge so harshly.”

  He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Easy man, I didn’t mean any offence, I was playing. Besides, I know how it is, trust me.”

  He’s right, he does know. His sister, Chelsea, used to work at a pretty lucrative phone sex line while paying her way through medical school. Growing up just the two of them, she didn’t have much choice when not wanting to accrue a shit ton of student loans once medical school was done. Chels was determined to find a job that would leave her debt free. In the end, she became some super hoity-toity phone sex operator and succeeded in paying her own way. Having worked in the sex industry, she’s been helping a lot with this project of mine whenever I need. So, I know he isn’t as judgmental a dick as he sounded.