Friday, July 15, 2011

Phone Sex Operators

Mr Toledano Phonesex

To the caller, when I first answer, I am the inanimate Barbie.

They do not know what I look like, who I am, how I am feeling, or how I feel. They can only imagine. It is my job to indulge their fantasies, to convince them that I am not a doll. I am their dream turned real.

If they ask if I am blonde, I become a blonde. If they ask how wet I am, I tell them that my panties are drenched. I respond to every sound the caller makes with an affirmation, I encourage them, I breathe life into the fantasy, I carve the doll out of flesh.

I’m 60 years old, have a BA in Cultural Anthropology from Columbia University, and married for 25 years.

Men call me for an infinity of reasons.

Of course, they call to masterbate. I call it “Executive Stress Relief”.

It’s not sex; it’s a cocktail of testosterone, fueled by addiction to pornography, loneliness, and the need to hear a woman’s voice.

I make twice the money I made in the corporate world. I work from home, the money transfers into my bank account daily.

Just last night I received possibly the most disturbing phone-sex call I’d had in a long time.

A caller shot himself with me on the phone.

The unmistakable sound of a gun-shot followed by the heavy and wet sound of a body falling with a thud to the floor.

Things like this always scare me.

My current track record stands at one confession of incestuous sexual abuse, being asked to perform fellatio on my younger brother, and two other suicides.

There was a guy who wanted to be my puppy.

He called me almost every week and we would talk for more than an hour, but I never knew what to say to him.

I would talk about taking him out for a walk, and puting down newspaper for him, and going to the groomers.

I don’t even know if he liked it, because he would never say anything.

I used to hate when he called, because I knew I would have to pull an hour-plus worth of bullshit out of my ass.

My first night was on a Saturday at midnight.

It was a gentleman who I believe called himself Bob.

He told me about his first experience with a glory hole.

He explained that he had no-one he felt comfortable telling this to, and I felt a strange intimacy between us, though it was rooted in a fantasy.

I think it’s easier to release repressed desires to a non-judgmental, fictional person, because there are no consequences in the outside world.

I am a straight male who speaks to women.

They want me.

They want me to talk to them, and to take them to another world.

I’m good at it. I’m a pro. A ladies man.

I speak to younger women. I speak to older women. I speak both spanish and english. I have been thrown offers left and right.

They want me to meet up and have my way with them, but I keep it only to phone conversations.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Roomba Light Painting

Long Exposure Photography tracks the tedious day's work of a Roomba vacuum cleaning robot equipped with multicolored lights. The top photo looks like a couple layers of a rubber band ball stretched across the width of a room. It'd make an amazing trampoline if it weren't for the gaps.

Skateboard Paintbrush