The Idler

Office Smells of Spunk

Probably the only office based job there is in which exclaiming - “I don’t want to be stuck in anal sex all day” - won’t be met by even the merest elevation of eyebrow, working on a phone sex line seemed like a good idea at first. After three months however, the novelty had well and truly worn off. I had fodded wank one two many times and ‘Fuckhead Syndrome’ (the technical term for headaches and faintness caused by repeatedly faking orgasms) had set in. I had had enough of sitting on those dubiously damp wheelie-chairs in the domination department, enough of being punished for coming late to a shift by having to stay in the anal sex chair for the duration of it (different story all together for coming late on a shift). I had to leave.

It was a grubby office, which despite the physical absence of men, had a definite odour of spunk - this might of been some sort of clever marketing ploy, like supermarkets pumping out the smell of baking bread and freshly ground coffee. On my first day I was given my very own partitioned desk and phone sex manual. This manual, I have to say, was a hugely entertaining tome, sadly it has since been confiscated by Malaysian Customs and Excise officers. It contained gems such as - ‘Phrases Men Like to Hear From You’ with ‘I’m separating my arse cheeks’ in the top ten. Also there was an excellent ‘Dictionary of Filth’, scripts for ‘Lesbian Watersports’ and a ‘Guide for The Dominatrix’. From my own personal experience I can tell you that slaves like to be penetrated by stiletto heels; to be instructed to beat their own cocks with the telephone receiver; to have cigarettes stubbed out on their bollocks and to be severely punished when they inevitably jizz in your fishnet stockings after you specifically tell them not to. Incidentally, a dominatrix is up a little bit in the whole phone sex office hierarchy. You graduate to domination once you have done a few weeks on straight phone sex chitchat and endured the anal inauguration.

It is quite shocking how this all very quickly becomes mundane. Before you know it you are silencing entire restaurants and tube carriages with your hilarious work-related anecdotes whilst friends and family look on openmouthed. After a while someone says - “You’ve changed, you used to be such a nice girl but now you’re weird and perverted and all you ever talk about is strap-on dildos, mutual masturbation and separating your arse cheeks and I don’t like having to call you ‘Mistress’”, and you say - “Oh crumbs Mum you’re right, I better jack this in.” Most people don’t last more than a few months for this reason but incredibly I met some women who had been doing it for six years or more. They are serious Fuckheads, doing double shifts seven days a week, dribbling into their headsets, tugging at their gussets, rubbing their fat thighs together, simultaneously chain-smoking and stuffing their slack-jaws with Eccles cakes whilst some weirdo spends a pound a minute telling them that in his excitement he’s ruined his carpet - bizarre.

sarahjanes@hotmail.com