I Fucked Up

Originally posted August 27, 2007

I'm learning certain truisms as I work this job. The first rule I learned, and to which I've yet to find an exception is: If a guy requests a MILF/motherly/older woman, and he asks me if I have kids, we will get around to incest fantasies. A guy who just wants to fuck an older woman doesn't want to talk about her kids. Kids aren't sexy!

I told the first guy who asked if I had kids "no." I ended up having to fuck my brother, then my mother and my grandfather at the same time.

Even though I'm aware of the rules, I still get thrown off my game from time to time. Hey, I'm new, cut me some slack!

I'm on the night shift, and it's pretty quiet. I'm flipping through garbage reality shows and clicking Stumble! while I wait for my phone to ring. Dennis is on vacation still, so I have no distractions. BORING!

When my phone finally rings, I leap to, hoping I'll have some fun for the next half hour or so. Mindy tells me she has George on the line. George wants a 45 year old MILF, and he's a Platinum client. I put on my Mary Anne voice, and tell her to put him through.

"Hi, baby, what do you look like?" I'm assaulted by a vile, slimy, throaty whisper. It reminds me of the caller from the Scream movies, except scary, and hard to hear. I launch into my description, and tell him I can barely hear him.
"You sound gorgeous...have you ever been caught masturbating?"

His gurgly whisper sounds the way I imagine a serial killer's would, and I feel my skin crawl. Something in his voice triggered my fight or flight response but I can't do either. Normally, I ask callers to tell me about themselves so I can coo over some trait of theirs. Not so with George. I don't ask him to tell me about himself at all. I'm genuinely afraid he'll say something like, "I'm naked except for my hat crafted from a woman's pelvic bones."

Instead, I create stories of my roommate in college, her boyfriend, my parents, my boyfriends and husband all catching me touching myself. I pause in between stories for feedback, but he's quiet, so I babble on.

Eventually, he cuts me off, "Have you ever caught someone else masturbating?"

I have to make him repeat everything two or three times. I press my ear to the phone, fighting against my revulsion, and plug my other ear to hear him. He apologizes for being so quiet, but he makes no effort to talk louder. Just that hoarse, I'm soaking in a bathtub of baby blood whisper and heavy breathing.

I tell him about catching my friends, my husband, my neighbors abusing themselves. I tell him that my next door neighbor masturbates every day at 4:30 before his wife gets home, so I creep in their backyard and watch through a window.

He breathes in my ear. I shudder. I'm am completely befuddled, and a significant portion of this call has been frantically searching my mind for anything to say. Just keep talking so I don't have to hear his Charles Mansonesque voice. Hopefully, I'll strike a nerve and he'll shoot and hang up. Hopefully.

"Want to hear me masturbate?"
"Oh yea! Tell me the dirty things a whore like you thinks about when she rubs her cunt," So, I recreate scenes from various double penetration porns. He likes that well enough, and interrupts me to ask, "How old are your kids?"

"My daughter is 16, my son is 18." And I immediately want to punch myself in the head. Seriously, WHY? Why am I handing my sweet, underage daughter to the creepy pedo-voice on the other end of the line?

Now his voice is louder, hoarser and greasier. Now I can't understand him, not because he's so quiet, but because he's breathing so hard. He's tripping over himself to ask me questions.

"Ever caught your son masturbating? Has he ever caught you? What about your daughter, has your daughter walked in on you fucking yourself? Have you fucked your daughter?"

I break out of character a bit, and tell him my daughter can't play with us. I'm sweating and covered in goosebumps at the same time. My mind races, why did I say she was 16?! He's a platinum client, I don't think I can hang up on him either.

He's not the movie killer who has tremendous patience. He's the killer with a short temper who hates to be questioned. When I tell him I won't touch my daughter, he screams "YES YOU WILL! You will fuck your daughter for me or I'll hurt her!"

I'm stunned silent, I know he can feel my discomfort and I know that gets him going. He talks faster and faster. I imagine him stroking his cold, hard cock with his tongue hanging out covering himself in drool. His house smells of rotting meat, and instead of a porn DVD playing in the background, he's watching Faces of Death.

"George, you and my son..."
"NO! You will suck your daughter's pussy while I rape your cunt or I'll hurt the little bitch, I'll fucking kill her!"
I think I actually whimper.
"Yea, that's right, you fucking dirty whore, I'm going to rape your daughter's tight little ass while you rub your clit. DO IT! Rub your fucking cunt or I'll kill her." He shouts the word cunt with perverted glee. Accenting it, punctuating it, spitting it out like so much filth. "Suck your daughter's fucking cunt while I rape her ass. If you don't do it, I'll kill her, I swear to God I will, you fucking whore bitch. You fucking bitch. Lick the tears off your daughter's pathetic fucking face."

I mentally check out, and squeeze my eyes shut; only 7 minutes left on the call. I don't even talk or make noise anymore. Horrified, I listen to him grunt like a rutting hog and lick slobber off of his face. "Yea! I'm raping your daughter ass, and you're going to drink all my cum when I'm done with her aren't you? You fucking dirty piece of shit whore!"

I whimper and groan. Still, it hasn't occurred to me to even hang up. I just sit and listen, praying for my warning beep, praying that he cums and hangs up.

His grunts get louder and louder and turn into brutal screams. There's a brief silence as he catches his breath, then the whisper is back. He thanks me, tells me he'll call again.

"Ok," I manage weakly, "have a good night." I'd planned on working late since the beginning of the evening was so quiet. Instead, I call and log out as soon as we'd hung up. I wanted to cry. Please don't let George call me again.

Thing is, even with the serial killer whisper, I wouldn't have felt so bad if he were raping my 18 year old daughter. I don't know what that's all about. I guess the fact that he was so turned on that she was 16, and I brought it on myself just fucked my mind up.

I got no sleep that night. I kept hearing his whisper in my ear. Kept hearing him tell me he was raping my cunt. And hurting my daughter because I wouldn't suck her clit. And it was all my fault. Live and learn, right?