Dirty Talk

Back when I was pre-child (barely) a good friend of mine hooked me up with an at-home job as a text-chat operator. That is a nice way of saying I talked dirty for money. Instead of being on the phone with an electric toothbrush in one hand and the tv remote in the other, I was on the computer holding 6 different IM conversations at once. We were supposed to never let on that we were anything but horny ladies (between 18-22) texting them on cell phones. It goes without saying that we were also never supposed to admit that we weren't paying $2.99 every time they texted us. That's right folks, they paid 3 fucking dollars per received text, which makes the other part of my job even more amusing. We weren't allowed to swear. I shit you not, no 4 letter words were allowed, several five letter words, and a couple of six letter ones would get you fired immediately. If you called a guy "Dick" even if he'd said his name was Richard, you got in trouble. Dirty talk without the dirty words. It kind of stifled the creativity a bit, but with enough imagination you could prevail, or they could pay $4.99 per received text to do an x-rated chat where you, the pleasant 18-22 year old dominatrix with a scat fetish, could call them motherfucking pussy shitting cunt licking fucktrumpets to your hearts desire.

My favorite chat that I ever had is the guy who through the power of "I can see past chats on my totally not a cell phone, you retard" I knew he wanted to get down with a big round bellied preggo lass. This made my day since for once I didn't have to lie! At the time I was a big round bellied 8 months preggo lass, complete with action stretchmarks and kung-fu ankle swelling. As soon as I told him this (in an entirely sexy way, of course) he...DIDN'T BELIEVE ME. He cut off our chat because although the "hot co-ed" he spoke to before who was only "3 months pregnant" was totally legit (in reality she was a 400 pound woman in a mobile home outside of town) I, the real thing, heartburn and all, was a fake. Now I had dudes on there who believed I was an amazonian dominatrix willing to beat their asses Xena-style if they smudged my toenail polish. I had dudes who believed I really was a barely legal Catholic schoolgirl going for extra credit. I had dudes who believed that I believed they were in the middle of a hot threesome while texting me at the same time, but the one goddamn time I was telling the truth about being fetish material for this champion hand jockey, he didn't buy it.

Well, he did kind of buy it in that he still had to pay $2.99 every text he got.

Shortly before I gave birth the department closed down and we were all laid off. Such a pity. I miss that job so much.