So the other day I watched the Documentary Inside Deep Throat. It was in my Netflix Documentary section, and it looked… riveting.

To answer a few questions: Yes, I have watched the movie before. It’s available on any free porn site on the internet. Look it up. That Linda Lovelace was pretty fuckin talented. Yes, I realize that it’s old-school porn and they don’t make them like that anymore. Yes, I’m aware that Linda Lovelace later stated that she was raped during her sex scenes, and that by watching the movie I’m basically watching her get raped over and over again. And yes. I now realize that the term “Deep Throat” didn’t exist until this movie, so thank you Deep Throat writers. I’ve used your methods many times in my calls, and my customers appreciate all you’ve taught me.

So- what about the Documentary? I highly recommend it. No, you shouldn’t watch it for porn. They show a lot of stuff, however, and I was pretty happy I didn’t watch this Documentary in front of my parents or anything (whew!) But you don’t watch it for the multiple (ok, hundreds) of shots of blow jobs, or the occasional sight of cock, tits, or ass. Especially cock, tits and ass from the 70′s. I’m just sayin… Just watch the documentary for some great history of the industry of porn, and just what happens when people start taking porn seriously. Or, what happens when we allow the government to govern our bedrooms…

The beginning of the movie was all “I got a brand new pair of rollerskates” 70′s music, colors, drugs, and attitudes. People wanted the freedom to make decisions about their own actions — I don’t know – I got it. It was more than the whole free love free sex stuff, it was more about men and women’s roles, and just the awakening of a whole new sexuality. A medical doctor testified during the obscenity trial and actually stated that women should only have vaginal orgasms; that clitoral orgasms were dangerous! The documentary focused on the writers and directors not wanting to make money, but wanting to do something different in film. They really felt that this new genre would be competing with the Hollywood movers and shakers. Which is funny, yet pretty tragic. At least back then they had stories in the movies. Badly written, improbably stories, but stories none-the-less. I was amazed by how many directors and film makers started in porn. yeah. I know! And I was even more surprised by how little these women and men were paid in the movie. Linda Lovelace made something like 1200 bucks, and the Dr. guy who discovered Linda’s clit in her throat (haha!) got a little under 200 bucks, I think. So – porn wasn’t about getting rich. It was about getting laid. And yet – there was something non sleazy about that admission, ya know? Maybe that’s why people in these old movies actually look like they are enjoying themselves. (?!).

At first the ending seemed a little bit too preachy preachy for me. Like someone feared the documentary was making porn too fun so they had to bring in politics, the mob, and greed. But I think that that was the point. Porn was too much fun. Everyone was going to see Deep Throat, and no one was making apologies for it. Everyone – stars, comediennes, old people, young people — there was a natural curiousity about the movie that, to me, mirrors what people’s attitudes towards sexuality. People shouldn’t put a label on it one way or another. It is what it is. Take it or leave it… but leave the judgements at the door.

So my final thoughts about the documentary? I think everyone should see it. I think it’s so important to realize what porn was about, and what porn is like now. I think it’s important to remember to not take things so seriously, but to use porn as a way to explore or find out about yourself. I think porn, in it’s best light, celebrates human sexuality. In it’s worse light it smothers (figuratively, not literally – haha!). I learned a lot. It was a great documentary. Great cast, great writing and funny, thought provoking points of view.

And watching Linda Lovelace deep throat definitely didn’t hurt.

I think I have mentioned several times on my blog and in conversations with many of you, that I have a porn collection that would make the entire cast of Law & Order SVU blush. I’m not bragging. It’s kind of a confession. Or an opening for you to reassure me that you have more porn than me thereby making my sinful collection not seem so bad. Except I’m a woman. And women generally are not suppose to like porn. Especially the kind I like because of the whole degrading and putting women down kind of thing. Which is a little funny to me because last time I checked there were quite a few adult entertainers out there making a whole lot of money and living pretty authentic lives and … I’m probably preaching to the choir. Why I went off on that little tangent I suppose is because the world says I shouldn’t like porn and yet there are millions of women out there talking about porn, producing porn, doing porn, writing porn, and yeah – collecting porn. Me thinks there’s a big coverup going on…

So yeah- I own a lot of porn. Actually I don’t own a LOT anymore because you can get it for free with out subjecting your computer to serious venereal diseases/trojans and the like. No membership fees, no discs to hide in your documentary DVD cases in an obvious attempt to disguise them. Yeah – I know all about that. I’ve babysat before and all babysitters snoop. And eat all your good food in your pantry. And let your kids stay up way past their bedtime and eat tons of sugar and pizza. What? I had to get job security somehow!

I’ve seen my porn tastes develop and bloom over the last few years. At first it was enough to look at a picture, or even read a story. But now I like the actual sounds and the action. And before I enjoyed a great babysitting movie just like the next …uh…girl. But now I have an insatiable crush on Dirty Harry. And there are other things that I’ve developed a liking for, too. But they are private and I’d like to know who I’m confessing to. Although I do have a “going-to-go-to-hell-for-this” fantasy including confessionals, too, come to think of it.

The other day I was speaking to a new caller named Chris. We’ve talked a couple of times and I’m JUST getting to know him a bit better. He’s a gentleman — the rare new caller who asks me what types of things I like so we can both have a great time. It’s not a requirement — I definitely get pleasure when hearing you guys pleased. But it’s nice to have someone genuinely care about your orgasm and get paid for it. So we’re having some pillow talk and I mention my porn collection. I know that when you die things really won’t matter. I mean, you’re dead. But I’ve seen Ghost several times. And I believe there will be some Whoopi Goldberg that will be hired by some person in my life to contact my spirit that is just hanging around and thanks to that bitch I’ll have to sit around while my family members discover my huge collection of porn, vibrators, and .. yeah – compromising pictures of me and text and audio, etc. Not to freak anyone else out, but I think about shit like that all the time. Well, not all the time – but often enough that I sometimes lose a little bit of sleep over it. I think about it enough to have recently taken a close look at my diet and exercise regimen. I gotta stay alive as long as possible. At least to outlive my parents.

Well, Chris understood what I was talking about. And he mentioned that I need a porn buddy. I think that was the term he used. Not someone who sits around and masturbates over porn with you, but a buddy who will clean up your … um … messes when you die. Someone you can entrust your computer to when you’re gone. They can come in and manually douche out your cache and files and – take your hard drive and bury it with you or something – I don’t know. I suppose you can specify exactly what your porn buddy’s duties will be. This of course should be done prior to your untimely death. It all makes perfect sense! What a perfect answer to a most terrifying question that has been hanging over my little head for years!

I just wanted to share this with my callers in case they hadn’t thought about this option. And, because we’re all in this together, I wanted to offer my services, free of charge, really, to be your porn buddy. You can bequeath me all of your hard drives with all of your various porn and I will keep it nice and safe for you – far away from suspecting friends and family and your reputation will remain untarnished. I will destroy all toys, dresses, lingerie, wigs, etc. I will destroy all real dolls, pocket pussies and fleshlights. I will be your clean up woman, baby, ensuring that you will really rest in peace. Now who will be mine?

I have lots of things to do before I “sleep” though – so enough about all this morbid death talk. Although one should always be prepared for events that are unplanned, right? If you need help with any of it, or care to confess about why you would even need a porn buddy – give me a call.
You’ll be glad you did!

To give a quick “hello”. Hopefully you’re all following my tweet feed that gets updated quite a bit more frequently then this here blog. You can find the little birdie on the right of this post (side bar) and add me – or you can just remember to check in here to read my updates from the comfort of my own page. I know how overwhelming new places can be.

So – I started school since the last post (I think. I mean I think I hadn’t posted since I started school, not I think I started school…). School is, once again, kicking my ass. But the good part about it is that, for the most part, I’m enjoying the ass kicking it provides. My sleep pattern is all messed up (um – it’s 4:00AM currently!) and I have homework up the arse, but I’m enjoying my classes (most of them) and enjoying my teachers even more. I’m taking an Anthropology lab, Algebra, and English Literature II. Thankfully I have tutors for Anthropology AND Algebra (Karl and Doc B.) so I just might pass those two subjects (haha!). Actually, let me stop pretending to be the typical “dumb blonde” and fess up. I’m smart. I’m not always LOGICAL, but I can apply myself to subjects I don’t excel in if I put in the time and effort, it’s easy for me to express myself so I do well in the humanities I also do well in English classes, I know how to apply my stubbornness and make it work for me, and I can charm the socks off of any professor if need be. I’m also learning to finally apply myself to things from the beginning instead of petering out towards the end when things get tedious and a bit boring. Sound familiar? I’m not always good at gauging how long a task will take, and so I’m often times overwhelmed by the amount of homework or reading I need to do, but I’m getting better at managing my time. Sometimes you just don’t have time to do EVERYTHING in your life, but I’m learning to make decisions I can live with. Like I said, I’m pretty smart. I get it.

So like I was saying before I side tracked myself, I started school. And with school comes schedule changes and messed up sleeping patterns, and later hours, and multi-tasking, and shortened patience and fuses, oh my. I can’t do it all so I’m not going to try. But I AM going to have a good year. I’m going to get A’s in all of my classes (yeah, even Algebra) and I’m going to enjoy my free time when I get it. So, give me a little bit of time (a week or so) to work out how everything is going to fit together. I need some time to know how many hours I need to complete my homework –especially my reading assignments (my English Lit class is no joke! I already read Huck Finn, 10 Emily D. poems, A Henry James short story, and my all time favorite poet Walt Whitman!, and it’s only the 4th week of classes!). I also totally believe that a social life is crucial for — well anyone with a pulse! All work and no play makes for a very dull and scripted phone sex girl. If I don’t go to the mall how else will you get the pleasure of hearing about my make up hauls? If I don’t ever go the DMV – how would you ever be blessed with my fantasies I create while waiting among California’s finest (ahah!). If I never go to a sing-a-long, how will you ever have the pleasure of hearing me sing Lonely Goatherd? All these things contribute to not only my sanity but your entertainment. Imagine how dull and boring I’d be if I never stepped out of the house or associated with the rest of the world? Yeah, I know, sex slave tied up in the basement sounds strangely erotic to me, too. But it can’t be. Yet. In a few weeks this schedule should be clearer to me and I’ll set times that you can definitely find me. For now – here’s the tentative schedule for the rest of the week. As always, if you happen to find me not on during these times, send me a message. There’s something in it for you if you do!

Wednesday: Noon-3:00PM. 10/10:30PM – 1:00AM (or so).
Thursday: 9PM-2/3:00AM (Earlier Evening Hours Available by request)
Friday: TBA. Will log in during the morning, and will log in during the evening hours as well. If you’d like to set up a specific appt, please email me and I’ll make arrangements to be on at a specific time for you.
Saturday: OFF Looks like I will be unavailable for all of Saturday. It’s possible that I’ll have a few hours in the later part of the morning (10:30AM/11:00AM – 2:00PM) but I’ll probably only be able to log in late Saturday night/early Sunday Morning…
Sunday: 1:00PM-10:00PM.

I have a busy weekend ahead of me and it looks like Saturday will more than likely be a day I take off completely. If you want to catch me this weekend you should aim for Sunday afternoon or Friday evening/early Saturday Morning.

Ok – this “quick update” ended up being a regular blog post. It’s 4:41AM and I should try to get a few minutes of sleep before I get up again and get ready for the school day. I am logged in now for some sleepy morning sex, but you better hurry while I’m still sort of coherent. Sleepy sex in person is pretty hot, but sleepy sex over the phone might be more of a study on dreams and sleep talking than getting any sort of sexual relief. Just sayin’.

I hate to be the one to do it, but for the sake of all phone sex operators/entertainers/fantasy enhances/(insert own personal choice of titles here) – it needs to be said. 

*ahem*

Just because a woman CAN have multiple orgasms, does NOT mean that she wants to have 20.  To be more specific, just because this woman can have multiple orgasms, does NOT mean that I am comfortable having 5.  To make this easier to digest, I will break down my argument into 3 main issues: Energy, Pleasure, and Pain.  I think that about covers the topics.  Although there may be more, these are the ones top on my list.

1. Energy.
1. Cumming takes energy.
2. Energy requires energy.
3. When a person creates energy by putting forth energy, exhaustion will occur. 
4. Successive orgasms with no recovery time while pretty in movies and intriguing by men who are largely unable to achieve multiple orgasms, is exhausting.
2. Pleasure.
1. Pleasure feels good.
2. When a man can make a woman feel good, it will result in the man feeling a certain amount of pleasure.
3. Unless he’s a selfish ass and then he’s probably not reading this because he’s never made a woman cum out of his own self centered need to achieve an orgasm as quickly as possible so he can roll over and go to bed.
4. You can actually get too much of a good thing.
5. I realized this when I ate 1/4 pound of peach candies in one sitting.
6. the first 20 pieces were delicious, and then it just got painful.
7. a few orgasms is lovely, but after 5 or 6 orgasms, discomfort will be a result. This is especially true if one is using the Hitachi Wand.
8. Energy creates heat (See Einstein’s whole theory on relativity).
9. A clitoris bursting into flames could be the result of too much of a good thing turned very bad and, I’m guessing, this would be extremely unpleasant.
3. Pain.
1. Have you ever had an itch in the middle of your back that you couldn’t reach?
2. Then you find the right stick (or fork or fingernails of a friend, parent or lover)  and you ask them to scratch your itch for you…
3. And at first you just move around like some cat in heat because it feels so fucking good.
4. But then they just stay on that one spot, and they start to go harder and you try to move away from them…
5. But they are kind of dense, and they keep up with it until finally your itch is gone, and in its place is a hole where your back use to be?
6. Yeah.  I believe I’ve made my point.

So dear caller.  I love the fact that “you” delight in my orgasms.  When I tell you that I’m cumming, please take pleasure in knowing you are responsible for the great response (well, and Hitachi wand, of course!) If you want me to have a second – ask me if I’m ready or if I need a bit of a break.  I will tell you honestly how it is.  When I say something like … “ouchie” – that usually means that smoke is beginning to come off of my clit and I need a bit of a break.  I’m not being cute.  If you wonder if I’ve reached orgasm (sometimes I have to be a bit quiet…sorry – sucks living at home!), please don’t hesitate to ask me.  If you need me to tell you “I’m cumming” – I will be more than willing to do so.  Please – for the love of my clitoris and all that is holy, when I tell you I can not cum anymore, don’t consider that a challenge.  It’s not.  I mean I. CAN. NOT. PHYSICALLY. CUM. ANYMORE. WITH OUT. DOING. DAMAGE. TO. MY. WOMANHOOD! 

This blog post is my own personal opinion and I do not intend to speak for every other woman in the entire universe.  The specific details may be different (maybe SarahICanCumFiftyTimeswhileSquirting can cum 50 times with out setting her clit on fire…) but I assure you that all women do have limits on how many times they are able to cum with out experiencing discomfort.  The clit, like the penis, becomes very sensitive after arousal and should be handled with care.  Thank you and goodnight.

“I saw a book for you the other day.”

“I love books!”

“And you would have loved this one.”

I could practically hear the laughter in his voice. I became worried, but still asked,”What kind of book?”

“The Big Penis Book.”

I erupted into laughter. “What the hell?”

“Yeah. I felt a little inadequate even picking the book up.”

“You picked it up?”

“Yeah. Was kind of heavy. Of course I picked it up! It was begging me to pick it up.”

“So what was it? A book of ….”

“Big Penis’”

“You’re lying.”

“Nope. Actually I was thinking of buying it for you.”

“You made me choke just then.”

“Yeah well….”

“Stop it.”

“I don’t know where you would put it though…”

“Put what?”

“The book!” He said, sounding exasperated. “Focus, please.”

“How big is it?” Hopefully he realizes I’m talking about the book and not the items inside of the book.

“Oh, it’s pretty big. It kinda has to be to contain all the pictures of these large penis’” he said, not missing a beat.

“What is it? A coffee book table?”

“Yup.”

“Oh hell no!”

And so our conversation continued. Me growing curious about the big penis book and John Holmes becoming more and more uncomfortable discussing male anatomy by the minute.

A few weeks later I found myself in a Barnes and Noble Bookstore. I was in heaven in this particular Barnes and Noble. The store was about 4 stories high, and took up the whole corner of main street of the outside mall. Everywhere I looked there were people, books piled on their laps with the kind of ecstasy that only book lovers really understand. Where there were no chairs, people occupied corners and spread their good finds, starbuck coffee cups, and several hours too old pastries around them like a fortress. I have happy sighs for moments like these. Sometimes you’ll hear them after a satisfying orgasm, or if you’re lucky (?) enough to catch me sucking on some frozen pineapple tidbits. I. was. in. heaven. I settled in a chair on the 3rd level, close to the windows leading out to the patios that were of course filled to their capacity. I was close to the stairs, and occupied myself with watching people walking towards the various cashiers. Occasionally I would jot something down in my notebook – some observation or thought or something I wanted to write about later. My little notebook I carry around with me in my purse is a new thing I’m trying lately. It seems that I have these ideas and write things on napkins, church bulletins, or tell myself I’ll somehow remember. I never did. By the stair case there was a large wooden table with books displayed. Big books. Big coffee books that one might display to impress visitors. I never quite understood the need for such books. Once you saw all the pictures in them, didn’t the book just become one more thing to dust under? You had to really love the photography in the pictures to make room for such an obtrusive thing.

And then I saw it. The Big Penis Book. Displayed proudly on the landing of the 3rd floor. As people rounded the corner on their descent to the first floor you could practically hear the screeching of brakes. I noticed that the majority of the people who stopped and did a double take were men. They would walk by, looking over their shoulders carefully, and then look back at the penis book. If the coast was clear they would open the book quickly, flipping through the glossy pages of phallic delights, and then attempt to put the book back on the table with out anyone noticing. This last feat was difficult as the book was proudly displayed on an acrylic stand for all of humanity to see. Most of the lookie loos would place the book cover down on the table and walk away quickly. A few minutes later a clerk would come by to straighten up the table, pick up the book and place it back on the stand, and the cycle would begin again. From my vantage point it was easy to see the variety of men and women that stopped by the table. All shapes and sizes and colors, all turning various shades of embarrassment. I began to imagine what they must have been thinking as they opened up the book to see what defined “big”. I wondered if the men could be impressed slightly at the sheer magnitude of some of the penis’. I mean from the cover itself, the book looked like a Large Penis Extravaganza. There on the front of the Pepto Bismal pink book was a man donning only a pair of briefs, and his penis, somewhat flacid and reaching up to his belly button showing through the thin cotton material. I imagined the book to be the Dairy Queen of Pricks. Chocolate, Vanilla, Butterscotch Swirl…

Anyway — I don’t have the book. I’m satisfied to receive in my in box a P.P (Penis Pic) of the day. The buyer wishes to remain anonymous, not because he’s insecure about his own masculinity, but because copying pictures out of book violates some sort of copyright law I’m pretty sure, which also explains why I won’t be displaying any here. You can all breathe a sigh of relief.