It usually comes out as a joke. They ask coyly. I can always hear the edge of a laugh. Even when a sincere answer is expected, there’s still a note of irony. We both know it’s a cliché.
But as with many clichés, it exists for a reason.
The fun of phone is sex is being extremely intimate with another actual person, but without actually seeing or touching them. What they’re wearing becomes inherently more sensual; the idea of it makes them more real while keeping them tantalizingly out of touch.
The beginnings of a phone sex call tend to be awkward, especially if you’ve never talked before. Even if you have a history and a good rapport, the segue from pleasant conversation to sex can be…fraught.
It’s a good icebreaker. I have to be wearing something. And if I’m not, that’s a story in itself.
I keep hearing men are visual creatures, and yet they prove to me time and again that they have astonishing powers of imagination.
The first time I got the immortal question, I had been working the job for a few days. I was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner, and yet as soon as he asked, I froze. What WAS I wearing? A ratty tank top, no bra, sweatpants, and plain cotton panties that I would not have worn on a date.
In other words, the way a woman dresses when there is no man to stare upon her (or at least not until well after a bond is secure.)
But I couldn’t tell him that. This was a paying customer calling for a fantasy. He wanted the woman who can and does lounge in a matching lingerie set, complete with garter belt, high heels, and a full face of makeup that doesn’t look like makeup. And if he didn’t get it on the phone, he could find it in 30 seconds on the Internet.
So, I tried to give him the fantasy. I thought of those iconic phone sex commercials from the 90s. I described a red lace teddy I just happened to be wearing mid-afternoon on a Saturday.
It’s probable that my delivery was terrible because I was still very green. Or because I am and have always been a truly terrible liar. But I knew it sounded bad as I was saying it.
“Uh huh,” the guy said, after a polite beat. “Now tell me what you’re really wearing.”
Maybe it was his wry, domineering tone, but I liked this. Instead of being embarrassed, I laughed. And I told him.
“You see?” he said after another beat. “That is so much hotter than what you said before.”
And judging by what followed, he was telling the truth.
I wish I could remember this man’s name. I owe him a great deal.
Now I practice what improvisers call, “Truth in Comedy”: the idea that humor is rooted in the truths of human nature. I’ve found the same applies to eroticism. The truth can be hotter than fantasy simply because it’s true. Even when it’s a little off center.
Of course, plenty of guys DO want the fantasy, especially those for whom fancy lingerie IS the turn on. The same goes for fans of the popular “Bimbofication” genre, which is marked by women with extensive plastic surgery, body modification, “trashy” makeup and dress. But these are fantasy scenarios, and acknowledged as such by all parties, explicitly or implicitly.
The fact is, when you call me, I’m probably wearing a pair of old linen shorts and a tank top. Or, now that it’s getting colder, pajama pants, a t-shirt, and cardigan. Sometimes I will wear “sexy” panties for fun or for intrigue, but more often than not, there’s a worn-out waistband and faded proof that I’m a person who menstruates.
Such is the nature of fantasy.
But consider also that I like to put on red lipstick before my calls. Revlon #745: Love is On. My chosen color after many years of searching. It makes me look and feel alive and confident and sexy. It makes the faded phone-wear look and feel sexy, too. Lived in. My own.
The truth often contains contradictions.