Phone Sex: More Machine than Man

BY KJ ADLER

In a world with an unlimited amount of pornographic films, magazines, and toys, one outlet of sexual pleasure that has always eluded me has been phone sex.

There you are sitting with the receiver in one hand and your genitalia in the other as someone attempts to turn you on with naughty descriptions of sexual acts that they would be doing to you if you were in the room with them.

I remember once a then boyfriend attempted to slip into phone sex with me without my knowledge.

Being the terribly clueless person that I am, I found his questions and tone more creepy than sexy.

Me: “And it turned out that it was buried in the couch the whole time!”
Him: “Ha, that’s so funny. So… What are you wearing?”
“Um, a tee-shirt”
“Oooh, that’s hot. What else?”
“Jeans and socks.”
“You’re so naughty.”
“Huh?”

Maybe I was just missing out on an incredibly strong sexual spark with him, one that would get me turned on from simply hearing the sultry sound of his voice.
But really I can only see phone sex as a way to make me crazier for the physical contact that I am obviously not receiving.

Even worse are those who call up random 1-800 numbers to hear the voice of some woman named Candy or Sparkle telling them about how horny they are and wanting to know how big their junk is.
Although I have never attempted the practice myself (the prices are ridiculous, ranging between two and five dollars

a minute after the first ten free promotional minutes run out), I know that if I became a millionaire one day and decide to try it out I will be a horrible phone sex partner.
All I would do the whole time is wonder who this “Bunny” character really is and if she really is doing all of the naughty things she’s telling me about or if she’s sitting in front of a T.V. dinner waiting for me to finish so that she can get back to her stories.

I also have a sneaking suspicion that the hot women wearing lingerie in the ads aren’t the same as the woman talking to me on the phone.

An even odder form of sexual communication is sex-talk via the internet.

How on earth does someone manage to balance the act of typing with the act of touching themself at the right moment?

Even worse is that it takes away the one and only human element you had left in phone sex: the voice, leaving you with hope that some cute girl is in fact writing back to you about how turned on she is by the idea of you typing what you are wearing.

With the human element completely taken out of the picture, I don’t see the turn on in typing dirty words to someone who could be a hairy, balding 40-year-old man with one leg who enjoys messing with people.

I suppose you could argue that romance novels and sex magazines are no better, but at least in those instances there is more of a story element involved, thus creating separation from any involvement in the person’s attempt at making you horny and allowing you to go at your own pace.

With instant message sex chats, it’s just you and that random person pretending to get personal while all the while you are nothing more to each other than machines with words on the screen.

I guess I could understand the naughtiness and thrill involved in “meeting” but not really meeting a random stranger and having your way with them, like a mulled version of picking up a hot chick at the bar.

But if I had the choice, I would rather not get involved with some random guy through a machine. It takes away a lot of the enjoyable parts of sex.

It’s like eating a fat-free, carb-free, vitamin-infused cake and then telling yourself how delicious it is and that you’re so fat from eating it.
Just give me the damn cake, extra icing, hold the guilt.