Two Hours as a Sex Chat Operator

by Diane Randle 6 months ago in comedy

Sigh...the sex chat was fun, the deception made me sick.

Two Hours as a Sex Chat Operator
Photo by ian dooley on Unsplash

Call me naive. Go ahead. Looking for extra income, and by extra I mean extra to pay more than one bill this month, I stumbled across an ad looking for Canadian sex chat operators. Simple sexting.

Hmmm....I like good sex chat. I do. It's fun and I find it really easy to write and I'm good at making a connection with the guy on the other end. I've done it before in chat rooms long ago and thought it would be a fun way to fill my tank (on my car).

So, I took a test. Ten messages to answer with good grammar, no typos, no text language like 'u r so big'. I answered them all well, and I knew I had answered well, matching the tone, 'I love your titties, I can't wait to get my hands on them.'

'I can think of something I'd like to get my hands on but it's a lot harder than my soft titties.' Making a real connection to them as people and using my sense of humour and best teasing flirty language.

I deflected the 'when can we meet?' with 'i'd love to meet, but it's so complicated for me,' having been told to NEVER EVER agree to meet. Or divulge my location or any other personal information. Fine by me. I didn't want to meet anyone.

I passed the test.

Alrighty. Let's get started. I logged in Saturday morning and there were John, Paul and George but no Ringo, and soon no Hard Day's Night.

There were, when I logged on, 184 messages to be answered. Here's what happened.

1. Screen one came up with the profile of the guy. I was surprised to see his picture. I don't know what I thought. Yes, I do. I thought, and this is so idiotic, I thought it was a FANTASY website where people sign in as avatars and just have sexy chat.

But these men were REAL. Damn. This was a real person looking for another real person. Okay, well maybe he really knew it wasn't quite real?

I stared guiltily at his smiling 30 year old face (I am 64 for chrissakes!), read his profile, hit the 'Continue' button.

2. Screen two came up with 'my' profile. Tamara. Lived in the same city. Worked in an office. Single. One photo of an amazing ass that sure as hell had not been exposed to 64 years of gravity. Unless it was Helen Mirren's ass.

3. Screen three was a history of their text messages answered by other chat operators. I skimmed them to see their conversation had been blandly conversational, considering the photo of Tamara's leopard thong wrapped butt. Innocuous 'hey, what ya' doing today?' type messages.

So, I answered Josh's message, still with his smiling face burning into my brain. Shit. I did not like this.

4. NEXT! Immediately after hitting 'Send' (after the minimum 150 characters) I was bumped to the next man's profile. This one was a much more explicit profile complete with dick pics. A very nice dick as it happens.

This was a much more involved communication, raunchy as hell with lots of asshole licking and sucking and detailed explorations of the 'woman's' body by this guy who was into mild bondage and S&M, but assured her of his innate gentleness and 'no real pain' policy.

It took awhile to skim this long conversation he had been having with this 'woman' whose name I have forgotten. There were 30+ messages increasingly with the promise of a face to ass meeting soon to cum.

These were long messages, hot messages, messages that frankly made me ACHE. And no relief. Okay...then there was him. This guy, this guy who spoke of TRUST in his partner and his partner's trust in him. Of how he would treat her like a Queen when they finally met. How he would love her body and love her and protect and cherish her. God.

5. More profiles came and went and I kept answering for awhile and Josh came back and another guy I'd messaged earlier came round again. I was replying to a message he'd sent to another operator and she had, cruelly, mocked him, this middle aged guy looking for love, for sex, for connection; and I apologized to him and said I'd had a 'bitchcowcuntslut' moment. A word my sister made up for nasty women.

And then I hit send and then...

6. GOD. NO. No. I cannot do the next one. I cannot. I cannot reply to this man. He is 84 years old and looking for companionship and this fucking website is stealing his money and his hope for a way out of loneliness.

HOW DO THEY DO IT? How do these people do it? Are they in such desperate straits that they don't care if they genuinely hurt people? Or do they just not give a damn?

That was it. I resigned there after about two hours off and on talking to men. Off and on because the site automatically booted me after the first ten to check my messages and see if they were up to snuff. They were. But, for me, this website wasn't.

In all honesty I do not even know what website these men were logging onto. I never saw it. I never saw the name of it. I only know it's based in the UK and I know it cost them a lot because many of the men complained about talking with women on the website being so expensive.

And they apologized as in, 'I'm sorry honey, but if you're another woman just trying to rack up my bill, I'm going to have to move on. I really love talking to you but I can't keep doing this if you will never meet with me. Just meet with me for coffee. I just want to talk to you. Please? I really don't want to move onto someone else.'

Fuck.

And, from what I can tell, they genuinely did not realize the profiles they clicked on were phony and the women they were talking too did not exist. Likely because a lot of these photos were quite average looking women.

I wonder where the photos came from? I wonder if some guy is going to see a photo of someone he knows, like his bosses' wife, on there one day. Or his sister. Because I think they steal these photos of the women too.

It sucked and blew at the same time.

comedy
Diane Randle
Diane Randle
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Diane Randle
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