Telemarketing Phone Sex

by Steely Dad on January 23, 2009

This is difficult to admit but I must get it off my chest. I had phone sex with a telemarketer. I’m sure some of you will respond with a resounding, “awesome!” while others will retort, “you sicko!” Those of you who approve might switch sides once I provide one minor additional detail. How do I put this? This particular call wasn’t with a live person but with one of those automated messages. Yea, I’m that desperate.

“Hey Steely Dad, aren’t you married?” you might inquire. I sure am and happily so. But things have been a bit stressful around my house lately because the missus has been quite ill (in and out of the hospital) and this is the type of health issue that quenches each and every drop of libido – even in a porn star. Either that or my wife feels compelled to resort to extreme tactics in order to excuse herself from wifely duties.

My “call” girl’s name was Rachel and she was informing me of an exciting new offer to lower my credit card interest rates. Now to be sure I’ve had numerous calls of a similar nature but Rachel hooked me with the fact that I was someone special: apparently I was uniquely selected for this special offer based on my creditworthiness and she wanted to reward me. At first I wondered if she said this to all the guys but Rachel’s genuine tone assured me she was not some floozie. In any case, I don’t know if it was her velvety, throaty voice or the promise of financial freedom but she had an air about her that was part Suze Orman, part Tera Patrick. Damn it was hot!

I guess the spontaneity was also arousing. That, coupled with the fact that the family was occupied, provided the perfect opportunity for me to treat my body like an inflatable fun jump. Not one of those wimpy inflatable jumps one gets at Toys R Us; I’m talking about one of those industrial-sized monsters that require a score of high-powered fans and can withstand a rocket attack.

There was no time for foreplay, no scented candles, no red wine. This was down and dirty quickie phone sex. I didn’t know if Rachel’s spiel would last 30 seconds or 3 minutes. It was a completely selfish act of coitus on my part because I needed only to satisfy myself. Rachel was on her own. Mistress Rachel, as I liked to call her, started innocently enough with talk about lowering my interest rates. Her cadence was sublime, her voice mellifluous. She then segued into a special offer on balance transfers. Oh dear Lord, balance transfers! Was she kidding? This was more than one man could handle. When Rachel began rattling off rates along with grace periods, I could no longer maintain any semblance of composure.

Her voice inflection became even more seductive as she rattled off the small print warning me that the offer was limited in nature and something about the rate jumping to 35% and an annual fee of $250 but who the hell knows? The point-of-no-return was upon me and, suffice it to say, she was still talking as I hung up the phone with a proud thud. Did I feel remorse for my indiscretion? Perhaps for a fleeting moment there was an inkling of guilt but that feeling was subdued by the stark reality that I had conquered this illusive woman. I had left Rachel desiring more, a long-term affair was more likely her modus operandi. But, alas, she could not have me for I am a taken man beyond reproach. I am, after all, Steely Dad.

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