Sexual healing

As a phone-sex operator, I talk to people about their emotions as much as I help them have orgasms.

By Stanley Simon

Apr 20, 2001 | My main motivation was money. Don't get me wrong -- I've got a good career and a decent income. I also have a knack for living beyond my means, and often find my paychecks spent before I get them. I needed a second job, something with flexible hours requiring little concentration. Something I could fit in between my other duties and perhaps even enjoy. Something like being a phone-sex operator.

I admit it, I've called those lines before. In the wee hours of the morning when my girlfriend's out of town (or when I'm between girlfriends), I'm not above picking up the phone and dialing one of those 900 numbers to have my ear sweetened by a strange feminine voice.

Ah, but to be at the other end of the line? That, I must say, had never occurred to me -- until the day I saw an ad in a local alternative newspaper: "Phone Actors and Actresses Needed," it said. "Get Paychecks Weekly."

Actors? As in men? Was this something I could actually get paid for? To be honest, of course, I had other motives as well. I like talking to people. I love reaching into someone's psyche and opening it up like a can. I enjoy the interaction of two human beings passing in the night, the strange scintillating challenge of holding another's attention as I would an exotic vase. At heart an adventurer, I am frequently drawn to new and untried things -- and what terrain could be more treacherous and enticing than sex? The truth was and remains that I can think of few more pleasurable ways of spending my spare time.

So I filled out the paperwork and sent it in. I returned a contract stating the rules (basically, Don't talk to minors), as well as a copy of my driver's license and Social Security card.

And so came the night, a few days later, when I found myself logging on to a phone network based in Anaheim Hills, Calif., but open to the voices of the world. You can log on anytime, day or night, I'd been instructed. I simply called an 800 number, giving my special code and stating that I was open for business. Then the calls started rolling in. It's not how many you get, the service told me, but how long you keep each caller on the line -- at 15 cents a minute, time in this business is literally money.

"Hello," my first caller, a sweet-voiced 26-year-old woman from South Carolina, said tentatively, and I was instantly in love. "Is this the Stanley I was talking to before?"

My ardor drooped significantly. "Well, no, I don't think so," I said, "but I'd love to be the Stanley you talk to now."

"No," she said, "I was talking to another Stanley and I was hoping you'd be him. We talked for 45 minutes. We talked about everything."

"Ka-ching!" the cash register in my head chimed in. Let's see -- 45 times 15 -- ka-ching! Before I could finalize my call-keeping strategy, however, the woman was gone. "Well, I've really got to go and find the right Stanley," she said sweetly. "You have a nice night, ya hear?"

Next Page: What this woman needed was to be emotionally cuddled

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