Telemarketing

I crossed off the next to last name on the computer printout in front of me. Only one more cold call to make and I was finished making sales appointments for the day. I glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall, it was almost two in the afternoon, I still had about an hour and a half before my eight year old son got home from school and three and a half hours before my husband got home, more than enough time to do nothing before starting dinner.

If the last guy on the list, somebody named Daniel F. West, would agree to listen to a sales pitch from the sales rep, I would have an even twenty-five appointments made for the day, meeting my quota. At least his name was easy to pronounce, not like some tongue twisters I've gotten. The absolute worst one that I've ever seen was spelled Prznybyll. How are you supposed to pronounce a name that doesn't have any vowels? As I adjusted my phone headset, I quickly dialed his number and listened to the familiar sound of a telephone ringing.

Be patient, the sex is coming. Some people like their sex stories to have characters that seem real and I'm trying to develop the characters. If you want to skip to the sex part, then follow this link, SEX .

I guess I should name the protagonist. Her name is Melissa. Now you know the name of the main character, I know a girl named Melissa, but the character isn't based on her, I just like the name. As to where the other name came from, Daniel West, I have no clue. I just pulled it out of thin air I guess. I don't know anybody with that first name, so I don't have any preconceived notions about what somebody named Daniel would be like, as for the last name, it's the opposite of east. Sorry, that's the only last name I could come up with off the top of my head. I suppose I could have named him Smith... nah.

The ringing stopped, replaced by a momentary silence then the sound of a bored female voice. "Hello."

"Hello," I answered in my most professional voice. "May I speak to Mr. Daniel West?"

"He's not home," the woman answered in a weary tone. From her voice, I guessed that she was probably in her late twenties to early thirties. There weren't any children screaming in the background, so unless they had a baby that was taking a nap, they probably didn't have any kids.

On a whim, I just decided to make this a lesbian phone sex story, instead of a normal heterosexual phone sex story. It was easy enough to do, wasn't it? I didn't even have to rewrite anything, just make it so Daniel West wasn't home. Why? Why not. It's a little bit more unexpected and... well, I want to make it a lesbian phone sex story. I can do that, I'm the author.

"Is this Mrs. West?" I asked.

"Yes, this is her. What can I do for you?"

"My name is Melissa and I am calling in behalf of Fidelity Insurance Companies. We have a low cost health plan that may save you and your family money. Would you like to have a representative meet with you in the comfort of your own home at a time convenient to you and Mr. West? There is no cost or obligation and my representative, Mike Kach, will be in your area tomorrow."

What, Melissa doesn't have a last name? Well, I suppose she does have a last name, but that would mean I would have to think, and I don't feel like putting that much effort into it. Where did the name Mike Kach come from? Read it fast. Get it? If you still don't get it, maybe you're pronouncing it wrong, try it with an O sound, not an A sound. Get it? Sorry, it was a sophomoric joke, but hey, what can you expect? I'm not writing a literary classic here.

"Sorry, not interested," Mrs. West answered.

"Are you sure? There isn't any commitment and I can almost guarantee that Fidelity Insurance can lower your health insurance rates."

There was a long pause before she replied, "My name is Rebecca by the way. Don't call me Mrs. West, that's my mother-in-law. I don't have to dye my hair or take my teeth out at night, not yet anyway. What did you say your name was again?"

"Umm, Melissa." I answered, wondering where she was going. If she was trying to get me to hang up, she was doing it in a way that I have yet to encounter. I've been a telemarketer for almost a year, and I've heard nearly everything. Everything from somebody claiming that they went to a Metallica concert the night before and was having trouble hearing, I yelled at him for almost five minutes, repeating everything at least twice before I realized he was just mocking me, to a woman that acted paranoid, she kept asking if I could hear little voices through the phone telling her to kill, kill, kill. My favorite attempt at the game of "frustrate the telemarketer" was the guy who kept asking me what clothes I had on, what color my panties were and if I liked to have sex. I think he was a little surprised when I patiently answered all of his dirty questions. When he panted that he was having an orgasm, I moaned in fake ecstasy as I thanked him for making an appointment. "Oh yes, thank you, thank you," I told him as my breath grew shorter and my voice rose an octave. "Somebody... oh yeah baby, somebody will... harder, harder, that feels so good... tomorrow... ah, don't stop, baby," my voice cracked as my fake orgasm peaked. I pretended to be out of breath as I added before I hung up, "Thank you baby, that was great. Somebody will be out to see you tomorrow at noon."

The preceding is in the story because I think it's funny. Admit it, how many of you wanted to get revenge on the telemarketer that called in the middle of dinner. It doesn't really add very much to the plot or to the characters, except to show that Melissa has experience as a telemarketer. Not that it's necessary to know that, but like I wrote earlier, I think it's funny, so it's in the story. I can do that, I'm the author.

"OK, Melissa," Rebecca said. "To be truthful, our health insurance is fine and we don't have to pay for it. Give me one reason why we should meet with your sales rep."

She had me, maybe I could try to be truthful with her, I thought. It couldn't hurt. "Because if I make your appointment I'll meet my quota for the day and earn a little bonus."

I waited for her answer. As the silence on the telephone continued, I waited for the click of her hanging up the phone. A couple more seconds of silence passed as I waited for her to hang up. I guess honesty wasn't the best policy. "OK," she spoke suddenly, maybe the honest approach worked after all, "I'll make an appointment, but only because you were honest with me, and only with one condition."

"Condition?" I asked.

"It's a simple one. Just say you'll meet my condition and we'll set up the appointment."

The next plot twist is a little bit of a stretch, but hey, this is a sex story, it doesn't have anything to do with reality. I'll bet if you think really hard and use your imagination, you can guess what the condition is, or at least come close to guessing it. Oh wait. I already told you the twist. It's a lesbian phone sex story, remember?

"OK, I'll meet your condition."

"Are you sure? You can't back out afterwards and say, 'I didn't know you were going to have me do something like that.' Is it a deal."

"It's a deal," I answered. I was talking to her over the phone, what could she have me do that could be that bad?

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

Great dialog, huh?

"OK," Rebecca said, "you sound attractive. Tell me what you look like."

I giggled embarrassedly. "Are you serious?"

"Seriously," Rebecca laughed, sounding as if she couldn't believe she was doing this.

"Okay," I answered stretching out the last syllable. "I have shoulder length light brown hair. It's straight for the most part, but it curls as it reaches my shoulders. More?" I asked.

"More."

"OK, I have hazel colored eyes, umm, what else?" I asked, not knowing what else to describe.

Think about it. It's hard to describe what you look like. Try it yourself if you don't believe me. I'll try it along with you. I'm five feet one, with dark hair that goes just past my shoulders. I have dark brown eyes with a nose just below them but above my mouth. My mouth has red lips, when the lips are closed they hide the inside of my mouth. Am I boring you yet? See, it's not easy is it?

"Sounds pretty," Rebecca said. "Now get to the good parts?"

"The good parts?" I asked with a giggle, pretending not to know where she was taking our conversation.

"Yeah, the good parts. Do you have a nice ass?"

"Umm..."

"C'mon, Melissa. You don't have to have any false modesty, if you have a nice ass, just say it."

"OK, I have a nice ass."

"Big boobs?"

"What!?!" I asked incredulously.

You, of course, are not incredulous at this point. I bet you wanted to know if Melissa has big tits too. Didn't you? C'mon, admit it, you were wondering if she has big fun bags.

"I wish," I answered.

"You have tiny tits? Funny, you have the voice of a woman with big boobs."

"The voice of a woman with big tits," if that isn't great dialog, I don't know what is. Since I'm adding these little notes in the story wherever I think it is necessary, I can cheat and explain myself instead of having to put it into the story somehow. Have you ever noticed that busty women, i.e., women with big tits, tend to have hoarser, more mature voices, while women with smaller chests have sweet, little girl voices? It's not a rule, but a general guideline. I'm sure there are many exceptions, but I have noticed the trend. In case you're wondering, I do have a hoarse voice and big breasts. My husband tells me I have a sexy voice and that I would be a good phone sex operator; I just think my voice sounds like I have a perpetual sore throat or have been drinking whiskey and smoking cigarettes for twenty years. FYI, I don't do either, I just have big boobs. Truthfully, they're not THAT big, I wear a D cup, but I'm short so they look bigger than they really are.

"I wouldn't say that I have tiny tits," I said. "They're just not as big as I would like."

"What bra size do you wear?" she asked.

"34B."

"Listen," Rebecca said turning serious, "I would kill to have breasts like yours. I wear a 36D and it sucks. Guys think I'm stupid because I have big boobs, and the next time somebody looks me in the eyes instead of staring at my boobs would be the first."

I giggled and replied, "The guys aren't looking at your boobs because they're big, they're looking at your boobs because they're boobs. I barely have any, and guys are always staring at my chest and not into my eyes."

Rebecca laughed and said, "I guess you're right, guys do stare at all breasts. OK, I know that you have cute tits and a nice ass. What are you wearing?"

"What am I wearing?" I asked.

Have you noticed that Melissa repeats the questions asked her? Pretty annoying, isn't it?

"Yeah, what are you wearing? Something sexy? I bet the guys in the office go crazy when you wear something low cut or short."

"I work out of my house, so there aren't any guys in the office. Just me. My son is at school and my husband is at work."

"Oh, so you work at home, but you're not answering the question; what are you wearing?"

What do you think? Since this is a sex story, maybe Melissa is working wearing absolutely nothing at all, or maybe she has on a little black teddy, or maybe a bikini. Like I said before, sex stories have nothing to do with reality. It's true, it's true.

"It's really hot today, and the air conditioning is broken, so all I'm wearing are my panties." I answered. "I love the feel of the fresh air on my boobs, it always makes my nipples hard and gets me horny. I am so wet right now, just a little touch on my clit and I'd be screaming in ecstasy."

Just kidding, forget that last paragraph, it was a joke. While sex stories have nothing to do with reality, I do have some standards. It's just too much to expect a woman working out of her house making telemarketing calls to be topless and horny. Of course, the next time you answer the telephone and it's a female telemarketer, it's going to make you wonder what she's wearing, isn't it?

"I'm wearing a pair of cutoff jeans and a bikini top," Melissa answered. "The air conditioner is broken and it's really hot."

Some standards, huh? FYI, when it's hot out and the air conditioner is broken in my house, I don't wear a bikini, uh-uh, not me. I usually just go topless with all the windows and doors open. In fact, as far as I know, all attractive women do that, it doesn't matter if the air conditioner is working or not. In fact, if you look in on your neighbor right now and she's cute and home alone, chances are that she is walking around the house topless, if not, she's probably laying on her bed masturbating, instead of doing something mundane like the dishes or the laundry. It's true, it's true.

"Wow, what a coincidence. I'm wearing a bikini too," Rebecca answered.

Since this is fiction, I can have both Rebecca and Melissa in bikinis, well, Melissa has cutoffs on too, but the shorts will be coming off soon. Of course, if I were going for a realistic story, both would be naked on their bed, twelve inch dildos sliding in and out of their pussies, or at least I would have them walking topless around their respective houses, the doors and windows open so whoever walked by, the mailman, meter reader, cable guy, whoever, could see them, walk in and seduce them. It's true, it's true.

"Really?" I answered. "What color is your bikini? I have on a bright red one."

"Mine is white," Rebecca answered. "I have the air conditioning on, I was just outside swimming but I had to come inside to answer the phone. My nipples are so hard that they're sticking through the thin material."

"You're all wet?" I asked.

"Dripping," Rebecca answered coquettishly.

Get your mind out of the gutter. Rebecca was swimming, so her body is wet, and her hair, and her clothes, but not between her legs, although now that I think of it, she's probably wet down there too, just not in the way you're thinking. Perverts.

I don't know what got into me, but thinking of Rebecca standing in her dripping wet bikini and flirting over the phone with me was getting me a little horny. "So take it off," I said impulsively.

"OK," Rebecca answered. After a few seconds of silence, she continued, "I have the top off, should I take the bottom off too?"

"Yes."

"Take yours off too," Rebecca said commandingly.

"Yes, ma'am," I answered. I took the headset off my head and pulled off the bikini top. I replaced the headset on my head, unbuttoned the shorts and said, "The tops off, I'm taking off the cutoffs now."

"Hurry up," Rebecca said breathlessly. "I'm already naked."

Details, details, details. Notice that I had Melissa take off the telephone headset before she took off her top, then she put it back on so she could continue her conversation. I even mentioned that she unbuttoned her shorts before sliding them off. Actually, she hasn't slid them off, wait a sec, let me write the next paragraph.

I lifted my butt off the chair then slid the shorts past my hips, over my knees and pulled one foot out of the shorts before kicking them off. With the same motions, I pulled my panties off, kicking them on top of the shorts in a neat pile.

There, the shorts are off, and as an added bonus, the panties came off too. Now both of them are completely naked. Rebecca was swimming and Melissa was in her un-air-conditioned house, so neither of them had shoes or socks on. See, details, details, details, they're important. I thought kicking off the shorts and underwear was a nice flourish.

"I wish I could see you now. I would love to see your cute little boobs. Would you let me suck on them?" Rebecca asked.

"I don't know," I answered as I played with my left nipple, twisting it softly between my thumb and finger. "I've never been with a woman before. Have you?"

It's always sexier when a character is trying something new. Now Melissa seems a little more innocent.

"You've never been with another woman before?" Rebecca asked, amazed at my innocence. "It's incredible. I usually prefer to be with a man, nothing beats a hard cock sliding in and out of my pussy, but you've never been licked until you've been licked by another woman. It's incredible. If I were over there, I would make you feel so good.

"Mmmm," I answered. "I'm all wet just thinking about it." I opened my legs and looked at my glistening pussy. I slid my hand down my stomach and ran my finger along my wet slit all the while continuing to play with my nipple.

She's really innocent, isn't she?

"Do you know what I'm doing right now?" Rebecca asked with a naughty voice.

"What?" I asked.

"I'm rubbing my pussy with one hand and pushing one finger in and out with the other. I wish you could see me playing with myself." Rebecca moaned softly, so softly that I could barely hear her. "Play with yourself, Melissa."

"I am," I answered as my finger touched my clit, causing me to moan loudly.

Stuff like this happens to women all of the time, we just don't want men to know how horny we really are. It's a secret, so don't tell anybody. Just the other day, I was talking on the phone with my girlfriend Mari, and we both ended up laying naked on our beds while we masturbated. Just listening to her come made my orgasm even stronger. And just this morning, I was talking on the phone to another friend, Teresa, we were talking about our sex lives, and one word led to the next, and we both ended up moaning in ecstasy as we played with ourselves. I'm making this point and giving these examples so you know that I'm being realistic in this part of the story, not making something up just for the sake of a sex story. It's true, it's true.

"How does it feel?" Rebecca asked.

I opened my mouth to answer, but all that came out of my mouth was an unexpected lustful moan.

Happens to me all the time, opening my mouth and an unexpected moan of ecstasy comes out. I don't even have to be touching myself. At work the other day, I was pressing a pair of pants when a guy that works with me tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to him intending to ask him what he wanted, when I opened my mouth, all that came out was a lustful moan. You should have seen his face, I think he came in his pants. It's true, it's true.

Sounds like you're having fun," Rebecca answered lustfully. "If I was there with you, I would lick your pussy from the bottom all the way to the top, then I would nibble on your clit. Would you like that?" Rebecca moaned loudly and whimpered, "Oh God, oh God! I'm coming!"

I imagined her kneeling in front of me, her mouth wrapped around my tiny clit, her finger pushing in and out of my pussy. Suddenly, my toes curled, my eyes rolled into the back of my head as my orgasm hit me. I rubbed my clitoris furiously, my body shaking in ecstasy as the waves of pleasure tremored through me.

You may have noticed that the only word that I use for the female vagina (as opposed to the male vagina), is "pussy," with an occasional "slit" thrown in for a change of pace. I recently received an E-mail telling me to use other words. Among the words suggested, were "cunt," "box," "muff," and "bush." Sorry, box, muff and bush are not what I call my vagina. My vagina is a pussy, and the word cunt... forget about it. This may surprise some of you, even though I write sex stories, erotica or whatever you want to call what I write, I refuse to be vulgar. It's true, it's true.

As my orgasm crescendoed to an intense climax then slowly faded, I heard Rebecca's phone drop to the floor as she screamed in ecstasy. Her passionate screams heightened my senses and I felt another orgasm race through my body.

To me, the hardest part about writing sex scenes is the orgasm. OK, maybe not the hardest part, but it's right up there with the challenge of writing sex scenes and making them different every time. It's hard writing the same basic thing over and over. Insert tab A into slot B, or in some cases rub slot B over slot C, or sometimes, wrap slot A over tab A, wet with lots of saliva and repeatedly slide slot A up and down over tab A while teasing the tip of tab A with probe A until a white creamy liquid spurts out of tab A, them clean liquid with probe A. It's equally as hard to describe an orgasm, the feelings that race through my body as I'm having an orgasm are inexpressible, words like ecstatic, intense and pleasurable don't even come close to being strong enough.

As my orgasm subsided, I heard her phone tap a few times, then her voice, "That was intense," Rebecca said. "When I heard your lustful moan, it sent me over the edge. I haven't had an orgasm like that since my husband finger fucked me at a carnival last year.

"At the carnival?" I asked as I ran my fingers along my hypersensitive slit.

"Yeah, we were on the Ferris wheel, and his hand went into my shorts and as we went round and round, his finger went in and out. I tried not to scream, but as you might have noticed, I'm a screamer," Rebecca said with a giggle. "You should have seen the look on the guy running the ride."

I opened my mouth to answer, but my finger rubbed against my clit and another orgasm raced through my body. I moaned uncontrollably as my finger rapidly rubbed my clit.

After I've had my first orgasm, for the next ten minutes or so, all it takes is for me or my husband to just touch my clitoris for me to have another orgasm. One orgasm is nice, two are great, three are fantastic, but anything more than that and it gets overwhelming. I try not to have more than three orgasms at a time too often. It feels great, but it makes me feel like I'm about to die and I get scared. Multiple orgasms are great, you guys can't even imagine what you're missing.

"That's it, baby," Rebecca growled. "Rub your pussy, make yourself come."

My back arched as my eyes rolled back and I pumped my pussy against my finger. With a loud uncontrollable scream, my orgasm peaked and I moved my hand away from my clit, unable to take any more.

Through my headset, I heard Rebecca giggle. "OK, Melissa, you met my conditions. Send somebody over tomorrow around noon."

The appointment, I forgot all about it. "OK," I answered as I tried to regroup. "Noon tomorrow."

"Oh yeah, Melissa. I almost forgot."

"What?"

"I taped the entire conversation. I hope you don't mind if I play it for my husband and my friends. They're going to love it."

"What?" I asked incredulously.

"We have this game where we try to get telemarketers to do funny things. I think you just gave me the all time winner."

How about that, foreshadowing!

"What?" I repeated. I didn't know what else to say.

"If it makes any difference. I did come, twice, but lets keep that between me and you. Ciao."

"What?"

The phone clicked dead, and I stared at the list in front of me. As the silence in my headset was replaced by a dial tone, I continued staring at the list. When a loud blaring sound replaced the dial tone, I reached across to the telephone and hung up. I grabbed a pen, checked off the last name on the list and wrote next to it, noon, tomorrow.

OK, so it's not a great ending, not even a good one, but hey, what did you expect? Faulkner? The hardest part about writing sex stories is not only describing orgasms, or making sex scenes seem different, but ending them is equally as hard. Some endings just write themselves, like, "The Maid," or "The Famous Donkey Girl of Tijuana." Some stories are hard to end, like "Every Girl Has Her Price" and this one.