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Subject: #2 ***** NEW EROTIC TG JOB DESCRIPTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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JOB DESCRIPTION
"No, mom, I haven't found a job yet." Jason sighed into the phone. He
closed his eyes and massaged his brow as he listened to his mother's voice.
The muscular, dark-haired man shifted in his seat. "Yes. I remember
you told me that choosing to become an actor was a bad idea." Of course
he remembered - she never let him forget. Nor did she ever let go of
the topic she suddenly switched to next. He sighed again. "No, mom,
I'm not seeing anyone right now... Uh huh... I know, but..." It was
impossible to get an word in edgewise against her vocal tirade.
"Look, mom...mom... MA! I have to go, okay? Yes, I'll talk to you next
week. Love you. 'bye."
With great relief, Jason dropped the receiver into it's cradle,
stretching to do so. His shoulders slumped wearily as his mother's
shrill voice echoed in his mind. Ever since he'd moved to L.A. to get
away from her over-bearing presence, his weekly telephone calls had been
near exact carbon copies of one another. It was starting to get a
little more that annoying, he thought angrily.
Giving the phone one last, angry glare (which he'd never dared to give
his mother), Jason Dixon pushed his muscular, six-foot three body out of
the worn easy chair. Grabbing his keys from the table beside the door,
he slipped on a pair of sandals and trotted down the stairs of the
apartment building to retrieve his paper.
Reading the headlines, he slowly mounted the staircase and absently
re-entered his apartment. Dropping his keys in their usual place, he
kicked off the footwear, the wandered over to the kitchen table.
Collapsing onto the chair, he spread the paper on the table and flipped
over to the employment section of the paper. Picking up a pen, he began
to scan the job listings looking for work.
Twenty six years old, Jason was finally starting to live his own life.
Until three months ago, he'd lived in a large, rambling old farmhouse in
Iowa, the sole offspring of a shrewish, overweight woman who had raised
her son alone ever since her husband had died when the boy was three.
Definitely over protective, Mrs. Dixon had raised her son in an
oppressive atmosphere. In retaliation, Jason had started to rebel at an
early age.
Since she didn't want him involved in sports ('You'll break your neck
playing those damn games!'), he'd joined nearly every team he could in
both junior and senior high school. Likewise his decision to become an
actor came almost immediately after his mother's angry tirade about
those 'useless, shiftless, overpaid people in Hollywood'. After he'd
finally graduated from the states only collage offering Film classes,
the decision to move out to the coast had been easy.
Where, he found almost immediately, an acting degree from a school in
Iowa meant next to nothing. As one agent had put it - 'That and a
quarter will buy you a cup of coffee'.
Like hell it would. The cheapest cup of coffee to be had in California
was seventy-five cents, and could double as roofing tar.
The death of his father had been on the job, and the insurance had left
Mrs. Dixon fairly well off. He'd come to the coast with a old, but
well maintained Mustang, and a few grand in his pocket to 'tide him
over'. Now, that nest egg was almost gone, and the pressure to find
work - any work - was increasing. Still, Jason would rather end up as a
bum in L.A. then ever go back home again.
Well, maybe not. Time was running out, and he was beginning to get
desperate. Now, as he sat hunched over the paper, he scanned every
single listing for the slightest chance for employment, and a continued
life away from his mother.
The ad, three pages in and halfway down the page, almost slipped by him.
The heading - LADIES! NEED TO EARN EXTRA INCOME FROM THE COMFORT OF
YOUR OWN HOME? - meant that he almost skipped it completely, until the
tiny disclaimer at the bottom of the ad caught his eye.
'Applicable male applicants may also be selected.'
Mentally shrugging, Jason went back to the top of the add and read the
whole thing.
It was an add for 'phone sex girls'.
Oh, it didn't state it that way - adult tele-entertainers was the
wording used. But the possible income, up to ten grand a month, looked
nice. The way Jason figured it, that number was greatly exaggerated -
still, half of that would be more accurate, and five grand a month was
nothing to sneer at.
Now, most men would sneer at the idea of doing this work. Not only
pretending to be female over the phone, but to have a verbally simulated
sexual encounter with another man? No way.
But Jason seriously considered it, for two reasons.
In film class, he'd learned he had an amazing gift to imitate voices,
male AND female.
And, he was really, really desperate.
Picking up the paper, he carried it over to the phone. He sat for
several minutes, staring absently at the paper in indecision, the
finally, reaching forward and picking up the receiver. Before he could
change his mind, he punched in the number listed in the add.
"Omni Tele-Entertainment." A rusty voice answered after four rings.
"Can I help you?"
"Uh..." Jason said uncomfortably. "I'm calling about that job listing.
The one in the paper."
A short pause. "Look, buddy, you do know what we're looking for, don't
you?"
Jason took a deep breath. Calling his talent into play, he forced his
voice into it's higher registers and replied in a breathy, sensual
voice. "Oh, yes, I know what you're looking for. I know exactly what
you want." He couldn't believe how utterly stupid he felt 'coming on' to
another guy, but if it paid the rent...
"Is that really you buddy? Holy Shit! That's amazing!" The voice,
previously lack-luster, had taken on some animation.
"Oh? Do you really zink zo?" Jason asked in a sexy soprano with a French
accent. He switched suddenly to a warm, chipper contralto with a strong
southern accent. "Y'all think I'se can get a job? Earn me some greenbacks?"
There was a couple of seconds stunned silence at the other end. When it
spoke again, the hoarse voice was filled with reverence. "Mister," it
said, "you sound sexier than most of the women I got working for me. I
can guarantee you'll earn at least eight grand a month, if you still
want the job."
Well, it wasn't a job to brag about - and definitely not one to write
home about - but it would pay well. Jason and 'Gordon, call me Gordo,
McNair', the owner of the rusty voice, discussed it. Gordo promised to
come by the next morning. He'd bring a phone technician to install a
second line into the apartment, and have Jason sign the employment papers.
When Jason finally hung up, he sighed. As odd as it was to think about
what he was going to be doing for a living, at least it beat the hell
out of having to go back home.
* * * * *
Gordo was as good as his word.
A short, ferrety looking man with a shock of greasy hair, he showed up
first thing in the morning wearing a rumbled brown suit that looked like
he'd slept in it. With him was a bored looking man in a blue jumpsuit,
wearing a tool belt and carrying a red phone in one hand.
While Jason and Gordo had signed the necessary papers, the telephone guy
had installed the phone. Unlike regular phones, the red device had no
key-pad - merely a red light and a small switch.
"This is how it works," Gordo had explained, showing Jason the phone.
"Whenever you're available, you push this switch up, and the red light
goes on. That means the main switchboard knows it can route calls here.
If you ain't available - even if it's a bathroom break - you switch it
off. This phone's got a special ringer, see, so you'll know which phone
is ringing."
The pay structure was equally as easy. Jason would earn a buck fifty
each minute he was on the phone. He set his own hours, working as many
hours a day as he wanted. Of course, the peak hours - five in the
evening to five in the morning - were the best to work, if Jason didn't
mind changing his sleeping habits to accommodate it.
Now, having watched the little man and his silent companion leave, Jason
gingerly lowered himself into the comfortable easy chair beside the new
phone. Warily, as if afraid it would bite him, Jason reached out and
flicked the switch, to be rewarded with the glowing red light. Since it
wasn't peak hours, he settled back into the chair and tried to read a
book, since it might be some time before anyone got routed to him.
The first call came twenty two minutes later.
Startled by the low, thrumming ring, Jason quickly put down the book -
which he'd been unable to focus on - and took a deep breath. With a
slightly trembling hand, he reached for the phone. Taking a deep
breath, he picked it up.
Shifting into a low, sexy female voice, Jason said "Hi. I'm Veronica.
What's your name?..."
* * * * *
Two days later, Jason was feeling more comfortable - if no less weird -
about his new job.
He had shifted his sleep cycles to match the peak hours, an was doing
good business - his phone was very rarely on the hook. He'd learned the
basic trick to this line of work, as well - let the client set the tone,
then give him what he wants. It worked well.
It still felt weird though.
He'd just hung up from a call when the phone buzzed again. Picking up
the receiver, Jason picked a voice that was simultaneously cheerful and
sexy, and said. "Hi! I'm Randi. What's your name?"
The voice that replied held a faint undercurrent of amusement, as if
it's owner was indulging in a private joke. "Hi Randi. You can call
me...Joe."
The hesitation before the innocuous name didn't surprise Jason. Many of
his callers gave fake names. "Hi, Joe."
"So," Joe asked, "where are you from, Randi?"
Jason faked a bright, sexy laugh. "I'm a true California girl, Joe." It
was a standard 'opening', and Jason always matched the birthplace to the
voice - Yvette, his 'French Maid' was from St. Lo, for instance. Jason
had thought it would lend verisimilitude to Yvette if he didn't pick the
obvious, Paris.
The next question was pretty standard, too. "Describe yourself for me,
Randi."
"Well, I'm laying on my bed," Jason started, making it up as he went
along. "The phone is between my long, sexy legs. The long, red
fingernails of my left hand are lightly stroking my crotch. I'm using
the other one to hold the phone to my ear."
"Go on." The voice, still laced with humor, urged.
Jason gave Joe a giggle. "My long, wavy blonde hair is spread out
beneath my body. It doesn't quite reach my firm, sexy ass. It stops at
my really slim waist." Jason paused, then threw in "I had to exercise a
lot to get my waist so wonderfully small." He finished that statement
with a giggle.
"What about your face?" the voice urged. That was a little unusual -
most callers didn't care about the face, after all - but not unheard of.
Well, since he'd said he was a blonde... "I've got pale, blue eyes and
really long lashes. But people say the best part of my face is my sexy
lips."
"And your breasts? How big are they?" Joe asked.
Jason paused for the barest instant. This call was unusual. By now,
the other voice was usually getting excited. Also, with a loaded
question about 'her' breasts - usually, tits or boobs, actually - the
tone usually gave some indication of what the caller wanted to hear.
But Joe's voice was the same calm, amused voice as when they'd started.
Jason decided to 'Go-for-broke'. "They're huge." He cooed, hoping that
Joe liked 'em big. "Absolutely enormous."
The voice still held no trace of either approval or disappointment.
"The nipples?"
"Really big, sexy ones."
"What kind of shoes do you like to wear, Randi?"
Definitely getting weirder. By now, they'd be into the 'sex' part, not
discussing footwear. "I love high-heels. The taller the better. They
make my walk so sexy."
Joe continued with his questions. "And what type of clothes do you wear?'
Jason was really starting to wonder about this guy. "I love sexy
clothes that show of my fabulous body. Clothes that really turn men
on." He said. Where the hell was this going?
Then again, Jason thought, it didn't really matter. As long as Joe
stayed on the line, Jason kept making money.
"So, Randi, what do you do for fun?" Joe asked next.
"Oh, I love to be in public and turn men on." Jason improvised off the
cuff. "One of my goals in life is to give every man who sees me a
raging hard-on. I want to be a walking 'come on' to every dick on the
planet." Jason 'giggled'. Randi was quite the bimbo, Jason thought with
a smile.
"What about sex?" Joe asked. Still, the same amused tone.
"Oh, I love sex. I'm so great at it too. I have this incredibly long
tongue, so I give mind-blowing head. My cunt is really tight, and I
know just how to use it. I also love getting tit fucked - in fact I
just love the feel of cum on me, everywhere." Finally, it was getting
back on track. Joe's next question was heading in the right direction too.
"Tell me, Randi." He asked, "What's your ultimate fantasy?"
Hmm... "I'd love to meet this group of guys - collage students," Jason
said, making it up as he went, "who are all, like, perfect studs.
They'd invite me to this party. I'd get all dressed up, really sexy,
and go to their frat house. We'd party for a bit, then they'd ask me to
strip, right? So I would, real sexy like. They'd all get really turned
on, and it would get all their huge, thick cocks hard."
Jason paused for a second to see whether Joe liked where this was going.
Apparently he did.
"Go on," he urged, "tell me every kinky detail." Oddly enough, his voice
was still level. Oh well, let's see if I can't change that, Jason
thought. He didn't realize that, for the first time, he was actually
enjoying a call. It was a challenge, and Jason loved challenges.
Kinky details, hmm?
"Well, this is what would happen...."
Half an hour later, voice still perfectly level with a hint of
amusement, Joe thanked him and hung up.
For some reason, Jason felt vaguely... cheated.
Hours later, the odd call was forgotten, blurred by the dozens of
roughly similar calls in the interval.
* * * * * *
Jason yawned and blinked, rolling over to check the time on the clock.
The late afternoon sun was kept of the apartment by the drawn blinds,
leaving the apartment dim.
Jason rolled out of bed and stretched mightily. Slipping a bathrobe on
over his boxer shorts, he headed to the kitchen and started a pot of
coffee brewing, then popped into the bathroom for his 'morning' ritual
of shit, shave, shower and shampoo.
Returning to the kitchen, he fixed himself a cup of coffee. Opening the
fridge, he leaned against the open door and tried to decide what to make
for 'breakfast'.
Just then the phone - his regular phone - rang. Letting the door to the
fridge swing shut, Jason carried his coffee mug into the living room.
Taking a sip of the steaming liquid, he put the mug down and picked up
the phone.
"Hi, Randi speaking." He said in a bubbly, sexy voice.
And stopped dead, a shocked look on his face. He hadn't tried to use a
feminine voice, and why the hell had he called himself Randi?
A voice was issuing through the receiver, trying to extol the virtues of
a long distance company, but Jason wasn't paying attention. Absently,
he hung up the phone.
"What the hell is going on?" he asked out loud, hearing the same
chipper, feminine soprano. He cleared his throat repeatedly.
"Testing, testing.... What the fuck is wrong with me?" he said angrily,
unable to change to sound of his voice to anything other than the same
bright, sexy voice.
Closing his eyes and forcing himself to calm down, Jason concentrated on
producing his own, male voice.
"I am Randi Dixon....FUCK!" He finished. Not only had he still used the
same voice, but he'd said Randi when he'd tried to say Jason.
Jason tried to say his own name again, then again when he failed. No
matter how hard he tried, all that came out was 'Randi', in a feminine
voice.
"This is too fucking weird."
He took a deep breath and tried a different line of attack.
"The name of that guy from the horror movies is...Jason."
So far, so good. He smiled at the sound of the name he wanted to say,
even if it was in a sexy, feminine voice. Next step.
"My name is the same as his."
Okay. Now, the sneak attack.
He concentrated hard. While he spoke, he pretended he was that horror
character. He was that guy, so, his name would be...
"My name is Randi"
"GOD DAMN IT TO HELL!" Jason roared. Well, tried to, any way. The
cute, sexy voice he was helplessly speaking in was particularly ill
suited for roaring.
What the hell was going on?
Just the beginning…
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