I did get to talk to a customer I am dubbing The Make Up Man, who just wants you to describe what you do while you apply make up. He’s an easy thirty minutes and I’ve had him twice in as many days – long may he come back!

I also spent forty minutes chatting to a lovely Welsh guy about rugby. It’s a hard job, this

I’ve had mostly chit chat callers, which is odd but nice. I also got a call from the Great Scot
which is always welcome. My last call was forty minutes with a guy who described in detail what he wanted to do to me; all I had to do was moan a bit – the easiest money I’ll ever make, I wish all calls were that easy!

Just the one “orgasm” tonight, thank God. I hate callers who require multiple orgasms – I live in a flat for God’s sake. We always joke that my husband should go out after one of my orgasm calls, and tweak his collar and beam around happily at everyone, before saying “sorted her, I did”. (And no, of course I don’t really orgasm! I find calls about as sexy as a wet sponge).

I did make myself giggle mid call with a little visual joke. I had one of our cats on my lap and I petted him, then saying to the caller “yeah, I’m stroking my pussy now”. Well, it made me laugh.

Sexy.

There’s a couple of reasons for this. Firstly, the shortest time he’s spent on a call is 45 minutes. I’m always gonna love a guy like that. Secondly, he’s actually a really interesting guy. He spends a lot of time just chatting about places he’s been and things he’s been up to, and he’s a sweet, funny guy. Thirdly, he doesn’t require me to fake an orgasm! But the main reason I love him so much is he likes to be told stories.

Now, the real me is a writer and journalist, so I love him. I tell very detailed sexual fantasies usually involving him and school girls. He absolutely loves my stories and sometimes records our calls.  Now to me, spending an hour making a story up on the spot is not only enjoyable but bloody good practice. And he’s different, not the usual caller who wants five minutes of dirty talk so he can blow his load.

The Great Scot: my favourite caller!

Surely I didn’t hear that properly?

No, I did.

“Well, what would you like me to crush?” I asked, perplexed.

“Snails.”

I stifled the urge to scream “WHAT?”. “Did you say snails, babe?”

“Yeah. Crush snails with your heels.”

“Er, okay… I’ll go see if there’s any out in the garden.”

“Okay.”

In a panic, I jabbed the secrecy button and yelled at my husband, relaying the request. We stared at one another in a panic for a few minutes before I had a brainwave. We’d had a fry up earlier; “hon, is there any egg shells in the bin?”. He ran and got a couple.

I left the caller on hold for awhile. Might as well bump up those minutes! I held him for five, and he was still there.

“Okay, I found one.” I told him.

“Crush it under your shoe.”

“Right.” So I put the egg shell down and crushed it, holding the phone to the scene as I did so. When I put the phone back to my ear, all I heard was “ooooooooooooohhhhhh”, an orgasm noise and then he hung up.

That man is OUT THERE SOMEWHERE! Women, beware!

My name isn’t Chantelle, that’s my chat name. I’m almost her, though.