Yesterday was fun. Impromptu. If I really wanted to watch low-flying planes I would have gone to Flushing. In the Main Street and surrounding areas it’s like you can see the whites in the eyes of the passengers, the planes are that close. 

I seem to be a star at this job. I knew I would be. Simply put, I’m a good worker. I don’t cause trouble or drama. I’m never late, not even by one minute. 

I like the buzz of the call center floor. Individual voices rise up sometimes. Frsutration. Annoyance. Understanding.

I am pleased with the comments I get about my voice. I wonder if others here do as well. I’m not going to ask. “Does anyone else get ‘sexy voice’ comments?” That’s rude and selfish.

But I’m happy to do something with this voice besides just phone sex. That’s always a good time but I never did it professionally.

But when I say it’s always a good time I guess I’m lying a little. It gets monotonous. To me it should be a warmup for the real thing. Many times it has been but other times not. In the latter instan ces I found women who wanted nothing beyond the phone, or the voice.

The voice is an erotic instrument, and the human mind is a rich and fertile playground for it to infiltrate and maneuver about. In the mind anything goes, but everything is invisible. Fluids are not ejaculated. Skin does not get bitten. Balls do not get scratched.

The brain remains, in fact, stubbornly apiece, firnly maintaining its shape and size, however hot and deep the passions go.