Today’s guest blogger is the fabulous Javi Osei, who blogs over at The Love Script and on Substack as Stranger in Lisbon. She’s here to talk about her experience of phone sex work and the impact it had on her. As she told me in her initial pitch: “The money was real, but so was the emotional burden.” I’m so grateful to her for sharing her experiences, and giving an insight into what it was like for her to work on the phone lines.

Note that this piece contains real (anonymised) quotes from client calls, and as such details some fantasies and obsessions that might be disturbing (and racist). 

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I often get blood on the bedsheets. When I’m fucking someone and I’m due on my period, especially if they have a relatively long dick or we’re shagging in a position that gives depth, sometimes I bleed when we’re fucking. I don’t always notice, because it doesn’t hurt, so I often get blood on the bedsheets. It’s not the end of the world because humans are basically just weird bags of flesh and rocks and liquid, and sometimes when you’re shagging those liquids might spill out in ways that mean you have to do more laundry. It’s the cost of doing business, if you’re in the business of having lovely sex a lot of the time, and I don’t think it’s an onerous one. If the sex is good, then a bit of blood isn’t a huge price to pay – in fact, it’s a fucking bargain. I’m going to tell you two stories about blood on the bedsheets, each one involving a different man. And hopefully in doing so I’m going to illustrate one way to keep shame out of your bedroom, and show why I feel so strongly about banishing shame from my own.

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CN: drug use (weed). I don’t recommend drug use, and if I’m honest I’d always tell you that if you’ve never tried drugs and you don’t have a medical reason to do so, you should steer well clear. But I didn’t listen to this advice when I was young, so I enjoy drugs – often as part of sex. This is one of the things I like to do with them.

We like breath play and we also like getting high. The second part of that sentence means I definitely can’t put the audio of this post on Patreon, what with their rules about drugs being naughty and all. But it’s a good enough story that it’s worth telling anyway, because if you’re into weed and breath play too, you might enjoy this trick.

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I can’t quite believe I’m having to say this. Even as I pull this guy aside for a quick word, there’s a part of me that’s sitting outside my body, surveying the scene and wondering how the fuck I’ve ended up here. In the 21st century, as a grown adult with another grown adult, about to explain to him that ‘casual’ sex does not mean you get to treat me with contempt.

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It’s late, and I’m tired. So tired, in fact, that I’ve just slept through the last twenty minutes of the film we were meant to be watching. You can’t blame me: it’s not often I get to snuggle up on a sofabed with my head in somebody’s lap, sinking into the duvet and enjoying the gentle, rhythmic stroke of their hand on my bottom and thighs. It is blissful. Beautiful. Like stepping into a shower that’s set to the perfect temperature, or hugging a loved one when you meet them off the train. I am safe, cosy, happy. This scene is tranquil as fuck, so you can’t blame me for falling asleep. I am also a horny bitch, though, so I hope you can also understand what happens next.

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