TMI Thursday

Ok.. so this is going to be a new feature, which I KNOW I’m going to regret somewhere down the line… especially if my mother discovers these posts.

Guess who’s not going to get the super tiny laptop for Christmas this year!!

Anyway, my blogging-buddy Mark :: his blog is the reason why I have to wear Depends :: does this and I figured .. yknow.. with as much info as I give out already why the hell NOT just strip everything off and run down the street naked.

Sorry.. not a good visual this early in the am!

So here we go.. my 1st TMI Thursday post.. and thanks again to Mark for the idea.

So flashback about 20 years or so..

In my area, there used to be “976” numbers.

“976” numbers were advertised by scantily clad women with breathy voices cooing .. call me and I’ll tell you my deepest fantasies … or .. want to hear what happened to ME last night? Call me …

Of course, they would ALWAYS leave out the “… you degenerate fuck who really needs to move out of your momma’s basement”

Anyway.. so 976 numbers were big money back in the day. I think it was something like 75 cent a minute or whatever.

So back in the day I was living with the Spawn from Satan’s Ass :: I don’t think we were married yet.. in fact, I KNOW we weren’t married yet :: and since he didn’t work but had this unsatiable desire to live like he did, I had to get a second job.

So I looked in the back of the local community paper and saw this add to write stories for 50 bucks a pop! Hmm… writing? Something I can do at home? 50 BUCKS???

That was a lot of money back then.. especially when you lived with someone who doesn’t work and had a habit of going to the store to buy ONE THING and comes home with a blown out credit card and a lot of useless stuff.

So I call the number and this dude answers and tells me what KIND of writing it was. I think he used the word “erotic” but after meeting him, I don’t think he knew how to spell it let alone say it so it just might be me filling the gaps of old memories.

Anyway.. he tells me that it’s for a “976” number and asks me if I knew what that was. I said I did and he asked me if I had a problem with it. Nope, I said. He then tells me that if I wanted to RECORD what I wrote, he’d throw in an extra 25 bucks.

Heh.

75 bucks for indulging in the little freak that I am?

Perfect!

So I set about churning out these one page, single space stories. I think I must have wrote maybe 5 or 6 in one day. Let me tell you, it isn’t as easy as you might think. Being the perfectionist that I am, each story had to be different (characters, scenes, etc.) with no two “experiences” (read as: the erotic part) the same. The local library didn’t carry a copy of the Kama Sutra and this was WAY before the internet was at my finger tips so it was a challenge.

Finally satisfied, I called the dude and told him that I had the stories. He had told me that he started this phone line as a secondary source of income and in fact, he owned a jewlery store. He had set up a recording studio type thing in the basement of the store so we set up a time after hours for me to record my stories for the phone line.

Of course, The Spawn from Satan’s Ass wanted to come with.. for my safety, of course.. so we set out for the joint and pretty soon we were in the dusty basement “studio” which consisted of just a wooden table.. an old fashioned type microphone and some kind of recording thingy.

I sat on one side.. he sat on the other and the Spawn from Satan’s Ass sat on the end. Dude was wearing head sets.. gave me a cue.. and off I went.

Just let me say that I don’t know how porn stars do it… well, maybe that’s not the right analogy because after all, they ARE getting fucked.. maybe legit actors and actresses are a better comparison. I mean, here I am reading these stories and having to put in the “ooooohhhsss” and “mmmmmms” and “yes! yes! YESSSS!”s and make them sound convincing.

I didn’t think I was doing a particularly good job of it until maybe after the 3rd or 4th story, the Spawn from Satan’s Ass yells “YOU’RE GETTING A HARD ON!!”

Dude scrambles to turn off the recording machine as the Spawn jumps up from his chair. “You son of a bitch! You’re getting a hard on! We’re out of here.”

And being that the Spawn was the Spawn, I got up too. The dude shoved a wad of money in my hand and off we went.

Spawn was ranting and raving as we got to the car. The INDIGNITY OF IT ALL!! He thought Dude was PROFESSIONAL!! He couldn’t BELIEVE it! He should have PUNCHED IN THE GROIN SO HARD HIS BALLS WOULD BE IN HIS STOMACH… or some nonsense like that.

Then he started getting pissed at ME because I wasn’t bothered by it. Well.. DUH!!!.. I mean.. I would have been insulted if he didn’t get a hard on because THAT was the point of the whole thing, right?

Anyway.. of course, I wasn’t “allowed” to do it again and therefore ended my highly profitable career as an erotic writer before it even started!!