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I Became A Phone Sex Operator For Extra Cash

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So when they say that you’re poor in college, they aren’t kidding. Before I reached this point, I thought it was a mere myth; that girls who claimed to be poor simply didn’t know how to budget daddy’s money well enough. It was just two months into my freshman year when all of my savings and graduation money dried up, and I was forced out on to the street corner. Just kidding. Kind of.

I became a phone sex operator, or a PSO to those who are deep into the biz. Now before you girls start looking down at me from your high horse, let me explain why I decided to dabble into such a taboo thing. My main reason for wanting a little extra cash was because I wanted (needed) a fake ID and I just couldn’t bring myself to ask my grandma for more grocery money. Especially since I knew that it would actually be going toward something illegal, but thinking about it now I guess she would have preferred that to the alternate.

I first thought about doing this when I literally googled “easy ways to make money fast”, other than being a stripper (I don’t have a good enough body or coordination for that) I saw where women were becoming phone sex operators. All you had to do was send in a picture of you with your ID to confirm that you were 18 and then fill out all of your information and you could start accepting calls as soon as you get verified.

After having the account open for a few weeks, never really having enough balls to actually sign in to the chat line, I had finally gotten drunk enough (and lonely enough) off of red wine with my aunt that I decided to call in. I had the option to listen to the men’s voice greetings, and request to talk with whichever one I “liked”, finally I heard a sweet and smooth voice on the other end that went by Brian, and I thought to myself, screw it, so I connected with him.

Let me go ahead and say that I got extremely lucky with my first call. He turned out to be a lonely middle aged man who literally just wanted to talk to me. I told him all about me (my alter ego that I made up), how I liked being in college, a sorority, going out, and all of that jazz that I figured was what a lonely old guy would fantasize about. The only time it ever got weird was when he asked me what my turn ons were, but even then it didn’t make me feel as dirty as I thought it would.

Eventually he hung up on me, and I sat back in my bed and contemplated what exactly had gone wrong in my life to bring me to this point. But then I looked at my computer screen and saw that I had made almost $20 just for talking to Brian for almost an hour. And well ladies, the rest is history. When I go out and get kind of black out, I come home, make myself a cheese quesadilla, and sign in to be a phone sex operator. But believe me, there is some weird shit/people out there, so this is not for the faint of heart or mind. If your budget is as tight as mine still is, get a real job, hearing old men climax over the phone isn’t nearly as easy to stomach as I am making it sound.

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