Author Marika Christian’s “Phone Kitten”, is a fun, refreshing treat for fans of Jennifer Crusie, Janet Evanovich, and Stephanie Bond, Phone Kitten is your ticket to hours of giggles, so long as you’re not looking for raunch. Because this is so not it! Enjoy!
Phone Kitten: A Cozy, Romantic, and Highly Humorous Mystery
Genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense | Romance
Shy, funny, loveable Emily’s a pretty unlikely candidate for a phone sex operator. She’d die if she had to talk dirty face-to-face—especially to her hot cop boyfriend. She sure didn’t set out to do phone sex—she wanted to be a writer. But when her BFF framed her for plagiarism, she got in a tiny financial hole and saw this ad for a “phone actresses”…
Hey, it’s not nearly as bad as it sounds. No pantyhose or pantsuits, no regular hours, you’re your own boss, and lots of people to talk to. Guys, that is. But here’s the odd thing—lots of them want to talk about more than Emily’s imagined attributes; they start to think of her as the best friend they’ll never have to meet. Next thing you know, one of her customers gets killed. What’s a phone kitten to do? Solve the murder herself, of course!
The girl who answered the phone sounded a lot like me. She was perky, upbeat, and wanted me to come in that night for an interview. The thought terrified me, but my only other option was Walmart. I heard Walmart locks employees in the store. I’ve often wondered what would happen if one of the employees were pregnant and went into labor while locked up. Would they let her out? Would her supervisor deliver the baby in housewares and slap a little smiley face sticker on the baby’s bottom? Phone sex had to be better than twenty-four hour retail.
The company name was Dimensions. Located in the back of an industrial park, it was a little scary. There was a gravel parking lot with a dozen cars and only one door with a camera to capture anyone who pressed the call button. I was buzzed in immediately. I wondered, Why does a phone sex place need this much security?
I was met by Taylor, the bubbly girl I talked to on the phone. “Come on, I’ll take you in the back and we can talk.”
She wasn’t what I pictured. Taylor was a tattooed Goth chick, with every piercing imaginable. Taylor isn’t what most people envisioned when it came to “bubbly.”
Once we were in her office, she quickly closed the door. “Look, we talk dirty here. The language is sexually explicit. You have to say it all. Tits, cock, and fuck. Can you do that?”
“Yes.” There, I said it. I said I could do it. I hoped I really could.
She whipped out a headset, plugged it in, and said, “I want you to listen to a call. We get a lot of girls who come in here and think they can do it, and then freak out on their first call. It really pisses me off. You aren’t going to piss me off, are you?”
Taylor didn’t seem like the type of girl I wanted to piss off. I put on the headset and listened as a girl named Raven guided some guy through the “manipulation of his instrument.” Like a man really needs that type of instruction. There were moans, groans, panting—even a few noises I couldn’t identify—and that was just from her. He screamed once, and then it was over. Raven went on to her next call. It occurred to me that freaking out wasn’t going to be my problem. Trying not to laugh w
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