Phone sex isn't cheap, at least good phone sex isn't, and in-person dom sessions can at the high end cost as much as a used car. So the vast majority of my clientele are upper-middle-class guys in their 40s to 60s -- I have a slew of doctors, lawyers, professors, business executives, and even a minister or two, all of whom have elaborate fantasy worlds they seem to use as a kind of relief valve to alleviate some of the stress of their high-power positions. I'm just the Sherpa that guides them through their kink.

For instance, one thing that hit me about this job is the insane amount of men who fantasize about being feminized and humiliated, or forced to cross dress. Men cross-dress for a ton of different reasons, but the most surprising thing is just how incredibly common it is. In my daily life, I find myself looking at guys' asses to check for panty lines. And I find them, constantly.

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"Boyshorts, dude. Support and concealment."

I'd also say about 75 percent of my callers have homosexual-type fantasies, a lot of whom hate that they have them. I had a caller the other day get freaked out that he was getting so turned on by the thought of getting down on his knees and sucking his girlfriend's (fantasy) cock. He hung up, then called back to apologize. I had to tell him that fantasizing about a dick in your mouth doesn't necessarily make you gay ("Honey, calm down. Most cultures consider the phallus a symbol of power. You may just get really turned on about submitting to your girlfriend").

If that makes it sound like what I do is more a form of therapy than a sexual outlet, well, it's both. But we'll come back to that in a moment ...

Like the shrinking fetishists. That's a really common phone fantasy -- they like me to describe them shrinking down to about an inch in height, give or take, then picking them up, dropping them in the toilet, and flushing them away. Then there's the vore guys (as in "carnivore") -- guys who fantasize about being eaten. I have one who likes me to describe how I will truss him up, put him in a big roasting pan (complete with chopped-up carrots, potatoes, celery, and onions), sprinkle him with salt and pepper (he always manages to sneeze for me when we get to that part), baste him in butter ("Ohhh it's sooo slippery isn't it, having that butter drip all over your body ..."), and pop him in the oven (at 450 degrees).

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Slow and low at 275 if it's payday.

Sometimes I get to play a more traditional sex icon, like with the guy who likes me to be dressed as a Playboy bunny ... then magically turn him into a carrot, use the carrot as a dildo, and eat him (the grossest part is he wants me to dip him in ranch dressing to eat ... I hate ranch). And it's my job to walk him through it, in extreme detail. "Close your eyes. I want you to feel the tips of your fingers getting longer, your legs merge together, an orange tinge comes to your skin, your hair gets leafy."

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"Rinse me, but don't peel ... leave it a little dirty ..."

Then there are the looners (as in "balloon fetishists," not "lunatics"). They like to hear balloons being blown up and popped. That's it -- I have taken calls on my cellphone while walking into a store, buying a 100 pack of balloons, sitting in my car blowing them up, then popping them. All of them.

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In real life I always use a condom.

And then there's the yak guy. He just wants me to carry on our conversation in the language of the yak people. We talk about the weather, sports, news, music, and movies all in a made-up yak language. It's hard to find somebody who'll play along with something like that, without judging, or getting weirded out. That's why I have a job.

Some of these fetishes I understand, some I don't -- I understand how the endorphin rush of pain might turn someone on (it doesn't do anything for me, personally). Ditto the guys who like the hardcore degradation -- physical and emotional pain is felt by the same part of the brain. But the truth is, whether they use the word "paraphilia," "fetish," or "interest," scientists are only just starting to catalog the vast, weird (moist) panoply of desire.

The actual work itself -- whether on the phone or in person -- is actually the easiest part of this job. Marketing is where things get tough, because it involves maintaining a number of concurrent illusions. My clients can choose from six "characters," and each of these girls has her own life. Each of my characters has a blog and a twitter, and I update both several times a week. So-and-so isn't available to talk Monday through Friday until after 5 pm, because she is a high school biology teacher, and so-and-so isn't available on Friday night because she is a 22-year-old party girl. Then I'll go to different fetish message boards, Yahoo groups, and chat rooms and participate in those communities with a link back to my blog or profile.

JDate, Christian Mingle
I'm on JDate and Christian Mingle.

So while the nice thing about this job is being my own boss, the hard thing about it is also being my own employees. When you're on social media, you're acting at the same time as you're advertising your services and performing market research to figure out which fetish stocks are more erect right now. It's not an easy job, but it does have some serious perks.

I love football (go Steelers!) and so do a lot of my guys. This has turned into a pretty lucrative business opportunity over the years. I'll talk with clients ahead of time and tailor a bunch of rules to their kink. Some guys like orgasm control, so every touchdown they'll have something new to do without, uh, finishing. One toy I use is this device called the "humbler," which stretches a client's balls back for easy swatting. I've done paid in-person sessions during football games where I'd use that on the client every time there was a fumble or a turnover.

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I've included this picture of a humbler because it's the only one that doesn't actively show balls.

If you're wondering at what point in that process we actually have sex, well ...

Many people think that being a dominatrix means being a high-end prostitute. I mean no offense to prostitutes, but that is not my job. I've never ever had sex with any of my clients, and I never ever would.

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Which means I'm just like every other profession that's completely misrepresented in porn.

That's not what it's about, and in fact that would actually ruin our whole dynamic, if they were to see me in a vulnerable, naked state. There's a reason why you picture black leather or latex catsuits when you think of a dominatrix. Contact between in-person clients and myself would, at most, mean letting them be a human footstool or getting a well-placed slap across their little bitch faces. Once again, for many guys, it's not about the sex act -- it's something much more complicated. A need they can't get filled anywhere else.

Now, there are guys who do want to cross that line -- some have trouble seeing the difference between me, the real person, and the character they're paying to stick clothespins on their cock. That's one reason I've actually phased out most of my in-person domming sessions in favor of phone sessions, because hey, I get to work in my PJs. I work for a phone sex company as well as owning my own business working through a platform, so my take-home pay is between 70 cents and $1.19 per minute for my time. For physical sessions, I usually charge between $100 or $200 per hour. It's good money, and none of it requires showing off any more skin than the average nun.

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And shit, if that's what they want, I can do that too.

Think about that -- all that time, and all that money, working through men's sexual fantasies, and there's never any actual nudity or actual sex. I'm just helping people act on the sexual fantasies in their mind, involving fetishes so specific and peculiar they'd never naturally come across another person who shares them. Which again brings us around to the real reason I stay so busy ...

That's why I work really hard on trying to understand the fetishes my clients have. For balloon popping, it's the anticipation; for the shrinking guys, it's the loss of power; for the yak guy ... actually I haven't figured that one out yet. Psychotherapists are starting to recognize the value sex work can play in therapy, though. Australia's currently gripped in a debate over whether or not their national disability insurance should cover "sex surrogates" (if you're interested, there's a documentary called Scarlet Road you should watch).

I've had guys who were coming out to their family who came to me first for support, to get pumped up. I've had a guy stop in the middle of a call and start crying, because he missed his ex-wife and needed to talk about it. I've given relationship advice -- hell I have even checked out guys' online dating profiles so I could give them pointers from a woman's perspective.

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"Don't mention produce or bovine animals until at least the fifth date."

I actually had one client who was into extreme humiliation -- he was black, and racial degradation was his particular turn-on. I got so hard on him during one session that he broke down and started crying. I wound up learning that he'd grown up in a very strict household, where men weren't allowed to show emotion. Our session was the first time he'd ever broken down and cried about all of the horrible stuff he'd encountered as a kid. Getting that emotional release helped him deal with some demons. He never did another session with me, but he thanked me by email afterward, and now every week for the last few years he's sent me a $100 check as thanks.

Robert Evans's first book, A Brief History of Vice, is available for pre-order now!

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