Read By Monsieur B. 💦🎙😏<p><a href="https://masto.thefword.club/tags/Introduction" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">#<span>Introduction</span></a>: <br>(Audio in post above)</p><p>Ever since my teens, I've been told I have a nice voice. A radio voice. It didn't occur to me until much later that this praise came from people attracted to my gender presentation, and had little to do for my professional potential in broadcasting. In Seconde - that's Y11 in the UK, tenth grade in the US, there was one girl in particular with whom I'd developed this "we're a boy and a girl, but we're best friends!" vibe that meant hours of chat on the landline - it was the 90s. Funny how insecure teenagers will delude themselves into relational Platonism rather than look at what is staring them in the face. Or the voice, in this instance.</p><p>This anecdote came in the middle of an decade long-arc of my catching, then incubating the drama bug. I fancied myself a bit of a thespian, a luvvie, but in retrospect, it was a fantastic course in masking, which is how I survived high school. Still how I survive it today, but back then I didn't have the word. Doesn't everyone play a role to meet the demands of the social situation? Surely? I couldn't be autistic, I had friends and wasn't obsessed with trains. Surely?</p><p>Around the same time, I got into sound - ostensibly music and its production, but, later, having trained in sound engineering in London as a Gap yaaaar after my real studies, got into all aspects of audio engineering, including spoken word.</p><p>All of those would come to combine in the romantic - and erotic - life of my thirties. On the romantic side, reading to each other in bed, with my enjoying giving characters their own, often silly, voices. Recording audiobooks for my lover. On the erotic side, my love language was little voicenotes, sometimes half-professionally produced, because I'm still waiting for at least basic EQ and compression in Signal. I never forget that, mediated through mic and headphones, the voice you listen to crossed less distance in the air that if you were speaking face to face. That's why aural is so intimate.</p><p>Fast forward a decade, and, one evening, just for LOLz, I offered my services to <span class="h-card" translate="no"><a href="https://masto.thefword.club/@AltAfterDark" class="u-url mention" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">@<span>AltAfterDark</span></a></span>. Well, not *just* for LOLz, there clearly was a part of me that wanted to get <span class="h-card" translate="no"><a href="https://lgbtqia.space/@alice" class="u-url mention" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">@<span>alice</span></a></span> hot and bothered. I had sent a tastefully lit nudes, a year ago, but they must get plenty. The voice, the accent, the narration of their and <span class="h-card" translate="no"><a href="https://lgbtqia.space/@h3mmy" class="u-url mention" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">@<span>h3mmy</span></a></span> prose l was a USP.</p><p>Little did I know that I'd lit up the touchpaper. Like the wick on a long red stick or dynamite, or the candle on a little enby muffin. 72 hours later, have opened my long-term fuck-buddy relationship into a Transatlantic Thruple, so my partner could share in the crush I was developing on Alice; joined her polycule as a remote team member, and read thousands of words of sultry smoky salty smut, creating an alt account to share the joy and let my sensuous, skilled French voice insinuate itself inquisitively into your ears. </p><p>Hi, I'm Monsieur B. Glad to be here.</p><p><a href="https://masto.thefword.club/tags/Smut" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">#<span>Smut</span></a> <a href="https://masto.thefword.club/tags/AltText" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">#<span>AltText</span></a> <a href="https://masto.thefword.club/tags/AccessibilityIsHotAF" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">#<span>AccessibilityIsHotAF</span></a></p>