pretty boys lie .

Pretty boy 1: Adam.

                                                                        ADAM: an online affair.

I was nine when I first got my iPad. at first it was innocent games and then curiosity really killed the cat. I discovered internet porn. this holy grail of handsome men that were entrapped in an endless loop of ecstasy. what was better that this? I would watch porn every day for hours at a time. by the time I was 11 I could almost memorise the movement these men's hips made. I could mimic the noises that would fall out of their mouths. I was an expert at performance. I started my performances on online chatrooms, talking to men under the name Adam, I found it to be fitting. the name echoes innocence and that's what these men loved. they would watch my hairless body strip and sway. they would give me instruction to follow, and I complied keenly. for some I would tell them my real name so that I could hear them speak it. it felt like every time they uttered a name, I gained more power. I started to do more shows as time went on. on video chatting apps, for groups of them. they would gather from around the world and just watch as I performed. I had private shows for some as well, where I would fulfil their fantasies. doing some of the most degrading things a person could do to themselves. all of it on video. I wouldn't show my face. just the body and I call it the body and not my body because in that instance it wasn't mine anymore. it was his. I remained anonymous in that respect but deep down I was afraid of what they could do. would they find me? or parade me to their fellow perverts as a prize. I am sure they did. not all of them were mean. so, of them were gentle with me. just wanting me to show and not touch. others liked it rougher. I promised myself I would never meet them in real life. it was a game to me. these men were just levels I must compete in order to progress. I remember being called all sorts of things. good boy. cute. adorable. but my favourite was being called pretty. It made me feel fragile and untouchable, like a tulip petal at the end of spring. they would call me pretty as their stomachs caved in and out and their breaths got heavier, then their penises spasm's as them cum drips from the end. After that would just leave, some saying thank you. others not a word. once they were done, I was done feeling pretty. they had their fill but I was still empty so I would move on to another fount of empty praise. this was the cycle I was in of for many years to come.

It had become a daily ritual by this point. My daily life was controlled by the urge to escape my reality and become Adam. I had made a sort of schedule in which I would host my performances. Mondays I would scout for my next "friends", I wouldn't call them clients as all of this was free to them, Tuesdays, talk to them and allow them to tell me what they want. Wednesdays was show time, I was to find a quiet place in my small English house, most often the bathroom and play out what we had discussed a day prior. Thursday was a day where I would try to latch on to them, ask them for more and they usually didn't mind. by Friday they were bored with me and so started to distant themselves and ignore my messages. when Saturday and Sunday come about it was established, I was no longer his toy, I was crumpled and discarded like the tissues they had used to clean themselves With. Some of the men would stay. for couple of weeks on and off, these where the men would be more open about what they were doing, they didn't care that I knew they were grooming me. They still got what they wanted and that was always the goal.

Adam was part of me, like an extra limb. I sometimes would think of him like a witch would think of their familiar, entangled in my life and there to do my bidding. Adam was both me and a separate entity. he had his own thoughts and feelings. the only things undeniably shared with this two people were their bodies and their naivety. There was one Man I would reveal myself, with Adam, his name was Pavel, which I thought was a rather strange name. he said he was a German nineteen-year-old, studying in Berlin. I told him my true self, for some unknown reason I trusted him. maybe because it wasn't about sex to begin with, or so I thought. we would chat about school, and he would pretend to understand my problems. he would then start to compliment me.

"Your adorable" he would text me randomly.

"you're not back looking yourself" I responded quickly.

that was the beginning of the thing I like to call the online affair. it lasted at least a year. I genuinely elves I was in love with him and that he was head over heels for me. I would perform for him. all the Time. we would text constantly, about everything. the way my clothes felt that day to the exams I had taken that day in class with my fellow 12-year-old peers. It all fell apart once I started to grow significant body hair. I loved my body hair. it made me feel like a man. However, I was no longer the hairless, eggshell doll placed on his virtual lap. Pavel became uninterested in me after that. Distancing himself. This generation calls it ghosting. It that description is a fitting one, as he still haunts my thoughts throughout the day. I would franticly be checking my phoned to see if he read my desperate pleas for answers to the questions I had been asking

"How are you?"

"Where you at ??"

"You still their babe???"

No response. Just a small line beneath my previous messaged saying "read". Then on an early night, prime time for a performance. Lying in my bed, just scrolling through the endless pages of photos of interest trash and cheesy memes. I pick up my metaphorical mask and let Adam borrow the body for a while.

"Hey." Pavel says

That's all? That's all I get from a man that said he loved me not 3 weeks ago and then just leaving me.

"hey" I respond, probably quicker than I should have.

"How are you?" Pavel asks, by now an empty conviction less question.

"I'm good, you?" even the barefaced Adam is guilty catering to the boring niceties of the beginning of a conversation.

"I'm okay, listen I wanna say sorry for not talking to you for a while, I was just confused as to what we where I am I'm feeling guilty, because I'm so much older than you"

"it's okay if you don't like me like that anymore." I respond

"I do, it's just the hair, I really don't like it" Pavel quickly exclaims.

"I can't help it, its normal to have hair, what are you saying?"

"Can you shave it?" Pavel asks, accompanied by an emoji depicting hands in prayer

"no. I told you. I won't change myself for you!!" I responded furiously.

I had promise myself over the years that would not change myself for a man, I knew I was going to grow. And my hair is my hair. it belongs to me. My body belongs to me.

"Then this is over." Pavel in a blunt and short message."

"Fine. Its over, CREEP. GO FUCK YOUR SELF YOU PEDOFILE!!!"

"I just used you anyway, lol. Die in a hole you fucked up Nazi CUNT."

No response. Just a small line beneath my previous messaged saying "read".