The Private Camgirl

Sunday, 21:12, 840 715 followers

I followed the bachelorette's advice. We woke up the morning after and didn't speak about what was said, the only reminder of it being scratch marks and bruises on my back. I trust you know what to do, she threw at me just as I was about to walk out of the door. Cold and impartial, Blaire closed off from me once again – we were fine, there was no noticeable change in our interactions, but the sense of intimacy shared last night was lost. Perhaps that was for the better – at least, Dominique certainly thought it so. I functioned best alone. No distractions. No one to dream about, no one to fantasize about during English class, no one to worry about as I looked out of the window at night – an easy, soulless existence, allowing me to focus on the webcam's blinking eye and the hundreds of spectators. I was inexplicably sad as I vacated the bachelorette's residence – the feeling of emptiness persisted throughout the day. I ignored it. I disliked acknowledging emotions in general – negative or positive, they coloured life a touch too bright for my liking. I wanted everything to be grey – like the colour of autumnal sky, with an occasional splash of red in the shape of a stray leaf.

I made the mistake of listening to Phil's voicemail when I got home. Creeping back into the penthouse, dad still asleep and mother at her Sunday sun salutations class, I hid away in my bedroom and turned on the camgirl phone. It was a terrible idea. I felt as if I've crossed a certain boundary – or rather, the hushed, pleading male voice I've impartially observed in the virtual world has somehow manifested itself in the real world. My world, to be specific – an intruder, someone alien and very unwelcome within the four walls surrounding me.

"Hi, D, sorry to bother you – its me, Phil. Again – I know what you're thinking, I don't mean to pester you again, but I was just wondering if everything is okay? You don't have to call me, just drop a text. Eh... I was just... okay, thanks."

The first few dating the furthest back were fine. Just short, impartial messages, ones I would even class as being on the boundary of 'nice' – but that changed as the week progressed.

"Hi. It's me again. I hope you're okay. I saw you go live. Please tell me if I've done anything wrong. I'm worried. Text me."

The phone grew warm in my sweating, clenched palm.

"D. I don't think you understand how much I need you. Please, please, call or text me. I don't understand why you continue doing shows but ignore me. I –"

A wave of unexpected, inexplicable anger hit my head, and rushed through my veins into what felt like every capillary in my face. Dominique made her presence known soon enough, her silhouette appearing from the curtain's shadow. The camgirl stepped down from her throne, in a spanking new bodice and garter belt, offended at the disturbance of her Sunday show. Who the hell does this pathetic, sexually deprived little man think he is? I know, D, I know. Ready for the old block-and-forget yet?

She smiled at me in the reflection of the glass. Absolutely fucking not, Ads. I think you should skip tonight's show. I cocked my head and looked at her who is not quite me, red-wigged and covered in make-up. For once, we were on the exact same wavelength. I went over to the computer, forgetting the ciggie and the half-empty energy drink can, allowing the camgirl queen to possess me, for the first time in a while. Something tells me what was to come was going to be very, very pleasurable. Computer, on. Mic, checked. I didn't bother texting Phil, and went straight for the call, the first and last time I ever called a client without scheduling. He was online – of course he was. The dial went for a few short rounds. Come on, Philly-boy, you know we've got you hooked.

The window on the screen came alive to show me the standard set up of a geeky man in a blue tee, the electric light reflecting off his paper-coloured skin rendering him a ghost in the otherwise, darkened room. He was certainly caught by surprise – exactly what we're going for. I chuckled to myself, and leant back on the chair, crossing my legs.