There is a personal cost to selling yourself to an audience that does not recognise your humanity.
I was never the sort of person with limited imagination, a narrow mind, or what I would describe as a faint heart. This was why earning a living in my new life on the periphery of the avatar sex industry was of little consequence to me. In many ways, it was a non-event. When it was my avatar it was a digital manifestation of my body and it was driven by my mind, with my voice as its narrator, but it was not me. It was a persona. When I stepped out from behind my avatar, in front of my webcam and engaged eyeball to eyeball with the man wanting to become intimate with me, albeit remotely, it was more intrusive. There is a personal cost to selling yourself to an audience that does not recognise your humanity, but it’s about knowing yourself, your needs, and where you draw that line. There were nice men and there were nasty men, but they did not make me do anything more than I was willing to do. I drew the line at what I considered to be “negative self-talk”. I would not tell the man what a slut and whore I was, and refused to entertain men who expected me to listen to them describe me in that way. I never did anything hardcore and I never inserted anything, anywhere. Most of the time I was paid to communicate with the men, as well as get them off by showing them my body.
There were the kinky ones, I once watched a happily married father of three insert an entire cucumber inside his bottom. It was oddly fascinating. He put it straight back inside the fridge afterward. Many of the men enjoyed jerk-off instruction and small penis humiliation. I always found that amusing because most of the men who enjoyed small penis humiliation were not small at all. They were average. I just assumed that was a man thing like women are insecure about the size of their breasts or their weight, men are insecure about the size of their penises, and their height. Many of these men just wanted to experience a connection with someone. A connection that was not happening for them with whoever they had at home. I didn’t mind that at all. Many of them were good company and a happy customer often became a repeat customer. I felt certain many of them wanted to explore that connection with me in person, but that was of no interest to me. They were a means to an end. I saw it as a job that despite its sexual nature, afforded me many freedoms. I felt lucky that I could put my own insecurities about my body, and we all have them, to one side and do what needed to be done to bankroll my new lifestyle.
That is not to say it wasn’t a learning curve. I remember my first turn in front of the camera well. Not being an exhibitionist, I had no idea how I was going to feel. I also felt too overwhelmed to talk, so I spent at least half of my first broadcast typing instead. I stayed in the same position for a long time because I felt too inhibited to move around. I felt any other camera angle made me look spectacularly unattractive. I soon learned that I would rather briefly display a dubious angle than have my arm or leg go to sleep. I knew there was little point in me batting my eyelashes at the visitors to my room in public chat. They were false and kept falling off. I wasn’t a girlie girl and hadn’t acquired the skill of prettying myself up for my closeup. I doubted I ever would. I exceeded fifty in my room that first day, and still had high traffic a couple of days later. I assumed this was due to my “New Model” status but I subsequently learned that some men like to “break-in” the new girls. I had silently signed up for the cam girl initiation.
As time passed, my private messages lit up like a Christmas tree because I had forgotten to restrict access and I learned there were people in my room with a wide variety of interests. One guy asked to watch me pee on camera, another wanted a closeup of my feet, there was a navel gazer with impeccable manners, and the guy who politely asked me if I minded revealing to him where I was in my menstrual cycle. I declined, to which he replied, “I understand”. I felt too shy to accept group show requests and invitations for time “In Private” and politely explained it was my first broadcast, therefore I was not feeling quite ready for that yet. One guy took great delight in telling me I would be stripping off on camera, touching myself, and squirting for an audience in no time at all, because that is what all cam girls do. I had no response to that. Mainly because I wasn’t sure I knew what squirting was, let alone whether I was capable of it.
I have always circled the edge of bad behaviour, I suppose. There are times when I decide I can no longer maintain the pretence of perfection and I slip into my old ways. And here I was, sitting on my bed holding up a selection of my underwear to the camera for a potential “customer” to choose what one I am to wear “in private”. He requests I turn my back to the camera so that he can check my bottom meets his very exacting requirements.