But I had come to learn that most of my subscribers were just lonely. They had grown up with the cold, impersonal effects of internet pornography, and just wanted something a little more real. Sure, this was still nothing compared to connecting with someone in real life, but it wassomething. If anything, I felt sorry for these guys. I got some money, and they got to feel like they had a level of companionship they couldn’t find out in the real world.
On the chat, one Premium Question popped up to the top of the list. That meant the user had paid $9.99 to ask the question and get a guaranteed response from me. I squinted from the bed and read it out loud.
“ThiccGinger, what did you do before you were a camgirl?” I gave a little chuckle. I had a rule against asking for personal information, but since this guy had paid, I wanted to make him happy without revealing too much. “I worked at Subway. Yep, I made sandwiches. I definitely like this work a lot more.” I spread my legs and pushed The Hulk a little bit deeper inside myself. “There are betterfoot-longshere. With more meat.”
The chat scrolled by with laughter and emojis.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I had gotten good at deflecting questions like that while making my subscribers laugh. Guys were always trying to squeeze hints and clues about my identity. I was very careful to make sure I didn’t revealtoomuch, and I had put down in my profile that I lived in Chicago. I had also ditched my Halloween mask in favor of a webcam filter that automatically blurred out my face. I could do jumping jacks or run back and forth, and the video algorithm would filter out my face the whole time. All anyone would see was a blurry face surrounded by crimson red hair. Not only did that ensure total anonymity, but it meant I didn’t have to wear a bunch of makeup, unlike some of the other girls on this program.
That was the clinching reason I kept doing this: total anonymity. I made sure my bedroom was clean and devoid of anything that could identify me. Not that I had a lot of visitors to my apartment. For someone who had guys paying to see her nude every night, my sex life was surprisingly dull.
I can attract them on the internet. But in real life, I always seem to push them away.
“Ohh, Spencer feelsrealgood,” I said while playing with myself. “I almost can’t handle him.”
I glanced at the tip total on the laptop screen. There were some big shots on tonight’s feed. A few guys were tipping $100 at a time. A night like tonight could really help toward my end goal…
Suddenly, my doorbell rang.
I winced, but ignored it. The sound was low enough that it probably didn’t come through the stream. I was expecting a few deliveries—new lingerie to wear on my stream—but I could pick it up later. I closed my eyes and let out a moan while thinking of Channing Tatum.
But the doorbell rang a second time. It was totally identical to the first chime, but it felt more urgent in my mind. The only person who might ring my doorbell twice at this hour was Mr. Fedener, the building manager. The last thing I needed was him assuming I was gone and letting himself into my apartment. He wasn’t allowed to do that, but…
I laid the big green dildo on the bed and got up. “Back real soon, lovelies. Don’t go anywhere. I promise we’ll have somerealfun when I return.”
I cut the feed and rushed to make myself presentable to whoever was at the door. I put on a robe and tied it tight around myself. I removed my wig, but my hair underneath was pinned down, so I threw on a baseball cap to cover it. I walked out into the living room, closing the bedroom door behind me, and checked the peep-hole at the front door. Sure enough, Mr. Fedener’s round face was gazing back at me outside.
I opened the door a crack. Mr. Fedener was old enough to be my grandfather, with just a few strands of silver hair around his egg head. He always wore the same Arizona Diamondbacks hoodie, whether it was ten degrees outside or a hundred. He gave me a polite, but forced, smile.
“Mr. Fedener. It’s late,” I said.
“You an Isotopes fan?” he barked at me.
“Huh?”
He pointed at my head. “The Albuquerque Isotopes. Minor league team for the Rockies. You’re wearing their cap. I didn’t peg you as a sports fan.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I said. “Can I help you?”
He picked up a thin square box from the ground. “I’m here to swap out all the air filters.”
I glanced at my watch. “It’s ten o’clock. And you’re supposed to give forty-eight hours’ notice before entering our units.”
“Paperwork is a hassle, and we’ve got the building inspectors coming tomorrow,” he replied. “It’s no big deal. It’ll only take me a minute to swap them out.”
The last thing I needed was him walking into my bedroom and seeing all the equipment set up. Not to mention The Hulk sitting on my bed, all lubed up and ready to go. “Leave the air filters here and I will install them myself,” I replied.
Mr. Fedener chewed on his lip. “I’m supposed to do it. Otherwise tenants might just sell the filters instead of installing them. These are about forty bucks.”
“Really?” I asked. “You’re telling me there’s a whole underground market for air filters?”
“You’d be surprised,” he said, deadpan.
“Even if that were the case, I could always let you install them, and then take them out after.”
He sighed heavily. “I’m supposed to do it. Protocol. If I don’t, and you make a complaint…”
I tried to suppress my own sigh. “I have a job interview tomorrow at eleven. I’ll be gone then, and you can come install them.”