My 1998 Toyota Corolla started on the first try, which I decided was a good omen for the day. It wasn’t always that easy with a car that was almost older than me. Even if Icouldafford a better car, I’m not sure I would care. I wasn’t a materialistic girl. As long as it got me from point A to point B, I was content. Which was in doubt for the Corolla, which had over 200,000 miles on the odometer.
I stopped at the pharmacy on the way to print out my resume and references. The job already had copies of everything, but I wanted to bring in a physical copy. It was only ten cents per page, and I thought it would make me look prepared.
The guy behind the counter at the printing desk gathered the six sheets of paper and stuffed them into a manila folder. When I reached out to grab it, the edge of the folder sliced into my finger, giving me a small paper cut.
“Careful,” he said in a bored voice. “Those folders are weirdly sharp.”
“Thanks,” I said sarcastically. A droplet of blood was forming on my finger. “Where are your bandages?”
I bought a pack of Band-Aids, wrapped my finger up in the parking lot, and then drove the final four miles to downtown Fort Perth. It was a medium-sized city, with a nice little city center, and a park adjacent to lots of shops. It was a beautiful September day, and the park was full of people walking around or sitting on benches eating an early lunch. Lots of them were dressed in business attire.
That could be me, I thought.
I pulled into one of the parking garages and winced as I took a ticket. Parking was $20. Yeah, I made good money on OnlyFans. But every minor expense I incurred chipped away at my house fund. I found a spot and then checked my watch. I was early. Like,tooearly, where it would be an inconvenience to them if I walked inside now.
To kill some time, I opened OnlyFans on my phone and checked my dashboard. I had a big spike in subscribers last night. That would make up for the charge-back on my account, which was still pending.
Then I checked the results of a poll I had posted to my page:
WHAT NEW CONTENT DO YOU WANT?
1. More toys
2. Better outfits
3. Longer scenes
4. More dancing
5. Live sex.
I knew what I would see: the fifth option,live sex, was polling the highest by a wide margin. That wasn’t surprising. Dancing on camera and playing with toys was one thing, but it wasn’t as hot asactualsex.
For a while, the idea of that had terrified me. I couldn’t keep a boyfriend, let alone find someone who would be okay with what I did—and thenalsowant to be recorded on camera themselves. Even with the face-covering filter I used. But after talking to other girls on OnlyFans, I discovered there were ways to find guys for this kind of work. Professionals who would do whatever you wanted without complication. It wasn’ttechnicallyprostitution. It was more like hiring someone to do amateur pornography. Doing something like that with another person was incredibly intimidating, but the upside was that I would make more money. Alotmore money, which would accelerate how quickly I reached my monetary goal, and could quit this line of work for good. I had even put out some feelers to a few potential candidates. One of them, named Kai, had sent me a private message in the last hour:
Hi, I am available any night after 8:00pm. I prefer to sit down and meet with you first, and get to know each other, before deciding if we should proceed together. I can charge a flat rate per video, or negotiate a percentage of earnings. Whichever you prefer. Let me know if you would like to schedule a sit-down.
I read the message twice. Kai seemed nice—and he was hot, to boot. I also liked the idea of sitting down to meet him before we decided to make videos together. That took some of the pressure off. But still, there was a huge difference between making videos by myself in the privacy of my apartment, and inviting another person to join me…
I’ll see how today’s job interview goes, I decided as I got out of the car.Then I’ll figure out whether to expand my video options.
I strode out of the parking garage with purposeful steps.
4
Ginny
My job interview was in one of the few Fort Perth skyscrapers, a towering building of gleaming green glass. There was a little cafe in the lobby, with a line of patrons waiting to buy coffee or sandwiches since it was nearly lunch time. I asked the security guard behind the front desk where the elevators were, and then followed her directions through the lobby and around a corner behind the cafe.
The reflective elevator doors opened and I stepped in along with two women in pencil skirts who had bought salads at the cafe. I tried not to stare as they chatted about the latest episode ofThe Amazing Racebefore getting off on the 24th floor.
I got off on the 28th. There were glass walls with frosted letters announcing the offices for the New Mexico Community Foundation. I stood up a little straighter, and took a deep breath. It was time to put on a show, but a totally different one than I usually put on. And with considerably more clothing.
The administrative assistant at the front desk was chatting with another woman. Both of them turned to smile at me as I walked inside.
“Hi, I’m Ginny Hanover. I’m here to see Allison Escobar.”
The older woman who was standing up extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Ginny. I’m Allison.” She had thick blonde hair and wrinkles around her eyes. “You’re right on time. I like that. Sometimes people show up way too early and it’s like, ugh, I’m not ready yet!”