“G’night, Pete,” she says in a slightly slurred voice before turning off the camera.
Faced with a dark screen, I scrub my hands over my face. My body’s stiff, and a cold shower is much needed. But even worse, I didn’t succeed in getting this girl out of my head at all. In fact, Whitney’s now embedded even deeper, with her playful ways and gorgeous body. Fuck. What do I do?
7
Whitney
I’ve talked to Peter every day since I first logged on as a cam girl, and he’s tipped me over eight thousand dollars total now. My bills are all caught up and I’ve even been sending money to my parents and my employees.
My phone rings and it’s Maeve. She wants to video chat but I don’t think I can face her, so I turn my camera off.
“Whitney, why can’t I see you?”
“My camera is off, Mom. I just got out of the shower.”
It’s just a little white lie but I hate it.
“Oh, ok. Whitney, we got your last money transfer, and it’s much appreciated. But where did this money come from? Is it your store?”
Oh no, what do I say? Fortunately, I have an answer prepared.
“Take out is doing really well, Mom. I was surprised, but customers have flocked to my store. So much in fact, that maybe I should just re-think SugarTime as a take-out only place. Or maybe it’s just because so many places are closed. But I also started a vlog on my website, and I post videos of my baking and provide recipes, so that’s been helping the business too.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful, sweetheart! You’re so entrepreneurial and I knew you’d make it work somehow. But why am I just hearing about this now?” Maeve interrogates me.
“Because I know how you hate to use the computer,” I say wryly. “I figured I’d show you the next time I came over.”
My mom chuckles.
“I’m old, Whitney. You know old people don’t like to use computers.”
“Mom, you aren’t that old. Most people your age use computers daily.”
Maeve merely sighs.
“I spent most of my life as a seamstress, and there was no place for computers in that line of work. If my arthritis wasn’t so bad, I’d still be sewing.”
I cluck sympathetically.
“I know you would, Mom. You made me beautiful dresses growing up. I got so many compliments on the clothes you made me when I lived in Paris for that semester, and you know that the French really appreciate quality fashion.”
But my mom just sighs again.
“I only wish I could get the right medicine for my hands. You know, I want to be the one to sew your wedding dress someday. Wouldn’t that be nice? It would be a gift from the heart, mother to daughter.”
This makes me sad for both of us, and we’re silent for a moment. I’m sure Maeve would have made a gorgeous gown.
“How’s Dad doing?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
“He hasn’t had a headache since the last time I talked to you. I think those blackout drapes that you sent us are really helping. I feel like I sleep in a cave, but I can always go outside and putt around in the garden. Thank you so much, sweetheart. You’re the best daughter, and I don’t know what Donald and I would do without you.”
“Of course, Mom. You know I love you guys.”
My mom makes a kissing sound over the phone.
“I love you too. I’m going to let you go now, Sunshine. Don’t work too hard.”
“I won’t, Mom. Hugs and kisses to Dad.”
My mom mentioning a wedding gown reminds me of the other night with Peter. I was drunk. I had two glasses of wine before he logged on, and it was fine at first. Then, the alcohol hit me like a ton of bricks.
I was embarrassed and told Pete later that I didn’t remember what happened after I took the picnic basket off the bed. But the truth is that I remember everything. I remember unfastening all those buttons so that he saw me in nothing but my girdle and tiny lace panties. I remember the way his blue eyes flared as he took in my enormous, pink-tipped breasts. I remember him telling me he wanted to make love to me, and it thrilled me to my core.
Could I make love to a man like that? He’s handsome, kind, and very, very rich. He only ever compliments me, and makes me feel good about myself, both business-wise, and about my body. I think the answer is clear: I’d love to make love to him in real life.
Plus, our video chats have become naughty. Lately, I’ve been completely nude except for my panties by the end of every session. Peter’s always very complimentary. He tells me he thinks my curves are incredibly sexy, and I get a kick out of it when he uses food metaphors for parts of my body. He thinks my deep brown eyes look like rich pools of chocolate sauce and my skin is like creamy peach ice cream. He uses lots of ice cream references.