(A scary story about technology.)
He’s making me write about what he’s done. Maybe it’s a form of entertainment. Maybe it’s to force me to relive the terrible things I’ve been through. No matter the reason, if you’re reading this, you need to know I am not in control. I’m just his puppet. His slave. He is wearing me.
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I’ve been a camgirl since January 5th, 2016. The first year was lovely, and I say that without sarcasm. I made decent money and developed connections. I networked with other girls and guys and we got to learn the business together. There was little competition among us; it was all very supportive. Sometimes we even collaborated and put on a couples show for our regulars. Clients were happy to pay extra for that kinda stuff.
I learned pretty quickly how to avoid the creeps. The abusers. The ones who’d spam the chat room with requests for dangerous insertions or disgusting, illegal pairings. They could be blocked. Most of the time, they’d move on. Continue reading “Memoir of a Cam Girl”
Like all good scary stories, this one begins with a t*sticle self-examination. Or, as its colloquially known: jerking off. It was my last day in Guatemala and I was sitting in the hotel, waiting to go to the airport, and abusing myself to help pass the time. Things were going as well as could be expected. Until they weren’t. My left middle finger brushed against a lump on my right t*sticle. My erection wilted like a primrose at Chernobyl.
I did a cursory examination, hoping it might be an ingrown hair. But I knew it wasn’t. It didn’t have the itchy pain of an ingrown hair. No pain at all, actually. It had all the telltale signs of a growth I absolutely did not want anywhere on my body, especially not on my balls. Within 20 minutes, I’d cancelled my flight, phoned Renee to tell her the flight was delayed, and called an emergency clinic to tell them I was on my way.
Fast forward eight hours. Interesting fact about Guatemala: great medical care! I was examined, given an ultrasound, and told, to my enormous relief, the growth was benign. Just a cluster of fatty deposits. It’d go away on its own in a few weeks. I was on the next flight home. Continue reading “After 20 years, my wife finally allowed me to tell this story.”