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Still, I doubt she ever considered “amateur porn peddler” as even a remote possibility.“I’m not going to judge,” she assured me upon learning of my new activities, “But ? ” While it is true that my mother used to have to physically pry the threadbare notebooks and Vivaldi CDs out of my hands to get me to “go play” with the neighborhood kids, money changes everything.At best, I completed simple administrative tasks, such as printing paper and hoarding Post-its, with mild competence.I relished these peaceful moments, for the majority of the time I felt more like a 2-year-old filing estate taxes with crayons.I began leaving the office sharply at 5 p.m., applying my makeup on the subway ride home and often skipping dinner in order to log online faster.
And, if my camming experience is any indication, I might have even liked it.The first time that I logged on as “Marina,” I wore a tight black tank top and a comfortable pair of shorts, figuring that if the camming thing didn’t work out, I would at least be dressed for consolation pastries afterward. “Well, I came here because I hate my real job and wanted to see if this could be a viable financial alternative,” I said, tweaking my nipples a bit in hopes of resuscitating some of the erections I undoubtedly just lost.But before I could even finish doubting myself, a swarm of users flooded my chat room, tipping liberally with “tokens,” the website’s local currency, and barraging me with questions. “How does it feel getting naked in front of hundreds of guys?For the first time, my intellect and perfectionist work ethic had failed me. It’s super easy – most guys aren’t looking for some airbrushed Barbie. I paused, looking down at my austere gray cardigan.While I’m not unattractive, my waxen face, sturdy brown glasses and easily detectable baggage (both under-eye and emotional) hardly suggest that I’m someone you might want to see naked.
My parents were proud of me, and I was proud that they were proud of me.