Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
A gorgeous, smiling Latino face, I couldn’t help noting. With a very expensive-looking haircut and the collar of what looks like a silk shirt.
I tapped the photo before I could even think about it, simply wanting to see the tiny avatar pic at a larger size and a higher resolution.
Christian G. Even more handsome—almost distressingly handsome, to a girl whose sexual needs had just been brought so embarrassingly to her attention—in the full-size version of the profile photo. Dark eyes, strong chin with a beard so neatly trimmed it seemed painted on. Wavy hair down to the back of his neck.
A smile that hid something much deeper and much more serious, it looked like to me anyway.
I work in the movie business, like every other guy whose profile you’re looking at, probably. I guess the difference is that I know how to get things done, and I only work with people I can motivate to share that mindset. That probably sounds really arrogant, and I suppose that’s fair. But… you know… fuck around and find out.
I swallowed hard. Something about the final sentence, with the f-word—my Midwestern upbringing made sure I couldn’t keep myself from thinking of it that way—had sent a shiver down my spine. Worse, the shiver had gone straight to my pussy. I had never in my life until that moment experienced what I’d heard other girls call a clench, down there, and I’d always wondered what it felt like. Suddenly, to my distress, I knew.
The memory of the photoshoot, and Mary’s ‘story,’ flooded back into my mind. My whole upper body seemed to heat up to the boiling point as I thought about Christian G looking at those pictures. But he couldn’t have, could he? I had to choose the ones I would put on my profile, right?
Then I noticed, down at the bottom of the profile, a section titled You and Christian G. The first thing in that section was Christian G sent you a private message, but under it I read, openmouthed and wide-eyed, Christian G watched your intimate photo session.
I put the phone down as if it had bitten me. I drew ragged breaths, in and out, trying to make my thoughts put themselves into some kind of comprehensible order. My heart had sped up to what felt like three hundred beats a minute.
How? How could… what… had I signed up… Christian G—gorgeous, and… and he sent me a PM after… how had… he saw me doing…
I left my phone there, on the bathroom counter, and I tried to go through the motions of a normal morning routine: hair, face, reasonably compatible outfit. I did everything in my power to avoid thinking that I was getting ready to meet the man who had apparently watched me play with myself for the camera.
He saw me. He saw me come, for the first time.
Had he heard me tell Mary that I didn’t masturbate? A new wave of heat went to my cheeks, at the idea that Christian G had known—that he had understood he was seeing the girl who had taken her panties down have her very first climax.
I felt so stupid. Part of me wanted to call Selecta and demand to know how it had happened, but I didn’t need any patient member services rep to tell me I had of course agreed to it. I had ticked the Agree and continue box under a wall of text that must include something like, The associate member agrees to allow platinum-level members access to the video stream of any Selecta-scheduled photo session for which she registers.
Maybe it didn’t even have that narrow a focus. The relevant passage in the agreement I had signed might just say, You agree to let platinum-level members look at you whenever they want, however they want, whether you’re dressed or naked. I mean, I already knew that if I accepted an allowance from a sponsor, he would automatically have access to all the controls of my apartment.
I spent several minutes feeling like the skin of my face would remain at a permanent temperature five degrees hotter than the rest of my body. Every time I tried to focus on my yogurt, I instinctively reached for my phone, to scroll through my feeds the way I always did while eating breakfast. I remembered that I had left it in the bathroom, and why, and a volcano of heat erupted in my upper body.
At the same time, though…
As the fact that a man had watched me masturbate started to become part of the past, other important details of the situation filtered into my consciousness.
Christian G had messaged me, after watching my shameless display.
Christian G worked in the movie business, and to judge from his platinum membership was very successful in that industry.
Meaning… Christian G could take care of me, in addition to possessing looks so good they should be illegal.