Without a formal goodbye, I head out, more than ready to spend the rest of the day in the privacy of my hotel room.
My eyes burn from the brightness of the laptop screen.
It’s as dim as I can make it, but with the lights off, it doesn’t matter. The only glow in the room comes from the paused gamefilm I’ve been watching for hours now. I glance at the time and see that it’s already past midnight.
Cracking my neck, I adjust the laptop on my thighs. I should close it and go to bed. That’s the responsible thing to do, especially before the last game of a series. Still, I hesitate with my finger swiping uselessly back and forth across the track pad.
Everything’s ready for tomorrow. I’m meticulously organized with all aspects of my life, let alone my team. The batting order is finalized, and the bullpen is ready. My players should be getting back to the hotel soon, sober and tired. I can set my laptop aside and get more than the five hours of sleep I’ve suffered with the last couple of weeks.
But that isn’t what I do.
I close out of the films and open a web browser instead. The website I type out auto-fills into the search bar, and the moment I press Enter, the familiar logo is filling the screen. It’s instinct that guides me through the log-in process and through the following pages until I see her profile picture.
My lungs seize when I see the thumbnail on the latest videocrushedvelvethas uploaded. She put it up this morning. It’s the only one on her page that I haven’t watched.
Fuck, that makes me sound like such a creep.
I don’t like to consider what I’ve been doing on After Hours creepy, though. I’m a single guy who hasn’t been on a date with anyone in years. It’s not that I’m a monk or anything, but I do avoid meeting new people as much as I can outside of my work. Obviously, that’s led to a severe lack of sex life.
This is why sites like this exist.
Creating an account on the site three months ago wasn’t even my intention. I heard about it in a lunch meeting and only checked it out on a whim, just to see if the men who were bragging about it were right. I scrolled for a handful of minutes before finding this account, and after further research on thesafety precautions put into place for those who choose to film and share content with viewers, I subscribed.
Crushedvelvet’s account has been the only one I watch. I’m uninterested in browsing the thousands of others. The woman who runs this page is . . . far more than enough for me, and I refuse to feel guilty about watching what she posts. I’ve never seen her face, and that’s given me some comfort. The last thing I want to do is lose the anonymity that drew me here in the first place. Her content is always filmed alone, with only herself included. I found quickly that I liked that.
I’m on After Hours because I don’t want to waste time on porn sites, nor do I have any intention of signing up to a dating site anytime soon. Here, I can watch what I enjoy and know that the videos uploaded are made because the person behind the camera feels the same about what they do. For now, at least, that’s enough for me.
Settled a bit, I stretch my shoulders against the headboard and click on the video. The familiar sight of peachy skin fills my screen, followed by a soft, twinkly voice that sends sparks down the length of my body. I swallow a groan when she pinches the blush-pink strap of her bra and snaps it twice.
My already sore muscles tense to the point of pain as I give her my full attention.
3
BRIELLE
A mannequin wearinga glittery pink slip dress watches me from across my living room as I scroll through the comments on my latest video. I stick my tongue out at it. If it were possible for there to be judgment in a pair of empty eye sockets, that’s exactly how it would be looking at me right now.
It’s the same expression I imagine my brother would have if he ever found out what I do at night. That his little sister uploads dirty videos of herself online for hundreds of people to see. Well, they don’t know it’s me, so there’s that. I’ve never once shared my face, and I make a serious effort to keep my surroundings discreet enough that if anyone I know in my personal life did stumble across my account, they’d have a harder time realizing it’s me.
Despite my anonymity, I’m not ashamed of what I do. It’s the opposite, actually.
There’s something incredibly liberating about owning your sexuality in such an outward way. I’ve never felt sexier and more desired than when I’m exploring myself and the different things I’ve learned I enjoy for the camera. It’s only been a few months, but I’ve dug so deep into the well of my kinks that I doubt there’s much left to be discovered.
Still, I’m aware of the risk that comes with doing this. I’m not hurting for money or searching for reassurance from strangers on the internet. I do this because I want to, and the older I get, the more I’m realizing that I don’t really give a shit what people think of me. The only reason I’m not louder about it is for my brother’s sake.
His career means the world to him, and the last thing I want to do is ruin anything for him because his sister’s pussy is on the internet. Sex work is still frowned upon by too many who don’t understand that work is work, regardless of your opinion or beliefs. If you don’t like it, don’t think about it. Nobody is forcing you to go online and stare at anyone naked.
You’ll never catch me dead judging anyone for doing what I am.
I drop my attention to my laptop and snort at the most recent comment.I’ve never been so jealous of a vibe before.Great to know, usersmarterthanIlook.
There are a hundred more beneath that one. It doesn’t matter that I only uploaded this morning. I’m flattered that I’ve grown such a fan base, if I’d call it that. I know that these commenters aren’t all here because they think I’m some sexual goddess, but that doesn’t bother me much. There’s plenty of negativity woven into the positivity, and dare I say that I use those bitter comments to push myself harder.
Hate all you want, but I’m still the one getting paid to make myself come.
I roll my lip between my teeth as I continue scrolling, ignoring the more vulgar comments. There aren’t enough to let the creeps overshadow the admirers, so I don’t let them bother me.
It feels like forever before I find the username I was selfishly hoping would appear.Quiethours. The comment beside the name sparks a thrill that races like cold fire up my spine.Without hesitation, I click out of the video and open my messages tab. The number of ones I haven’t responded to yet is jarring, to say the least. I charge my subscribers more for the option to direct message me, yet money hasn’t ever seemed to be an issue for this particular one. Not from the extra donation amounts and consistent membership status that I absolutely havenotbeen keeping an eye on.
