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I’ve tidied my room, this is a first for me. My best friend, Rowan, complains every time he’s here.

You do know what a hamper is for, right?
Do the words ‘waste paper basket’ mean absolutely nothing to you, Chelle?

Well, if only he could see it now, he wouldn’t even recognise the place. I force a giggle, take a breath that seems to shake my entire spine. Rowan is the last person who’ll be watching this particular show. Girly cams aren’t exactly his kind of thing.

A single white light flicks on at the top of my laptop screen and I see myself projected in the little window. The tartan skirt is long enough to leave my crotch in shadow, short enough to hint at unseen delights. A loose camisole ends above my belly button. I tug at the ends, straighten my hair, I want to look my best. I’ve even put on a little perfume.

The mouse cursor hovers over the connect button. It’s the point of no return. After this, I’m committed. A final doubt passes through my mind: what if everyone thinks you’re ugly? I close my eyes, take a deep breath, remind myself of how much Lexie said she makes. A few hours sitting on my bed once a week, a few hundred dollars. Easy money.

A single click and I’m broadcasting.

For the next few hours, I’m Tammi, here to flirt, play and tease. At first there’s hardly anyone in my room. A few people pass through, and I keep my clothes on. Then usernames flash up in the chat box. I smile and engage, and I start to think, this is fun.

Did I really just think that? My heart leaps. I’m really enjoying this.

It takes a little while, but the tips build. I take my top off, bra underneath.

“Tammi ur sush a teese!”

I laugh. “You know what you have to do to get me naked.”

I have to tweak my nipples to get them hard. Performing in front of an audience isn’t that easy. The skirt goes next, not the bra. Keeping the men and women here, watching me, is my job. I run a finger along my slit, letting the fabric of my panties do the work for me.

The frequency of the tips increases tenfold.

Before I know it, the final goal is reached. I have to take a deep breath to steady my nerves. Showtime. I slip my panties down, grab the vibrator and work myself. Make appropriate noises, trying not to laugh. The experience is awkward and fun. I watch the messages coming in, but I don’t respond to them. Working up an orgasm takes all my concentration.


Well, OK, slightly faked. But close enough. And my audience loves me – the tips have continued to rise even after the goal was reached. I’ve made more than I expected. I lean forward, thank my audience and wish them good night. And then the show ends.

As I close the laptop, I think about my plans. Once a week. A few hundred dollars. Easy money.

Or maybe I’ll schedule another show for tomorrow night.

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9 thoughts on “Showtime

  1. Pingback: 9 Things Erotica Has Taught Me About Myself | Nicci Haydon

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