Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 19169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 96(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 64(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 96(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 64(@300wpm)
After our first private chat, Jay paid in advance to have me all to himself for the next three nights. During those sessions, I continued reading from the same age-gap story collection. I still can’t believe I told a brand-new viewer how much I enjoy Daddy erotica. He must enjoy it, too, though because he insisted on buying up all of my sessions for the rest of the month.
Normally, I wouldn’t let a client dictate when I go live and with whom, but I take genuine pleasure in camming for Jay. What’s more, after talking with him every night for almost three weeks, he’s begun to open up to me.
In-between the dirty stories, we have real conversations. I’ve learned that he lives alone, has never been married, and hasn’t dated or slept with anyone in years. He thought he wanted kids, but it wasn’t in the cards for him, which I thought was kind of sad. I found out his birthday is April sixteenth. He’s turning forty-eight this year, making him two years older than my dad.
That last bit of information would probably turn some girls off, but I must be wired differently because it does the opposite. The thought of an older, experienced man like Jay teaching me how to please him makes me want to do things for him I swore I’d never do on camera, like show off my breasts, or touch myself—
“I put air in your tires,” Jonathan says.
I shake myself out of the fantasy I’ve slipped into; I’ve been doing that a lot these days. “What tires?”
His brow crimps above the rim of his coffee mug. “Your truck. The back tires looked low, so I put air in ‘em.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I smile appreciatively. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve thanked Jonathan since I moved into his house, I wouldn’t need to cam for a living. He seems to like doing nice things for me, just because. I’ll admit, I like him a lot more than I should. I watch him hammer nails and lift heavy things and imagine how it would feel to be held by him, cradled against his chest and belly, where nothing and no one could ever hurt me.
But, as much as I like Jonathan, acting on my attraction toward him feels too much like cheating on Jay. Not that Jay and I are together. Practically speaking, he’s no different from any other viewer. Yet, emotionally, he’s somehow become more to me than just lines of text. I can’t explain it, but I feel like I know him. When he says he thinks about me all the time, I believe him.
Jonathan sets his mug in the sink. “I’m gonna prime the living room today. Can you keep Mango in your bedroom?”
“Sure,” I say.
I finish breakfast and wash the dishes, then refresh my coffee before taking Mango upstairs. He curls into a ball to nap beside me on the bed while I start my reading for Modern American Lit.
A few hours and one hastily written essay later, my phone rings with an incoming call from my dad. I hadn’t heard from him since I moved out, though Eloise has been leaving messages almost daily. I’m excited to finally talk to him.
I answer, “Hey, Dad. I’m glad you called.”
“Well,” says Eloise, “I guess that answers my first question.”
My jaw clenches. I should’ve figured Eloise would try calling on my dad’s phone next, having tried and failed over a dozen times to reach me from her number.
“Hi, Eloise...”
“It’s been weeks since we heard from you, April,” she says, her voice dripping fake concern. “How’s the new living arrangement playing out?”
I massage my forehead. “It’s great. I’m pretty much settled in.”
“You know,” she says, “your dad and I would love to see it sometime.”
“Yeah, totally.” I don’t doubt for a second that she’d love to see where I’ve landed. Eloise was always the first to show up at a neighbor’s open house. “It’ll have to wait till Jonathan’s done working on the first floor though. The whole house is kind of a construction zone.”
“Who’s Jonathan?”
“He owns the house,” I say.
“Oh.” Her tone is accusatory; why didn’t I mention this person before? “That must be annoying, all the construction racket.”
“It’s fine, actually. He works during the week, so he pretty much only renovates on weekends.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s an electrician,” I say.
“Have you found a job yet?”
My jaw tightens. She knows I wouldn’t have left home if I wasn’t still camming. She’s just angling for confirmation. I refuse to give her the satisfaction.
“Do you need help paying rent?” she asks when I don’t respond.
It fills me with a sense of triumph to be able to tell her, “I’m actually making more money than I was before.” The desire to wave my success in her face overtakes me. Before she can say anything else, I add, “You and Dad should come for dinner next Sunday.”