The Billionaire's CamGirl

My privacy is important to me, and no one knows I’m making money this way. It isn’t that I feel ashamed, but I know if my mother found out she’d be beyond devastated. I told her I was working for a travel app and made up some tech sounding mumbo-jumbo. Her eyes glazed over halfway through my bullshit explanation and she hasn’t asked for any details since.

She worked so hard to put me through college, an opportunity she never had herself. Through my college years, she worked her usual day job as a secretary at an accounting firm, and at night she picked up shifts at her brother’s bar in Brooklyn, taking the train from Long Island into the city at night, and then doing it over again the next morning to her office job. She sacrificed for me, even taking out another mortgage on her house. For my future. I can’t look her in the eye and tell her this is how I’m earning a living, on my back with my tits out. She won’t understand. And I know she struggles to make ends meet, delaying retirement because of the debt she took out for me. I want this for myself but also for her future. If I can just get enough money, I know I can open a successful business and take away some of the financial stress. I told her I was working for a travel app and made up some tech sounding mumbo-jumbo. Her eyes glazed over halfway through my bullshit explanation and she hasn’t asked for any details since.

This is a temporary situation, I remind myself. With my money from Sugar Girl and Captain’s generous tips, I’ll have enough money saved by the end of the year to start implementing my business plan. But that’s why it’s important to think carefully about getting close to him. Once I save up enough money, I want to leave this chapter of my life behind. As much as I look forward to moving on, it’s beginning to sting that I’ll be leaving him behind, too.

2

Weaver

My phone is vibrating under my chin. After my session with Captain, I fell asleep looking through real estate listings in Brooklyn. I’m still thousands of dollars away from buying or leasing a space for my business but looking through available properties is good research and keeps me focused on my future. I look up and toward the window. It’s still dark outside, but I can see dawn out on the horizon.

I rub my eyes and will them to focus on the incoming text message. It’s from Kate, my best friend and old college roommate. Her restaurant in Paris is having some minor renovations done, and she’s coming to New York to visit. She told me she was traveling to see me, but I know the largest wine and food convention is being hosted in the city that weekend, too. I don’t begrudge her that. In fact, her success inspires me. If Kate can fulfill her dreams, so can I.

I’ll see you at the airport in two days, bitch!!!! I emailed you my flight info.

I text back immediately that it’s a plan. I’m so excited to see Kate. These past few months we’ve barely touched base more than a handful of times. Her work schedule is intense, and with a six-hour time difference, it’s nearly impossible to speak on the phone. I feel guilty thinking it, but it is a bit of a relief that we’ve grown distant. The last time I saw Kate at her restaurant opening in Paris, I hadn’t exactly been honest with her about my plans. She knew I’d been struggling, but she didn’t know exactly how badly. When she asked me what I’d been up to, I didn’t want to put a damper on her big night, so I fudged the truth a bit. I didn’t tell her I had no apartment to return to when I got back to New York, and I certainly didn’t tell her that I’d maxxed out the last of my credit cards on my plane ticket to Paris. I’d kept the spotlight steadily on her, where it belonged that weekend, and when she asked about work, I told her I was going into business for myself and omitted exactly what type of business I was pursuing.

Once Kate’s arrival was on my calendar, I’d been suffering through nerves and jitters over what I’d eventually tell her. I have to tell her something. I don’t want to lie to my best friend, and I know she won’t judge me for being a cam-girl, but it still makes my cheeks hot to think of uttering those words: I’m a cam-girl. Memories of my weekend in Paris flood me. Kate dressed up and in total command of her restaurant. Choreographing the waiters’ every move, checking and double checking each platter and dish. She was shining. She’d made it. And those memories make me happy for her, but also make me feel like I’m falling hopelessly behind in the game of life.