Lisa woke to the sound of her alarm. She got ready slowly in the dark early morning hours. She selected a black bra and camisole with matching black panties. She brushed her long, fiery red hair and applied lipstick and mascara. She finished with a black and gold silk robe. The contrast of the black against her porcelain skin made her features stand out. The thick curls of red hair cascaded over her shoulders and her green eyes glowed in the first dim light of the day.
Lisa moved to the makeshift office she put together in the corner of her living room. She turned on her laptop and her webcam. She flipped on the home photo studio lighting, which came to life with a gentle hum. She sat on the old office chair, adjusted her robe, and signed into her account as she had almost every day for the last nine months. She took one last look at herself on the screen before opening her webcam officially for the day's work.
Although bright, well-educated and articulate, Lisa understood that the economic realities were harsh. Any job that would draw on all her years of University education could not come close to generating the income she made as a webcam model in the corner of her living room. She understood men well. Some visited her webcam out of loneliness; some were motivated by curiosity. The vast majority of men, however, wanted only to look at a pretty woman and jerk off quickly.
Whatever the reason for their visit, Lisa knew how to speak in innuendo and show just enough skin to fulfill any man's fantasy. The work was clean and easy, and the money was good. In reality, it actually was quite boring at times. She smiled at most visitors, feigning excitement as guys pumped their cocks in their fists until semen shot onto their bellies or dribbled weakly over their fingers. None of these men excited her. None could connect to who she was, and what she needed sexually.
This morning started no differently. She met an Italian, who professed his undying love until he spilled his semen onto his keyboard and ran off, and then there was a man from India who oogled her shyly as he masturbated to a quick climax. The third man she met did not appear any different. He was an ordinary-looking American, pleasant looking with a few extra kilograms. His dark eyeglass frames stood out nicely against his graying temples and salt-and-pepper colored beard. Lisa thought he looked a bit bookish, but kind.
Lisa and he traded the typical perfunctory banter: how they were doing, where they were from, marital status, kids, etc. The conversation was easy and the visitor had a calm demeanor. Even in this basic communication, she caught glimpses of his sense of humor. She found herself actually enjoying the chat, something that felt almost remarkable given how rare it had been to talk with a visitor that held her interest. They talked of work as is often the case. And then, Lisa asked about his hobbies. Calmly, he said, "I am an author." Wow, this seemed interesting. She had not chatted with a writer before, let alone someone with the ego big enough to consider himself an author. She smiled and asked what genre he preferred. His one word answer almost startled her. "Erotica."
Lisa's cheek got pink with interest as her stranger explained. He was deeply fascinated by human sexuality, itself a contradiction of basic instincts and complex desires. He explained that there were no rules to define our sexuality. While there were limits to how we may express our sexual needs, the basic desires we feel are neither good nor bad. We are sexual beings, driven by lust and stimulated by our senses into a web of involuntary biological and hormonal responses. From the receptors in our nerves that fire with equal force at sensations of pleasure or pain to our undeniable "pack behavior" of alphas and betas, the stranger explained that we have few differences from any other mammals.
Lisa's mind raced at the very suggestion that she was simply a sexual animal, even though she was very aware that this chat made her nipples hard and she could feel her pussy dampen. Perhaps sensing her interest, the unassuming visitor spoke calmly, "Would you like to read my stories while I watch your reaction?"
Lisa accepted the author's offer. Part of her was offended by his arrogance. It was presumptuous for him to think that his second-rate, amateur "word porn" would offer little more excitement than the cheap romance novels found in a drugstore or bus station. She expected the typical overblown, oversized, cliched writing that petered out and trailed off, signaling conspicuously that the author had blown his semen onto the carpeting and was in search of a microwavable burrito because he was hungry. But, at the same time, Lisa was intrigued. This visitor had a unique manner. He was not boastful, but spoke with a confidence that told her he may be different.
The author began to share his first story, feeding her one paragraph at a time. The story began calmly. It was of a mother recounting her days before Christmas, busy with last-minute shopping and excited for her son's return from University. But, as the mother returned home, instead of egg nogg and "It's a Wonderful Life," she found her son and his college roommate naked by the fireplace locked together in passionate gay sex. The quick shift from Christmas cheer to hot, steamy sex between men was jarring and the imagery so vivid. Lisa could feel the intensity of these college students discovering themselves through their lovemaking. She saw clearly in her own mind the softness of their kissing, the way each nuzzled and sucked the other's cock, and the power of one man's long deep thrusts into the other's ass. Lisa shuddered as she imagined the moment of climax as one man groaned and emptied his semen deep inside the other. Lisa knew that her own pussy's dampness had turned into a trickle of her own juices, soaking her black panties and staining the office chair.
