Diary of an Internet Whore, 2020-08-29 Rock Bottoms and Sky ..

Diary of an Internet Whore, 2020-08-29 Rock Bottoms and Sky Highs, Part I As much as I’m feeling more and more liberated now that I’m expressing my inner vixen nature, paradoxically I am feeling more trapped on other levels. Those of you who have been following my online journey from the start will remember what I’m talking about. That story was actually the inception of this Diary of an Internet Whore project. If I had to pinpoint the exact moment where it “all” began for me, I’d say it was in July this summer, when I had hit rock bottom. One might argue that I had started earlier, as I had already been shooting pictures and movies since early June, and considering the fact that I did not have any online presence before that, I was surprised at how fast my humble beginnings caught on. I was on a momentum, I was feeling on top of my game, and I had set the bar high as I always do. When I’m in, I dive head-on. I knew that it takes time (and probably luck and connections) to make it in this industry, but I was confident that I have what it takes to make it big; the looks, the dirty mind, the talent, the confidence, and the drive. I say “hit rock bottom” but it was really a giant tornado of mixed feelings and confusion, of deep hurt and ecstatic blossoming. After a particularly heated argument with my boyfriend, he had kicked me out and in a panic move I had to call two of my buddies to come save my ass and take my stuff out. Once again, I was back to square one in my dad’s basement. I remember sitting among the boxes of the few possessions I have left, mainly my bed, suitcases of clothes, a fraction of my former huge book collection, kitchenware, makeup, and family souvenirs. I had gone from working a stable, professional university-level office career to being jobless, homeless, and heartbroken. Oh, and another significant detail is that I had my face sucking dick all over the Internet. How the hell did my life ever come to this? I wasn’t really sure how I felt. On the one hand, since the arbitrary lockdowns mandated by governments, I had lost my full-time job of six years, as well as any hope for my summer waitressing side gig that was what enabled me to keep my head above the water financially and without which I would never be able to afford the surgical aspects of my transition. Employment insurance would barely cover the basics, i.e. my apartment, bills, debts and interests, medication, hormones, car-related expenses, and all other fixed expenses. For food and gas to get around, I’d have to dig myself deeper into debt with no end in sight for this social insanity and no guarantee I’d be able to find a job in the short-to-medium-term future, so I didn’t renew the lease on my apartment. To my despair, my bank account started to drop instead of slowly increasing. I was seeing the last surgery I wanted vanishing before my very eyes yet another time. I was fucked. Another important element I used to have was a supporting partner. The story of how we met is a juicy one, and ever since we met we have been fucking like jackrabbits, but it will be for another time. Long story short, we had been together for a bit over a year, with a few breakups in-between, sometimes initiated by him, sometimes by me. I guess that’s what happens when two peculiar characters me-et each other, but through these hardships we each grew as individuals and also as a couple. This man helped me learn to love myself bit-by-bit, how to feel appreciation and gratitude for all the silver linings of life, both the small and fine details. He taught me more about empathy than I had ever felt. When he heard the news about my job, he drove across cities despite the stay-at-home orders in a Sprinter truck to come sweep me out of there and save as much of my stuff as possible, and took me into his home. We went through the most insane day, from dusk ‘till dawn! We started packing in late afternoon, and playing Tetris deep into the night to load every last inch of that truck, and drove across towns and highways and bridges praying not to get pulled over. Then we unloaded everything before sunrise. The boxes alone were about 60 in number, each weighing 60-70 pounds, without counting the 600-pound cast iron bedframe, mattresses, and all the miscellaneous stuff. He stayed by my side and mechanically hauled stuff all night without ever complaining. I had been hesitant about our relationship since late in 2019, but that night instilled in me a new sense of trust toward him. Despite our past frictions and the crammed up apartment, he was patient and loving and caring. We bonded a lot during the first month of confinement. And then came the day we got bored of drinking booze and waiting for the world to either end or go back to business. One of the sources of fights we’d had was about my lack of self-confidence. Despite him telling me all the time how gorgeous I am, I was always shying away from having my picture taken, always extremely self-critical of myself, and going through regular ups and downs triggered by episodes of dysphoria. With lots of time on our hands and nothing to do, he convinced me to go along with a little experiment of his for my birthday. He took out a video camera, tripods, spotlights, and a bunch of wiring, and asked me to get my 15 favourite pairs of high heels. When he had everything set up and after a few drinks to get me loosened up, he asked me to pick a pair of heels, after which he’d pick a matching song and I’d dance or do whatever I wanted in front of the camera for him. Just let myself go. I wasn’t too keen on the idea, but I played along. This went on for an entire day and night, almost until sunrise the next morning. We had LOTS of footage. The result was the first movie of my budding career, “I Love my Fucking Heels.” He worked relentlessly on editing that video, and I wasn’t allowed to watch him. When he showed me the final version a week of two later, my jaw dropped. That was ME on the screen? I had never seen myself move before, except in front of a mirror or walking by a window. This was me from all angles, and I had to admit I loved what I was seeing. He gave me an entirely new perspective on myself. I couldn’t believe my eyes, how sexy I looked, how graceful I was on the camera, how the image I saw on screen was not only a woman, but a damn sexy one at that, with a genuine smile plastered on my face and a sparkle of naughtiness shimmering in my eyes; my first glimpse of my vixen nature. That was his birthday gift to me: genuine self-confidence, at last. Fake it ‘till you make it, they say. Something clicked in my mind: I have what it takes to make it. I wanted more. He had no idea of the beast he had awakened. No. Aroused. That evening, I lured him into my bed (it wasn’t that difficult!) and had him lay on his back. Straddling him, I started kissing him and worked my way down his neck, chest, belly... down to his enormous erect cock. I effortlessly, greedily engulfed the tip of his throbbing cock in my mouth, pushed it past the back of my throat, and then let the entire length of his shaft slide right in down to what feels like my stomach. The familiar sensation of fullness and cho-king invaded my being, and as I allowed him to grow even bigger and stretch my throat further, I let go of the tension until it gave way to this exhilaratingly paradoxical feeling of submission, of helplessness, paired with absolute control. I had him under my thumb, or tongue, as the case may be. I pulled my head up and let it out. “Keep going,” he implored. With a devilish grin, I reached for the camera that I had previously hidden and handed it to him. “Let’s make a sex tape,” I giggled, handing him his glass of whisky after stealing a sip for myself. I didn’t have to ask twice: he was already recording. “Thank you,” his deep voice said as I smiled at the camera and took him whole in my mouth again, hungrily swallowing him whole and expertly bobbing my head up and down his monster cock. My head looked so small compared to his meat. I went at it, sucking, swallowing, spitting, gagging, thrusting, gurgling, the whole shenanigans. The hardest part was remembering to look at the camera to capture the genuine delight in my eyes. I’ll always remember that moment. It was just an innocent game between girlfriend and boyfriend. I couldn’t believe I was doing it. I’d always fantasized about making a sex tape. It sounds so kinky, so erotic, but also dangerous, risky, hell, stupid! What kind of woman lets a man film her sucking dick? What if this ends up all over the Internet? I was aroused. He was definitely turned on. As my head was bobbing up and down his shaft like an experienced slut, it clicked in my mind: he wasn’t making me do this. I was the instigator. I wanted this. Peering into the blinding light of the camera lens, I felt myself come alive. I was digging this, I was having the time of my life. I let go of all inhibitions and control. He had no idea, but I knew that this was the beginning of something far less innocent than a secret sex tape. To be continued...