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“I’m going to take the certification exam for Russian-to-English translation.” While not entirely ludicrous – I am fluent in Russian – I saw no hurry to pursue this option so long as I was still certified to flash my boobs over the Internet. If you’re not familiar with it, that means I take off my clothes for random people on the Internet.

For weeks, I fielded calls from anxious relatives, inventing excuse after excuse as to why I had still not produced a groundbreaking retranslation of “War and Peace.” “So, you’re just … ” my father finally asked, his voice leaden and despondent, as though his Rottweiler had just died. If there was going to be a funeral, I thought, doing something. Don’t worry, the pay is great.” For some reason, I actually thought this news would cheer up my father.“Camming is the gateway!

” asked Oldn Fat1 – a user who deserves kudos for his realism. Neither here nor there,” I said instinctively before correcting myself, “but I still have my panties on, so let’s get them off and see what I feel like after!

” Much to my surprise, I was infinitely more embarrassed to call my underwear “panties” than I was to remove them.

Last autumn I sat in a midtown cubicle sorting receipts for my boss’s monthly expense report.

My mother always told me I could be whatever I wanted to be in life.“I came for the tits, but stayed for the intellectual banter,” remarked one visitor.In addition to more classic webcam performances – wet T-shirts, oil slathering or run-of-the-mill masturbation – some of my most popular performances entail me reading erotica, perhaps Anais Nin or the Marquis de Sade, in the buff.At my annual employee review, my boss placed me on “Performance Probation,” citing at least five or six reasons why I could not be trusted with so much as a stapler.She added that in spite of my attempts to I now think, staring at the unlikely reflection of a smoky-eyed 25-year-old woman in my lipstick-strewn bathroom.

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