I didn't foresee how much of my single life I'd spend naked - figuratively or literally .
Actually, I hadn't foreseen how much of my life overall I'd spend naked. Who would have? I was a bookish, shy, small-town girl from a loving, supportive family. I didn't consider myself beautiful, wore no make-up, and barely needed a bra. I still don't need a bra.
Perhaps you'll blame my decisions on early exposure to adult magazines, or blue movies on cable TV. Maybe illicit internet exploration in my hometown library throughout junior high is the culprit. Personally, I credit the all-too-common pressure of a $40,000 federal student loan. That, and natural curiousity.
No matter the reason, at 21, I hosted my first online videochat session and my secret life began. Initially, a friend introduced the concept to me. At the time, I still preferred sex with the lights out, earned straight As in all my university-level Women's Studies courses and didn't know enough about computers to install a printer. Still, in a short skirt and tight t-shirt I planted my 110 lbs in front of the web cam, my face just barely out of view.
As I prepared to log on to the website, I knew that whatever happened next would have lasting effects. Who would see me? Would they be kind? Am I pretty enough? Am I safe enough? What the hell am I doing?
Years, two university degrees, numerous day jobs, and more than 1000 online visitors later, I've come of age, gained a strange insight into the male psyche, and nurtured a scandalous past (by conventional standards). My boyfriend throughout tried to be understanding, though you can imagine how complicated this was for us. I won't pretend that this did not affect my relationship with him, or others. Even now, only a select few of my closest friends know my details. Keeping secrets is often easier than justifying my decisions.
I manage two lives and continue to balance both, with a distinct vernacular for each. I have separate wardrobes, including task-specific make-up, and a closet assigned to hide my equipment. Friday night tends to be most profitable, so I rarely go out on weekends. An excuse for this, without sounding like a bore, is hard to come by. It complicates dating and that's why I mention it here.
This journal won't be a chathost confessional, an erotic diary or an apology. I don't define myself by my online identity, but she can't be ignored either. She's pretty, charming and gutsy and she's better at dating than I will ever be.
Actually, I hadn't foreseen how much of my life overall I'd spend naked. Who would have? I was a bookish, shy, small-town girl from a loving, supportive family. I didn't consider myself beautiful, wore no make-up, and barely needed a bra. I still don't need a bra.
Perhaps you'll blame my decisions on early exposure to adult magazines, or blue movies on cable TV. Maybe illicit internet exploration in my hometown library throughout junior high is the culprit. Personally, I credit the all-too-common pressure of a $40,000 federal student loan. That, and natural curiousity.
No matter the reason, at 21, I hosted my first online videochat session and my secret life began. Initially, a friend introduced the concept to me. At the time, I still preferred sex with the lights out, earned straight As in all my university-level Women's Studies courses and didn't know enough about computers to install a printer. Still, in a short skirt and tight t-shirt I planted my 110 lbs in front of the web cam, my face just barely out of view.
As I prepared to log on to the website, I knew that whatever happened next would have lasting effects. Who would see me? Would they be kind? Am I pretty enough? Am I safe enough? What the hell am I doing?
Years, two university degrees, numerous day jobs, and more than 1000 online visitors later, I've come of age, gained a strange insight into the male psyche, and nurtured a scandalous past (by conventional standards). My boyfriend throughout tried to be understanding, though you can imagine how complicated this was for us. I won't pretend that this did not affect my relationship with him, or others. Even now, only a select few of my closest friends know my details. Keeping secrets is often easier than justifying my decisions.
I manage two lives and continue to balance both, with a distinct vernacular for each. I have separate wardrobes, including task-specific make-up, and a closet assigned to hide my equipment. Friday night tends to be most profitable, so I rarely go out on weekends. An excuse for this, without sounding like a bore, is hard to come by. It complicates dating and that's why I mention it here.
This journal won't be a chathost confessional, an erotic diary or an apology. I don't define myself by my online identity, but she can't be ignored either. She's pretty, charming and gutsy and she's better at dating than I will ever be.
