Much like waitressing or washing floors, professional masturbation was simply incommensurate with my educational background and perceived level of dignity.
Now that’s a perfectly respectable excuse not to pursue a career! While I’m not unattractive, my waxen face, sturdy brown glasses and easily detectable baggage (both under-eye and emotional) hardly suggest that I’m someone you might want to see naked.
And while most camgirls are veritable social butterflies, fluttering from one flirtatious conversation to the next, I am more like a moth, perched in the shadows for fear of crashing and burning into a floor lamp. Deep down, I also felt that I was “above” sex work.
At best, I completed simple administrative tasks, such as printing paper and hoarding Post-its, with mild competence.
I relished these peaceful moments, for the majority of the time I felt more like a 2-year-old filing estate taxes with crayons.
My parents were proud of me, and I was proud that they were proud of me.
Convinced that I was doing the “right thing,” I spent a year botching Excel spreadsheets and crying in office bathroom stalls.
Marina, my online alter ego on a popular adult webcamming site, is the new and improved “me.” She dazzles men with discussions of Indo-European languages while seducing them with her perky derriere, bending over before the camera to reach for her pen, with which she scrawls on a memo pad: .
Last autumn I sat in a midtown cubicle sorting receipts for my boss’s monthly expense report.
I had recently earned my master’s degree from Harvard and had accepted a coveted yet thankless entry-level position at a well-known philanthropic organization in New York City.