I signed up with a third-party website to be a cam model. It works like this: you have a webcam. Guys go to the website, pick you out of a lineup, and instant message with you a little bit. When they decide they want to fork over $3 a minute, they click the "Pay Now" button and take you to a private chat room, where you can do whatever you want. I got half of the money for each minute, and grew quite adept at stripping slowly. The guys mostly just wanted straightforward tits and ass; I learned how to pull my pussy lips open, how to use camera tricks so it looked like I was really having fun. As porn work goes, it was incredibly low maintenance. I didn't have to shave my legs or wear high heels, or even put on lipstick; I didn't have to actually touch or talk to any of the guys who were watching me take my clothes off. I spoke into a microphone and never heard their voices. Sometimes I got strange requests: put a can of hairspray in your pussy. Let me hypnotize you. One guy wanted me to pee in a cup and pour it on my chest. I said no to anything I didn't want to do. Jason walked back and forth through the house as I worked on the living-room sofa. I'd wave at him over the top of the camera, while showing close-ups of my ass cheeks to some unseen guy jerking it in his darkened office. It was a steady paycheck, and these gullible souls all believed I was twenty-two years old and my name was Samantha.