Eva’s Cam

Eva’s Cam

In a summer Seattle house, early in the afternoon, Eva decides to get up. Her wild brown hair is a sleepy storm on her pillow and her body is sick with a mild hangover. Her night was finished with a bottle of wine and a youtube rant – this time about gender advantages/disadvantages. Her video would hit a few hundred views, her upcoming webcam stream would hit a few thousand views.

She shuffled into the kitchen, waved hi to her roommate and fellow camgirl, Ali, then made herself a pot of coffee, a pan of scrambled eggs and poured herself a cup of water. These and the shower would cure her hangover. She’d be able to work, then. Her glow would come back, her cheeks would lift, her eyes would shine.

She checked her twitter. It was alive. Her dedicated followers had answered her numerous questions. Questions about gender, sexual intimacy, psychedelics, puns, genetic modification of children, 9/11, porn, Civilization V, on and on. A follower says “Quit with the pseudo-intellectual bullshit and trying to prove something! You know we’re all here to see your tits and your pussy!” and she laughs it off and provides a nude selfie just because she can – and because it’s been a while since her last one. She continues with the thoughts and ideas and pictures.

Her coffee rejuvenates her. She has a shower, does her hair in long curls, puts her makeup on to accentuate her pale skin and gets ready for the boys – the lonelies – the lovelies. The misguided men who want what everyone wants. They need it too, she thinks, and she also thinks about a future in escorting. No, not for the money – although it is good money – but because of the men! The good, wholesome, every day men who don’t have a warm body to hold at night, or a woman to feel intimate with, or an ear to hear their stories and accounts of daily activities. She would be doing them a favor, giving them a human connection. It’s in her nature to care for others, her mother often said. It’s in her nature to love others and take interest in them. Her mother would say this when her little girl would write stories and poems for class. The stories and poems would be about homeless and old people and by the end – through the good will of God or, oftentimes, fellow man – they finally get the money and the relaxed living and no longer need a wheelchair or a cardboard sign.

Eva first realized she could make money off her body when she was 12. She had boobs and legs and the boys took notice. The boys poked her and play punched her and she responded by slapping them hard on the balls while she laughed and they would keel over and cry and whimper and the other boys would laugh, too. She got to know the boys – she could hang with them, and often liked to. Then they would offer her a dollar or two here and there to look at her tits after class. “The only girl with real ones” they would say and their jaws would drop, their eyes wide like hungry dogs’. With the money she bought books and video games; Orwell, Asimov, Mario, Pokemon, Fitzgerald, Zelda and more. Her mother taught her how to be pretty, but in her motherly, Catholic kind way. Eva had to cover up her body, yet from a young age her face was the right amount of blush, eye shadow, foundation and mascara. The boys who grew into young men wanted to see more – and she knew it. She held this knowledge in her twinkling eyes and sparkling smile, all the way through Catholic school and on to her business.

After the shower she got all dolled up – polka dot dress, vivacious face – sat down on her bed and began webcamming. Looking into the camera and out to the eyes of the men of the Internet, her appearance was positively Athenian. Brown hair flowing thick and smooth, skin like porcelain, eyes like marbles, she greeted her men without a hint of haughtiness. Her regulars were there, as well as some random site browsers. It started off simple enough; she talked to the men, they talked to her. Her day was going fine – though she had a hankering to play Civ V – and their days were going fine, too. Some were from Texas, some were from California, some were from Idaho, some were about to go to work, some were just off work.

She asked the amatory men what they wanted to start with. The ass? The boobs? The spanking? The nipple rubbing? She took a quick vote and bit her lip while she eyed the chat. The ass won. With her, the ass always won (although the men would surely never complain if it were boobs first). She began her routine, receiving her first $5 tip. She blew a kiss to AgentJohnson473.

She turned her ass to the camera. It was plump as a peach and the boys wanted a bite. She flashed her dress up, giggled, then turned back, asking the camgoers if they wanted more. They typed furiously. She got another tip – $2 this time. She turned her ass back again and lifted her dress up as high as it would go, her thong lost deep inside. She gave herself a good hard spank. This yielded another tip.

Turning back to face the boys, taking a good hit from the wine, pulling her dress back down, she asks them if they liked what they saw and what more they want. They all agreed on the spanking, this time with an object – any of her choosing. She goes to grab a 9 and a half inch dildo from her closet. A user remarks that his is bigger. She giggles and teases him that that’s probably not true. The dress is pulled up, the spankings begin, furiously, yielding higher tips, and Eva squeals and screams and moans as she does it – the boys love the sounds, she knows. They get hard. Some begin to masturbate, others hold out – they know to save it for later. Her cheeks turn bright red and she points to them, shouting “SEE WHAT YOU MADE ME DO! Ugh, this is gonna hurt later!” They apologize, thank her and tip her some more.

“The men” are of course composed of hundreds of men, each being an individual man with his own wants and desires. Each man knows that there are others like him. Yet, when Eva’s eyes like stars lock with the camera, there is a tingling. A warmth rises in the man’s spirit and he feels – throwing away the logic and reality of the situation – that it is all for him and he really is special and deserving of the angel in front of his eyes. This is his night. This is his woman.

After some time Eva ended up fully naked when Ali, also fully naked, snuck up behind her and smacked her hard on the ass. Eva jumped in reaction, her mouth open. The chat went wild. The buxom girls giggled and chased each other around the room, trying to get the best ass smacks they possibly could. They ended up on top of each other, the girls, pulling each others’ hair, kissing each other and slapping each others boobs and thighs with playful delight. Eva called out “This is Ali! Isn’t she lovely, boys? Say hi to Ali, everyone!” and they did. Ali got up off of the prostrate Eva, said goodbye and walked out of the room to take care of her own business.

Eva got up off the floor, finished her wine, started a new one, and faced the camera in all her nakedness – another few tips. There she stood, the pussy placed just perfectly within camera shot. She had light electronic music going now, and began dancing for her boys. Her hips wiggled. Her hands ran up and down her curves. She looked at the men and bit her lip, smiling warmly. She was an Internet goddess.

She pulled out the dildo from before and began lightly tapping it in the palm of her hand – begging the question. The ultimate question. The men were prepared at this point, dicks in hands. Some were even having a second go at it. Moaning softly, she started.

She began to work at it. She worked at it well – she was practiced. Eva knew herself better than any man or woman could ever hope to. She went on for some time, fifteen or twenty minutes. Her breathing was hot and heavy. Her chest heaved. She fell back on to the bed, looking up at the ceiling. The men went right on with her – sometimes twice if they were quick to finish. This is the show they’ve come to see. On this Friday night while the rest of the city is out at bars, this is where they need to be. After Eva had gone on with the rubbing and the moaning and the playing, she eventually made it (and so did the men) and decided to wrap it up for the night.

Looking into the camera, smiling amicably, she said goodbye to her boys, thanked them for being so wonderful, blew them kisses, waved, and logged off. She thought about how much she appreciated them, how much they appreciated her. It was all so symbiotic. After only a couple hours, she had made $315. Not bad, she thought.

Eva finished her wine and stumbled over to her dresser where she grabbed a hit of acid from her drawer and put it on her tongue. She craved elation. She had done LSD many times before in order to examine herself and the world and her place in it. Acid was a way for her to see new lights in dim spaces. It always yielded something.

As she waited for the come up, she went into the kitchen, still naked, made herself some lunch – pasta and a salad – and sat on the couch in the living room to play a video game. Nothing too competitive or interactive. She didn’t want to be tripping in the middle of a Team Fortress 2 match. A more relaxed, pleasant experience was chosen: Flower. She enjoyed playing as a flower petal floating through a colorful world, picking up more and more little leaflets that would trail further and further behind her. The sounds and music soothed her: The violins would pluck pretty notes with each pick of a petal and a string quartet would start up nice and fast every time she hit a gust of wind. She soared high above the rolling green hills, down into the mountainous valleys, back up and around the windmills, bringing life and color to every bit of nature.

After some time, the music was in her ear – into her head – like a reassuring whisper. Her TV was breathing. In and out, up and down, filling the space. Slowly, almost not quite, but definitely, it did. She was a lifted spirit. She was splendidly spiritual, entirely euphoric.

The couch felt softer than it ever had before, the leather cushions lending comfort to her bottom. She sank into it a little, breathing deeply. Breathing deeply. Holding on to the controller. Breathing deeply, calmly, assuredly. The blues and magentas and maroons and golds and greens were kaleidoscopic at the end of her flower tunnel. They gave her life.

The cellos, violas and violins were in her room, reverberating off the walls back to the TV off the walls again into her eardrums where her psyche sorted the melodies in an ever evolving whirlwind of harmony, gliding on a swan’s wing about the living room which was now more alive than she had seen it before. She got up off the couch. She turned up the volume on the TV and explored her house.

The house was existential empathy. It moaned and sighed. Eva loved the house. She fell flat on the carpet, hugging the house in appreciation for all it had given her. “Oh, house,” she said, lovingly, “thank you for giving me such a beautiful thing. You’ve given me shelter, house! You’ve given me a place of life, of love, where I can eat and drink in peace and not have to worry about anything! You’ve given me warmth! You’ve given me air conditioning! You’ve given me everything!”

She sat up. Her mind was a ferris wheel – no, a spinning wheel – no, a windmill. Yes, that was it. A windmill. Her blades were sharp, quickly cutting through the thoughts as if they were air. The truth poured in through open doors. It was God. She dissected the impossible God as if he were on an operating table and she were a neurosurgeon. He gave in. He liked Eva and trusted her with his secrets.

“God, what should I do with my time? My time is so little, God.”

He spoke backwards, swaying as he spoke. His voice was metallic. She understood.

“Life…It’s just so crazy, God. I was there, over on the couch, playing that game. Years ago I was devout and loved you more than anything, God. Now I’m here, and I don’t believe in you, but I’m learning from you…Where will I be in ten years? Can you tell me if things will be alright?”

He spoke backwards, swaying as he spoke. His voice was metallic. She understood.

Eva whispered to herself, solemnly but not suicidal, “I am dead.” God smiled and turned away, fading into the horizon.

She stood up off the carpet, her knees wobbly. She closed a door to the room of her mind and began exploring the house again.

She put on opera – it made her want to write. Pulling out her pencil and notebook, her wrist made the motions of a poem. A poem appeared on the lines. Eva had not written the poem – the truth had. There sat a poem on the paper. It went mostly like this:

open mountain released a silent two valley daydream,

paperweight and wide faces

and two peak I am

like spas, I is infinite

Every plunging has a way

stark, I wish finally


but I a minded point

every wall

so it has against body

propelling and


in and something

I a mouthless sun;

it is

It went something like that. The words, slithering with poetic verisimilitude, lay on the paper like only words on a paper can after a brain of acid. She wrote more. They moved more. The opera was beautiful. She brought out the water colors and began painting images from Flower. Flower was almost always a source of inspiration at the times when her mind was thirsty for inspiration from all directions which inspiration may come to a mind.

Outside was hostile, wet, dark and dreary – she must stay in. Her roommate, Ali, curvy and not unnormal like the rest of us not on acid, began talking to her friend. She was used to it. Eva communicated telepathically, she knew Ali would get it. Ali has a good mind, Eva thought. Ali has a good body, too. I want it. I want her body and all of the Internet wants her. The Internet has good taste. The Internet picks me, they pick her, it’s all so wonderful how this invention can bring so many together. Look at us! We’re alive in this beautiful time of 2016 in this beautiful house being beautiful women!…Out there! Out there is the world and everyone in it! They can feel me right now, too! We can feel each other…It is a good feeling. It is the best feeling.

Ali talked about her day, Eva listened, her eyes darted like flies swimming around a steak that’s been left out on the counter since mid morning. She still listened. She could understand. Ali wasn’t sure she could sometimes, but Eva always said she could. She could, she assured her. She could.

The girls kissed. Kisses on acid were electric. They petted the softness of each others’ hair and kissed again. Electricity. In this house they could be acidheads and winos and porn fiends with each other. It was their world. They were in control.

Ali left to the movies with her boyfriend, leaving Eva to the come down. Come downs are always awkward. The acidhead usually wants it to be over with, so they go back to doing normal person things; lying around the house, reading a book, getting a beer, grabbing a coffee. But the acid won’t relent. It sticks around for a little too long and simmers like a saucepan on low. The peak is gone, and you’re on your couch watching the new episode of The Walking Dead, but the show is different. You lie there, sprawled out all comfy, shifting positions far too often, turning subtitles on and off…Waiting.

Some time later the night grew deeper, the comedown had dropped off, the day had been won. Eva recorded a video log of her day. Her followers would be pleased, she thought. On the log she talked about everything she learned while tripping and while drunk. She told the camera that she couldn’t really explain it – it was all a feeling. A feeling of learnedness and wisdom, not a knowing. The universe made sense to her, as it usually did in those post-acid moments. She was doing alright. She was doing just fine.

Eva fell into bed, the wine next to her, and relaxed her mind for a deep sleep.


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