People are assholes. When they can be. When they can’t be, they’re appropriate and sometimes even downright dignified. But people can be anything online. So they’re assholes. I touch myself in front of thousands of assholes for rent money.
Ok, I’ll dial it back. Not everyone is terrible. Some people do stray from the default objectification narrative and express a genuine interest in the things I talk about (you know, like the sort of stuff that comes to mind while inserting cylindrical objects into yourself).
So–why a decent conversationalist would spend time and money on OnlyFans I have no idea, but one of my regulars actually managed to transcend the requests-too-much-info-from-you-creepy-stalker-vibe to the region of pretty chill person who seems to understand me and makes me laugh. And by make me laugh I mean consistently and whenever I live stream, which recently has become the better part of most days.
ColdVine855: Y u twerking that skinny ass on Xmas eve, bb?
ColdVine855: U b tearing thru dildo shaped giftwrap allnite wit CV.
It’s almost more about the things that ColdVine didn’t do that initially got me. CV didn’t state the obvious, like how I looked or what he wanted to do to me, and CV didn’t try to flatter me. And I know what you’re thinking, you label-hungry 21st century gender nazi: what was CV? I’m only joking. It’s totally natural to want to know. The truth is I wish I had known.
Of course I assumed male. That’s just demographics. No matter what you’re showing off, chances are your audience is predominantly dick-having. Now this is almost embarrassing but a few weeks after first introductions, I asked CV about “his” dick. CV deflected. I couldn’t help myself and whined to find out details, but part of the reason I felt drawn to CV was that whimsical confidence that turned everything into a game.
ColdVine855: U got 2 work CV panties off b4 u c paradise.
Interesting taste in under garments. And does CV wear the pink frilly variety of panties?
ColdVine855: Metal and bolted. Chastity. Only 4u.
…
CV was a no show the night we were supposed to meet. Imagine that, stood up by a stalker. I even trekked 5 blocks through 4 inches of fresh snow for the bastard. Or bitch. Asshole.
CV announced the start of a big cross-country road trip on the chat and joked about passing through Shangri-La (the name CV calls Buffalo, the city where I live and the one location detail available to my viewers). Of course when I sent a DM with a day and time and the name of a local bar I didn’t really plan on showing up, I just wanted to get a good look from afar to satisfy my curiosity. Funny thing is, CV called me out on planning just that.
ColdVine855: No turntabling CV. No peep show for u while CV drink alone.
Please please please. How about this? I’ll get there early so you can be sure. Please!
Desperate, I know. But not enough to be quite that reckless. I got CV to agree to come but I wasn’t waiting inside. I got a cheese slice and a window seat at the pizzeria across the street 30 min before the agreed time, then waited to see if anything I liked passed by. An older couple, some loose-tie happy hour stragglers, a stream of trembling college girls in decidedly non-winter apparel. Very disappointing.
Then I saw him. How did I know? The apprehension in his walk. The suppressed excitement of approaching celebrity (ok, webcam-celebrity). And as cold as it was out there he still lingered by the entrance, hunched over so he could peep between the front window blinds.
I was about to finish my slice and make the long walk home. He was engaging online but I thought I’d spare myself a night of awkwardly sycophantic advances. Then I watched as he held the door open for a little old lady with a walker and went out of his way to help her cross an ice patch spanning the sidewalk. A nice guy.
Screw it, I’ll give him a shot.
But of course it wasn’t him, right? The guy I followed inside, he sits down across from some girl and their whole situation screams Tinder. So I grab a small booth across the bar and do the people-watching thing. Might as well wait it out at this point I figured, didn’t want to be caught walking out as my secret admirer was coming in.
One hour. Three subpar Bay Breezes. Dozens of selfies. Nothing.
I’m going to skip right past all the self-loathing that inevitably comes with placing myself in that situation. I was embarrassed, yes. I imagined everyone at that bar was snickering at me and how pathetic I was. I almost cried on the walk back to my apartment, but then I got angry. CV did this. No message to cancel, no response all night.
I stopped outside my apartment and reached into my bag for the keys but grabbed my cell phone instead.
CV, you asshole.
And it’s while I’m glancing up from the phone that I first see the footprints.
A second pair next to mine, much bigger than mine, veering away several steps ago and then off behind a dumpster, about 6 meters from me and my front door.
I turn back towards the door and begin fumbling with my keys as icy-hot terror washes over me. When I feel a tug on my infinity scarf it’s the worst part of every horror movie and every nightmare because security is right in front of me but I can’t get to it fast enough, and then the tingling starts because at that moment every part of my body is vulnerable to the worst imaginable pain.
And then I’m inside, door locked behind me. Sweet relief, quickly dispelled with a survey through the window–more unwelcome footprints tracking around to the back of the apartment.
A 3 leap dash across my apartment to make sure the back door is locked, then I flip on the porchlight. More footprints, some leading behind a fence about 3 meters from the rear entrance to my home.
I open the back window and listen through the screen. Silence. It’s that time of the night you could hear a pin drop if it weren’t for the snow. Nothing but the hum of all that snow sitting out there, fizzing and cackling.
I listen for a minute, then two, then get impatient for someone to betray their presence.
COLDVINE YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE. HIDING OUT HERE ISN’T AN APPROPRIATE WAY TO GET MY
An upstairs neighbor cuts me off: Shut the fuck up you crazy asshole.
I want to yell something back but the icy-hot floods over me again as a shadow creeps out from behind the fence, then two more, all creeping and swelling rapidly.
When the owners of the shadows emerge they brusquely walk by my back fence, quietly giggling. Two more voices a little bolder with their laughter sound like they’re out front by the dumpster, then recede.
Then several doors close and they all go home. More neighbors, this crew was on their way back from the bars a little later than me. Nobody is out there anymore. I’m safe and alone.
So of course I immediately started writing this all up for you, Reddit. Got to share the adventure while it’s still fresh in mind, even if it’s just a false alarm. I honestly can’t wait to strip down, though, especially out of this jacket scarf combo with the way it keeps choking me.
Time to make the best of this and take all that frightened energy and put it online. I’ll probably live stream then start into some cheesy role playing. Everyone likes watching me tease myself.
I’ll pretend someone has broken into my apartment, maybe that they’re a psycho-fan-turned-stalker. That should get some attention.
At the very least it should help break up the chat, getting people to actually talk to me unlike the usual, incessant spamming: show us ur cock.