That time I was a camboi

One, eventually, learns to manage attention. You need to provide just the right amount of responsiveness to your fans—it isn't enough for them to watch you, but they need to have a sense of control and of power over your mind, your feelings. Despite being explicitly sexual, most of my audience were insecure teenage boys—they needed a role model, and I was shitty and around. It really isn't all that different from normal Twitch streaming—you just make sure to lean into the fanbase's omnipresent urge to sexualize anything it comes across. At the start, I found it quite freeing—having people in my inbox begging for my cock every day was novel, but it turned out to be worse for casual sex for validation. You become a performant shell, dependent on Viagra to continue looking just hard enough for the camera. Did you know they host events for this kind of shit? At an expo, I found someone else, a fellow shell. Too many attendees seemed happy and fulfilled with their vocation—I couldn't relate. Instead, I found Janine—she so clearly didn't want to be here, needed to get back to her job