So I did what any reasonable young professional would do: I purchased a high-definition Web camera, excavated a cache of lingerie from the basement and submitted photocopies of my driver’s license to become an adult webcam model.Even if my employers discovered this sack-worthy secret, it was empowering to know that I was deliberately sabotaging my own career, as opposed to letting it deteriorate organically.
I began leaving the office sharply at 5 p.m., applying my makeup on the subway ride home and often skipping dinner in order to log online faster.
I broadcast my webcam show until 10 or 11 p.m., then rolled into bed exhausted, exhilarated and up to $600 richer.
The men I meet online rarely fall into the category of “anonymous assholes who have abandoned all social etiquette,” nor do they resemble the pasty, calculator-wristwatch-wearing forebears of chat rooms past.
Many, in fact, are successful professionals in their field – whether it be law, the arts or academia.
After only a week of moonlighting as a camgirl, earning twice the wages of my desk job in half of the time, I handed in my notice.
“Freelance work,” I told my boss and parents alike.
“This was your idea,” my father railed against my mother, who once worked in the sex industry herself.
My mother always told me I could be whatever I wanted to be in life.
Had she been bribing me with hundred dollar bills, I might have socialized more readily.
And, if my camming experience is any indication, I might have even liked it.
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: The afternoon that I was placed on Performance Probation, I left work early.