Page 115 of For the Fans
I roll my eyes at the phone screen.
Avi called me yesterday to talklogistics. Actually, he called me four times in a row, because the first three times I ignored his calls. But he wore me down, as is apparently very easy for him to do, a fact that I don’t understand or want to think about.
He insisted that I create an anonymous Twitter account to help promote the OnlyFans collaborations. Naturally, I said no at first. But I’m learning that he can be awfully demanding, and for some unknown reason, I constantly find myself bending to him.
I’m telling myself it’s just about the money… But lying in bed at night, over the past few weeks since we started this little venture, the hidden thoughts creep to the surface.
Something about him taking control settles me, on a deep, emotional level I’m not at all equipped to deal with, let alone make space in my mind forAvito be the person sitting next to me on this plane as it spirals in a downward trajectory, headed straight for impending doom.
In the interest of getting him off my back—figuratively, I guess…God, help me—I pull up Twitter on my phone and whip together a quick profile. I have a Twitter account, but I never use it. I only made it because of the hype when the app first started, before I realized everyone on there was pretty… obnoxious. But I guess it’s the best place to promote online sex work, because of the lack of censorship.
There’s a porn side of Twitter I never knew about until Avi showed me his account. The kind of stuff that would make Mark Zuckerberg wet his tighty-whities.
Apparently, Elon Musk has a different set of guidelines.
Anyway, this is a new account, specifically for this purpose. No faces. I’m just using a shirtless selfie as a profile picture.
And despite how little I want to do this, my lips curl into a satisfied smirk as I choose my username.
Not_Your_Baby.
Take that,Backwardz_Cap, you smug bastard.
I follow Avi, and before I can even send him my handle, he texts me.
Avi: Really?
Avi: Not_Your_Baby…
My grin is nearly breaking my face, toes wiggling triumphantly. Until only a minute later, he sends me a picture. And my face falls.
It’s a GIF… of us fucking. He actuallymade a GIFfrom our video, of the exact moment when his dick makes me come, and my toes are curling in the socks I apparently forgot to take off.And the text caption on the GIF reads,Sure looks like you’re my baby.
I delete the message fast. Not like it matters, because if anyone got ahold of my phone, there’s enough incriminating stuff in here to put my whole shameful side hustle on blast.
Me: Fuck off
He sends it again.
Goddamnit!I delete it again.
But he just keeps sending them, and now I’m scrambling to delete these ridiculous GIF messages as fast as he’s sending them, seething while I do.
Thank God Guty is at the gym right now. The last thing I need is him peeking over my shoulder and seeing this shit.
Me: Alright ENOUGH!
Avi: hehe
Me: Cut the shit and tell me what you want me to do with this stupid fucking account
Avi: I’m uploading the video to OF now. Then I’m gonna tweet a teaser that you can retweet.
Me: Fine.
Avi: So… should I plan on seeing you tonight for more… business?
My stomach bunches up just from reading the words on the screen. It’s almost like I can hear him saying them out loud, and it’s twisting me into a knot.
