Page 5 of Taken Off Camera
Sometimes, we talk while I wear oversized sweaters instead of lingerie. Sometimes he asks me to read aloud from whatever book I’ve checked out from the library. He never shows his face, just the shoulders down, but I don’t care about his appearance when he has such an amazing voice.
I seal the offensive package in a larger bag and shove it into the back of my closet to be tomorrow’s problem. I strip off the purple lace that’s grown uncomfortable during my investigation and pull on soft lounge pants and a worn university sweatshirt, which GentlemanX once told me was his favorite outfit on me.
I refresh my face with a damp cloth, removing the heavy eyeliner and gloss from the public stream. GentlemanX prefers me natural, or at least the illusion of natural. The professional lights stay off, too, after he once commented about disliking the artificial glow they cast.
Instead, I switch on the small lamp beside my bed, creating a gentle pool of warm light that softens the edges of the room.
The computer chimes again. Five minutes until the session starts.
I arrange myself on the bed, propping pillows behind my back and setting my laptop at a comfortable distance. The creepy boxers and their sender fade into the background of my mind as I prepare for this strange, intimate connection that I like to pretend is more than a transaction.
When the private session request comes in, I click to accept, noting with satisfaction that GentlemanX has already deposited the full two-hour fee, plus a thirty percent tip, into my account.
The screen flickers to life, revealing GentlemanX’s familiar frame. No face, only a crisp button-down shirt covering broad shoulders and strong hands resting on what must be a desk. The sight of him sends a ripple of calm through my body, washing away the lingering anxiety from the package incident.
I tuck my feet under me on the bed, adjusting the laptop screen to capture my face in the soft glow of my bedside lamp.
His deep baritone fills my room. “Hello, Elliot. You look tired tonight. Bad day?”
Despite everything, the tension melts from my body. GentlemanX notices things about me that myother viewers miss, even when I’m trying to hide them.
“You have no idea.” I settle deeper into my pillows. “But it’s better now.”
For the next two hours, I have GentlemanX, and I feel safe.
2
GentlemanX’s low rumble fills the dim room. “Want to tell me why your day was bad?”
I trace a finger over the laptop’s edge, pretending to consider it. But it’s unprofessional to speak ill of one fan to another, even if that fan is a creep mailing me dirty underwear.
I give him a practiced smile instead. “Not tonight.”
A beat of silence follows, not the awkward kind, but the kind that says he wants to push. Instead, he opts for coaxing over demanding. “Have you eaten?”
My stomach chooses that exact moment to betray me with a growl, loud enough for my microphone to pick it up.
Embarrassed, I laugh and pull a pillow closer to cover my midsection. “Busted.”
“Order something. My treat.” He reaches for his phone. “I’ll get mine here, and we can eat together.”
I shouldn’t be surprised. After a year of private sessions, I’ve learned GentlemanX prefers strange requests over the usual ones.
But dinner?
That’s new, and somehow more intimate than anything else we’ve done. “You want to spend your time watching me eat?”
“I’d love to take care of you,” he replies smoothly. “Now tell me, what’s your go-to when you’re too tired to think?”
The question disarms me.
I bite my lip, scrolling through the delivery apps on my phone. “Honestly? Pad Thai from this hole-in-the-wall place down the block. Extra peanuts, no bean sprouts.”
“Perfect.” The faint clatter of key strikes comes from his end. “Order it. Consider it covered.”
A ding comes through the speaker.
TIP NOTIFICATION
