Writings » Apartment 4A

Apartment 4A

By Buttermilk Baby at 2007-12-07 | Ridiculous!, Comedy, Drama | Printable version

« Apartment 3A - Apartment 4B »

            Shynikki21:  my neighbor is a filthy whore

hornyXcav8tor:  hot

Shynikki21:  no, its disgusting

hornyXcav8tor:  ur turning me on.

Shynikki21:  ...

hornyXcav8tor:  lets see em :)

She sighed slightly and adjusted the small camera mounted to her monitor.  She pulled her pink t-shirt up over her head and threw it to the floor.  She took one last second to see if maybe he'd stop her from going any further.  But in the six months she'd been at this "new job" of hers no one ever had.  There was as much chance of that as black and white TV's coming back in style.

hornyXcav8tor: come on.

She could only imagine what was going on the other side of that camera, somewhere across the country, in some pathetic basement with a locked door.  She hesitated for but a moment more and reached behind her back to unclasp her bra.  She began thinking over her previous comment about her neighbor down the hall, Jessica Macmillan in 4D, the only other woman on the floor.  A woman she suspected of cheating on her husband, and had hated her ever since.  Just then she could taste a sour hypocritical knot in the back of her throat.  She swallowed it down and exposed her breasts to the eager hornyXcav8tor, who was in all likelihood a married middle-aged man who drove a school bus.

He was paying twelve ninety five to see her rack streaming live across the internet, but due to the camera quality it was like looking at a white board with two quarter sized maroon circles on it.  And it was playing on his screen like a bad stop motion animation; holding some frames too long and jumping past half a second of others.  The contrast was harsh and removed all the subtle shadows you need to render the human form with any real justice.

It was a shame really, because Jeanette Andrews, or as she went on the web, Shynikki21, had a pretty excellent body.  A little skinny, but all the curves were in the right places.  She was about 5 foot 4 with milk chocolate brown hair and dark blue eyes.  She hadn't crossed that threshold from cute to gorgeous yet, but given time she'd tear through the tape at the finish line and just keep on running.

hornyXcav8tor:  nice...

hornyXcav8tor:  say my name

Shynikki21:  What?

hornyXcav8tor:  im paying arent I???

And with no enthusiasm at all and a peppering of sarcasm behind her keystrokes she typed "hornyXcav8tor" into the chat, due to lack of a microphone.

hornyXcav8tor: again!

Fearing this would continue, she copied her message from above and pasted it anew into the chat window, this time adding an exclamation point.

Shynikki21:  hornyXcav8tor!

hornyXcav8tor:  keep sayin it

She bit her lip and looked to the clock.  No escape there.  This guy still had eleven minutes and she was doomed to sit there and be visually raped by him the entire time.  She was glad there was no mic, but she often wondered if the price she paid in her soul was equal to the price she charged pervs over the net.  Undoubtedly not.

hornyXcav8tor:  yeah thats it

Shynikki21:  hornyXcav8tor!!!

hornyXcav8tor:  oh yeah baby

Shynikki21:  hornyXcav8tor!!!!

This continued for some time, adding exclamations and the occasional ooh and ah.  Jeanette felt a hollow pit in her stomach and wanted to cry.  The remaining minute expired and she immediately shut off the camera.  This was met with a resounding, "wtf???" and she simply replied, "Time's up."  Rather than dishing out an additional thirteen bucks, hornyXcav8tor dropped an insult and signed off.  But it did more damage than he could ever imagine...

hornyXcav8tor:  later whore

Two words.  Only two words, but they tore out her insides.  She pulled her t-shirt back on and sat at her desk for a good five minutes with her head in her hands.  It wasn't the first time she'd felt this bad, and it was far from being the last.

Jeanette Andrews got kicked out of her home by her parents at 18 when she refused to stop seeing a guy named Brad.  As cold as this seemed to some, they had her best interest at heart.  When her father said, "then maybe she should leave," it was more of a bluff, but Jeanette took it literally.  Brad was a drinker, and it only took getting slapped around a few times before she realized the mistake she'd made.  Rather than turning back with her tail between her legs, Jeanette decided to get a place of her own.  This attempt to save her dignity was short lived.

She scraped together just enough to make the first and last month's rent from her job waitressing at "John Chubby's."  A chain family restaurant often criticized for its seemingly suggestive name.  But inside it was no different than any TGI Fridays or Applebee's.  Red and green, with dim lighting and a ton of old crap hanging allover the walls.  But being a waitress alone wasn't enough to pay the bills.  Her friend Alley told her of an easy way to make some cash. Now here she was, exposing her breasts to strangers online.  She slowly began to resent Alley, who'd been doing the same thing for two years now and loving it.  In the beginning it wasn't so bad, but as time went on instead of building up a tolerance to it, Jeanette felt her self die a little more each time she signed on as Shynikki21.

 

            After a short but predictable chat with BonerMan4041, and someone calling himself "The Lance" she called it a night.  She sat leaning against the wall on the floor in her bathroom, holding back the tears steadily enough.  She had a good couple months practice.  They started with the abusive, Brad, that her parents had spotted miles away, and were now lingering on her conversation with "The Lance" and the creepy way he wanted her to take her shirt off but keep the camera only on her face.  Guys wanting to see her tits she could understand, but this seemed a little weird.

            Her mind drew back to Jessica Macmillan in 4D.  As much as she hated her, she probably hated herself more.  All in all, she couldn't figure out who was worse, an adulterer or a semi-prostitute.  The question plagued her until suddenly she was violently shaken back into reality.  Her cell phone began to ring with the theme from Looney Tunes, a song that reminded her of the more innocent times in her life.

            She turned the phone over, revealing the caller.  It was her mother.  Jeanette hadn't taken any of her calls since she left, which had dwindled from daily down to weekly.  She'd call them back sooner or later, maybe by Christmas.  But only if she got her life in order first.  After twenty good seconds, that lasted forever, the phone stopped.  And she waited to hear the tone of a new voicemail.  It would be the same, "Jean, please come home, we miss you," or the ever present, "I love you honey," and the timeless classic, "Me and your father are sorry, just please come home."

            She didn't know why, but these messages just made Jeanette even madder, and even more distant.  They had nothing to apologize for, they were right.  They were looking out for her, but supposed "love" got in the way.  The same love that went worse than a carton of rotten milk.  But much to her surprise the phone never toned.  She had to double check to be sure, but it was true, no message.  No pleading from her mother to call back or come home.  And she knew in her heart that sooner or later her mother would probably give up altogether.  Under that realization she got a slight chill, and exhaled slowly.

            Now, desperate and alone, Jeanette sits on her bathroom floor.  Too stubborn to cry, and too stubborn to go home or even call.  Night after night with a bottle of pills she got from a guy on the street, contemplating the second worse decision she'd ever make.

« Apartment 3A - Apartment 4B »