A CLIENT’S USERNAME can tell me a lot about the person. With descriptive usernames, like DoctorPat92 or 1HotLawyer, it is often who they are or who they wish they were. Numbers in a username typically stand for a child’s birth year, their graduation year, or their age. I have a lot of “doctors” that pass through my chat room, but DoctorPat is, for once, an actual doctor. And as you might guess, I occasionally have a need for one.
DoctorPat92’s real name is Dr. Patrick Henton. He is a fifty-five-year-old general practitioner in a little town in Maine called Buckfield. According to reviews on Google, he is well liked and competent, though I don’t know how competent the sole doctor in a town of nineteen hundred people needs to be. He is more than adequate for my basic needs. A sequestered individual, with no access to the outside world, has to work pretty hard to get sick or injured. My basic needs revolve around one thing—drugs. Not for me, but for Simon. I’m sure DoctorPat thinks I am the painkiller addict. I don’t really care what DoctorPat thinks. He writes me prescriptions, and I watch him take eight-inch dildos. It’s a win-win for both of us.
Our chat sessions started out normal enough, and in the way that most relationships do.
DoctorPat92: hey
“Hi, Doc. My name is Jessica. What’s yours?”
DoctorPat92: Pat. Patrick, if you want to be formal.
I laughed, cross-legged on the bed, a wide grin on my face. “I’m not formal. So, Pat. Are you a doctor?”
DoctorPat92: yes
“Wow! I always fantasized about being with a doctor.” I widened my eyes and moved to my knees. “And what are you interested in tonight?”
DoctorPat92: you. can u take off your clothes?
“Of course. All of them?”
DoctorPat92: u r beautiful
DoctorPat92: yes. slowly please.
DoctorPat92: slower
DoctorPat92: thx. now lay, just like that, and tell me about yourself.
I stopped physically typing my responses a long time ago. Most camgirls type and don’t speak. I don’t know if it’s because their English sucks or if it’s because they are in a camming sweatshop of sorts, where if all of the girls were talking, it’d sound like a Russian call center. Men don’t want to know that they are one of many. They want to imagine a girl in her bedroom, no one else around, wanting to talk only to them. I think the fact that I talk adds to my popularity. The fact that I am American, an oddity in itself, is also a big draw. So the client experience is one reason I don’t type. The other reason is that it’s really hard to type and masturbate at the same time, at least for me. The men don’t seem to have a problem with it.
We were eight chats in before DoctorPat hooked up a webcam. I like when I can see the clients. It’s funny how your mind will create an image of a person and how wrong your mind almost always is. My mind wasn’t too far off with DoctorPat. He was utterly nondescript, a typical adult male in his fifties, with a head of thick salt-and-pepper hair, average build, and average looks. What I found more surprising from DoctorPat’s streaming video was that he was dressed, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, looking as innocent as if he were sitting down to Skype with his grandchildren. The second time he displayed his cam, I asked him about it.
DoctorPat92: can you see me?
“Yes. The video just came up. Hey!” I waved excitedly, as though I’d been waiting all day to see him.
DoctorPat92: good. Sorry, can’t use audio. My wife is downstairs.
“It’s okay. Is that why you are dressed?”
DoctorPat92: yes
He seemed as if he were going to type more, so I waited.
DoctorPat92: plus
DoctorPat92: I’m not ready for u to see what I like to do
“Why?”
DoctorPat92: it’s weird
I laughed. “I assure you, it’s not weird. And weird isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I like weird.”
DoctorPat92: maybe another time
“Do you normally…touch yourself when we chat?” I ran my hand slowly down my naked body. I was lying on my side, atop my pink bedspread, the pattern picked out specifically because it looked young, innocent. Virginal. Men like that.
DoctorPat92: sometimes. if no one is around. i like to watch you. sometimes I think of you later.
“When you’re with your wife?”
DoctorPat92: yes. or when I’m pleasuring myself.
“Have you ever been with a patient?”
DoctorPat92: no.
His expression didn’t encourage that line of questioning, so I dropped it. “I know you aren’t ready to show me what you like, but will you tell me?”
He reached up and turned off the webcam. I waited, my expression relaxed. He was either about to end the chat or about to tell me more. For some reason, men feel more comfortable divulging their secrets when they are invisible.
DoctorPat92: don’t think I’m weird.
I laughed. “I promise, I won’t think you’re weird. I swear.”
DoctorPat92: I like to put things inside of me.
I lowered my voice and used my you-are-a-bad-boy-but-I-think-it’s-hot voice. “You mean you like to get fucked?”
A long pause. I bit my bottom lip and kept my eyes on the webcam.
DoctorPat92: yes
“That’s not weird. I think it’s hot. I like it when a man is kinky.” I slid my hand lower, until it grazed my bikini line.
DoctorPat92: do u think I’m gay?
What’s so hard about reading typed words is not knowing how some questions are asked. I didn’t know if he was trying to figure out himself if he was gay, or if he wanted me to think he was gay, or if this was a test of my reaction.
I tilted my head. “I guess it would depend on what you think about when you are being penetrated. You like chatting with me, right?”
DoctorPat92: yes
“You know this site has men, gay men, who wouldn’t blink twice at you being fucked. Why aren’t you chatting with them?”
DoctorPat92: b/c I like you. You are funny and sweet. I think about you when I put things inside of me.
DoctorPat92: I think about you watching me.
I giggled. “Then let’s do it! Let’s set an appointment for some time when you will be alone…” I moved my hand farther, gently running my fingers along my sensitive lips. “And I can watch you. I want to watch you. I’ve never seen anything like that before.”
DoctorPat92: really?
“Yes!”
It was a lie. It’s actually quite common for men to ask me to watch them fuck themselves. I don’t understand it, but then again, I have a pussy that is perfect for a toy. If they had a pussy, they probably wouldn’t be sticking anything up that hole either. I also don’t have a prostate. If I did, maybe I would understand the draw to anal sex. According to my sex therapist, some of the men who want to fuck toys are homosexuals—they just refuse to admit it to themselves. They think that having a girl watch them take a ten-inch black cock makes it less gay. But, my therapist warned me, there is a flip side to it. Just because a guy wants to bend over and shove something up his ass doesn’t make him gay. There are straight men who get off on that form of stimulation yet have no interest in the touch of another man.
So I didn’t jump to conclusions, I didn’t assume that DoctorPat was gay, straight, or any combination of the two. To be utterly honest, I didn’t give a shit what he was. All I cared about was that the clock on the upper right-hand corner of my screen was ticking, turning over minute by minute, earning me dollar by dollar.
That was the beginning of our relationship. I waited for two months before I brought up the prescriptions, wanting to see if he would stick around as a regular first. He stuck around, I proposed an arrangement, and he accepted. We are now two years into that arrangement. An arrangement where I have watched this utterly average doctor ride thick plastic dildos, use anal beads, and once—on one random Thursday—make a Budweiser beer bottle his personal ass toy. One webchat every other week for one prescription a month. I think half the reason DoctorPat writes me illegal prescriptions is that he worries about me blackmailing him. He has a wife and three teenage kids, a fact easily discovered after four minutes on Google. He doesn’t need to worry. What turns him on is his business, not mine or anyone else’s.