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“What do you think about Israel and Gaza?” Although I was trying to play the part of the cruel, confident woman, I couldn’t help but make friendly conversation. I couldn’t see your freckles in the videos.”
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“Do you know how to get there?” I asked, trying to be cold. As I had already known, he was in his early 40s. The Houseboy was overweight and had long dark hair with streaks of gray. I walked over to his car and opened the door. I was looking forward to seeing what this man, this Houseboy I had been talking to for months, would be like in person. Perhaps I should have been scared, but I wasn’t.
I walked outside to meet him, and saw a man waving at me from a red Toyota. I started to lose interest, but he kept texting me.įinally he showed up, around 3:45. “That’s not really the point of the videos,” I replied. You’d look more comfortable if you smoked with your right. “Sometimes you smoke with your left hand. “Are you right- or left-handed?” the Houseboy texted me. Except the people watching my videos were people who got turned on by watching me smoke. They had names like “AshtraySlaveNY” and “SmokingFetishVids.” I had gone viral. Over the next few days, people started following my YouTube channel. “I bet they would go over well in the smoking fetish community.” That was all I thought would happen.Īnd then, I got a text from the Houseboy. It was a simple premise: I would sit in my bathtub, drink martinis and sing karaoke. “Ladies of Leisure” was something silly I thought up when I was drunk. I didn’t hear from him again until I started my YouTube series. I tried twice more, and both times fell through. I could ask my dad for it, but I don’t think he’ll give it to me.”Ī friend said, laughing, “He needs to get a real job as a houseboy to support his houseboy fetish.” We set up a date for him to come over and clean. His fantasy didn’t work if I didn’t play along, and I wanted to hold up my end of the bargain. If his fetish was to serve a woman who would boss him around and make him feel worthless, I would try to play the role. After all, I wanted him to get something out of the situation, too. I thought he would like it better if I just referred to him as the Houseboy. Although our exchanges didn’t always make me feel better, it was still nice to know someone was rooting for me.Įven so, I told him not to tell me his name. I had been single for nearly four years, and it was easy to confide in this stranger who already had made himself so vulnerable to me. Sometimes, at night, he’d ask me how I was doing. Although most of our interactions were fetish-related, there were moments of intimacy.