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 1,900 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. 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 Doctor. 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

“Cool! And what are you interested in tonight?”

DoctorPat92: u. can u take off your clothes?

“Of course. All of them?”

DoctorPat92: u r beautiful

DoctorPat92: yes. slowly please.

DoctorPat92: slower

DoctorPat92: ty. 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 an utterly non-descript, typical adult male in his fifties, with a thick head of 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 was 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, like 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 was 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 specifically picked out 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-its-hot voice. “You mean you like to get f**ked?”

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 slide my hand lower, ‘til it graces my bikini line.

DoctorPat92: do u think I’m g*y?

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 g*y, or if he wanted me to think he was g*y, or if he was testing 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, g*y men who wouldn’t blink twice at you being f**ked. 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.