It wasn't just the money. Maybe not even mostly the money. I was tired of playing the role of "porn star," and that's all GD really wanted. As long as I looked and did as I was told, he was happy. Why not stick it out? I had a couple of perks: free run of his apartment and someone to indulge my mmf fetish with. Plus, I liked him, both when he was friendly and when he was rude to me, and he wasn't all that demanding. An hour a day maybe and less than ten minutes of actual sex, however long it took him to jerk off, and I soon discovered that I didn't even have to make a lot of noise to make him happy. I just waited until he called, then worked on my inventory while he had his way with me, now and then throwing in an ecstatic exclamation.
It may seem strange, then, even contradictory, to say that what GD really wanted was love, but I think it's true. It hurt him terribly when he realized I wasn't crazy about him. He got so mad at one point that out of the blue one day he IM'ed me that he came from the best country in the world and I came from the worst. It was hard not to laugh. He was like a kid throwing a fit. He might as well have thrown himself on the floor kicking and screaming. Screaming bloody murder, as my grandmother used to say, not that I ever did that. She was referring to someone else. I knew how to get my way without resorting to such primitive tactics, and in matters of love, I always knew better than to count on anyone. It's not that most people deliberately lie. They just get carried away with the moment, and then regret it later.
That's why in Victorian novels morality and modesty are so intertwined. It's why being careless is being bad. Why being emotional is dangerous. Why being a flirt is downright mean. And nothing has changed, really, except the level at which those things become serious. There's always a line to cross, no matter the century you live in. GD wanted me to say I was his "wife." He wanted me to say "I love you." I hesitated. I hedged. I flip-flopped. I knew I wasn't blameless. I'd never said either of those things, but I'd let myself get carried away a few times, both genuinely and for effect. I'd been careless. I'd been emotional. I'd led him on. A good girl, a good person, would have just said "no," but I couldn't help wondering, God forgive me, how many pairs of shoes a "yes" was worth.
When he refused to give me any more gifts or lindens, I told him I was going to start working as an escort, and at first that turned him on. "He's fucking my wife!" he would exclaim, clearly pleased about it, when I told him I was busy with a client. But GD was starting to bore me, and I soon became "busy with a client" nearly every time he wanted me, which didn't please him so much. Tough shit. I finally told him to stop bothering me, which led to the country bashing scene I mentioned above. I dropped him from my friends list, but he kept hounding me for a while, demanding that I give back every linden he'd spent on me. "Those are my pearls!! My dresses!! I want them back you dirty slut whore!!" It got pretty nasty. I gave nothing back. When he got mean, I told him I'd earned every linden he gave me. In fact, I thought he still owed me. He asked for it, I told myself at the time, but looking back I'm relieved now that he didn't have a stroke.
For a while I'd actually changed bodies and hair and clothes just to see him and please him. Now I could settle into my slim "perfect model" body, simple hair styles and understated clothes. No more "porn star" for Portia. I was even going to try to not look like a whore. Just your cute girl next door, all yours for a price.
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