A guilty conscious streams like a disco hallucination: I say I’m a feminist.
Sitting here, watching her pluck the spaghetti strap off of her ivory shoulders. Slide down. Be modest. Cover your breasts. Tease me for a bit.
I hate the objectification of women, and yet, here I am objectifying women while I lie back and rub.
Lay down. Spread yourself in front of the webcam. I want to see you. I want to know the real you. No. Be bashful, it excites me more.
I justify my actions with the simple “everyone does it” type of statement, and I know that this everyone mostly refers to males as I make sure once again the light is off.
Fake your innocence. Flash your perky nineteen year old tits for the camera.
I know that I’m some creep watching the same video some other creep has watched that some other creep recorded. Some guy whacking off his dick and typing to his girlfriend “Baby u look hot 2nite!!!” or “Shit gurl take it all off” or “fuck im so hard right now” as he slyly smiles and clicks “save as”.
Mascara eyes look into the camera searching for approval of their body like a meerkat waking up to the first morning light and searching for its mother. I can’t give it. I can only look at the body, I feel my body react, I wish for her body.
I click another video. Repeat process.