What Happened in My First Webcam Broadcast

Hello again. I’m back with something that happened to me this week, and at this point I think I no longer need to clarify that I’m real, right? Although I still find it funny that some people doubt it. A normal woman, with a boring job and a head that sometimes goes to places it shouldn’t. That’s me.

I was planning to tell you what I experienced recently with another woman, but that story will have to wait. First I need to get this first broadcast off my chest, because my heart still beats oddly when I think about it.

So you understand why it was so hard for me to take the plunge, I have to go back. A long way back.

When Tomás and I started looking for people to meet, things were different. There were no filters like now, no open profiles, no ease with which messages come to me today. Back then, when he found some man who seemed interesting, he almost never gave out his mobile number. The only alternative was webcam.

And I hated webcam. Absolutely hated it.

I only did it because Tomás insisted. I sat in front of the screen with my arms crossed, waiting for the other person to turn his on, and almost always it was a disaster. Men who promised one thing in writing and showed something very different when their face appeared. A kind of blind date, but worse, because there was no way to run without it being obvious.

“Give it a chance,” he’d tell me. “Not all of them are going to be like that.”

“They’re all like that,” I’d answer, switching the camera off.

It’s not that Tomás didn’t do his job of filtering. He did. But back then everything was more blind, and I preferred a thousand times to read someone for weeks than to run into a stranger live. Today it’s another matter. Through the profile I use for this little diversion I get requests, photos, full introductions. I can see who I’m going to talk to before I say a single word. Before, it was switch on the screen and pray.

I’m telling you all this so you understand how huge what happened after that was for me.

***

Several of you had been urging me for weeks to make the leap and go live. “Do it,” “you’ll love it,” “you don’t have to show anything you don’t want to.” I thought about it a couple of times, spent an entire night turning it over in bed, and in the end I said: fine. Let’s try.

I also did it out of pride, I confess. I wanted you to know that I’m real, that behind the stories there’s a real person, an ordinary woman who sometimes gets turned on and sometimes is simply bored in front of the TV. Because yes, I’m going to say it: once in a while I’m horny. Once in a while. Not all the time, as some of you seem to imagine me.

On the afternoon of the broadcast I changed clothes three times. Three. As if I were going on a first date. In the end I stayed in a loose T-shirt and nothing below the waist except my underwear, convinced I wasn’t going to show absolutely anything. That was the plan. Talk, laugh, get a feel for the dynamic, and close out.

I turned on the camera with my heart racing. My hands were trembling a little over the keyboard.

“Hello, everyone,” I said, and my own voice sounded strange to me.

And then they started coming in. Names, greetings, hearts floating up the screen. People who knew me from the stories, new people, questions moving too fast to keep up with. I laughed to myself, nervous, and little by little I relaxed.

I loved it. Really. But please be patient, because it took me ages to understand how everything works. I don’t know how to create games, I don’t know how to set up those things women who’ve been doing this for a while do, I got lost with the buttons. Those of you who were there saw it: I’m not the typical woman who goes live and ends up completely naked in ten minutes. That wasn’t the point.

Except for one moment. A moment I still don’t know how or why it happened.

***

In the middle of the broadcast, without really knowing what I was doing, I clicked something. A button, an option, I don’t know. Suddenly the screen changed, the rest of the people disappeared, and I was left alone with a single user. The name at the top was a nickname in English: MrKane.

What am I doing here alone with this guy?, I thought. What did I click? How do I go back?

I spent what felt like endless seconds looking for a way out, laughing inwardly at my own clumsiness. And then I understood. It hadn’t been a total accident. He had requested a private session with me, and I, without realizing it, had accepted.

A private. Alone. With a faceless stranger.

The first thing I felt was that old rejection I’d always had, the one from the webcams years ago. My body tensed. But something was different this time, and it took me a moment to realize what. This time I wasn’t there because anyone had insisted. I was there because I had wanted to be. Because I’d worked up the nerve on my own.

“Hi,” he wrote. “Thanks for accepting. Do you mind if I turn on my mic?”

I was surprised by his tone. No demands, no rudeness. A question, simple and polite.

“No, turn it on,” I typed, and then, with a courage I had no idea where it came from, I turned mine on too.

There was a moment of silence before he spoke. A loaded silence, the kind where you can hear the hum of the computer and your own breathing. I looked at the icon of his camera being off like someone looking at a closed door, not knowing what was behind it. I dried my hands on my thighs. I adjusted my hair. Small, absurd gestures for someone who still couldn’t even see me yet.

His voice filled the room. Deep, calm, the kind that doesn’t need to be raised for you to hear it. In two sentences he told me he was married, that he didn’t usually do this, that the way I spoke had caught his attention, different from the others. Then he turned on his camera.

He didn’t show his face. I never saw his face. Only his body from the waist down, one hand, the dim light of a lamp behind him. And even so, I don’t know how to explain it, I liked that anonymity more than any face. It was as if mystery took the place of everything missing.

“May I?” he asked, and I understood what he meant.

“You may,” I said.

***

I watched him start touching himself slowly, unhurriedly, while he talked to me. And I, who had sworn I wasn’t going to show anything, found myself stroking myself over my clothes almost without thinking. Softly. Subtly. Just to keep him company, I told myself. That’s all.

Lies. The temperature started rising and I knew it.

I leaned back in the chair and let my head tip back for a moment. It was hot in the room, or maybe it was just me. The loose T-shirt brushed my skin and suddenly I became aware of every inch of fabric against my body.

“Tell me what you feel,” he asked me.

And I told him. I described what was going through my head, how much it turned me on to see him without really seeing him, how excited I was by the strangeness of sharing something so intimate with someone I would never recognize on the street. Every word I said out loud lit me up a little more, as if hearing myself was part of the game.

“Don’t stop talking,” he murmured. “Your voice is the best thing about all this.”

I slid my hand into my underwear without noticing the exact moment I did it. I was wet. More than I expected, more than I wanted to admit in front of the camera. I bit my lip and kept going, my fingers moving slowly while he breathed harder and harder on the other side.

“I want to see you,” he said.

I hesitated for a second. Just one second. Then I took off my T-shirt.

I don’t know at what point I stopped thinking about the buttons, the clumsiness, the fear. I stood naked in front of the screen, touching myself, showing him how turned on I was, spreading my legs a little so he could see exactly what he’d done to me without touching me even once. His breathing became a rhythm, and that rhythm swept me along.

“Like that,” he said. “Just like that.”

I came watching a camera, listening to a faceless voice, with one hand trembling and the other gripping the edge of the chair. And he finished almost at the same time, letting out a rough groan that hung there for a moment in the silence.

We both stayed still, catching our breath. Me with my cheek resting on my shoulder, laughing softly out of pure embarrassment and pure satisfaction at the same time.

“You’re the first,” I told him, without thinking.

“The first at what?”

“At this. In a private. I don’t even know how we got here.”

I heard him laugh softly.

“Then I’m doubly glad,” he replied.

***

I’ll leave what happened in that private here. There’s no need for me to tell you every last detail; what mattered wasn’t what he saw, but what I discovered. That after so many years running from webcams, from so many blind dates I hated, what I was missing was simply doing it my way, whenever I wanted and because I wanted to.

Uff, thank you, stranger, for that experience. You were the first. I hope someday you read this story and recognize yourself in it, even though I’ll never know who you are.

It was hard for me to fall asleep that night. Not because of the horniness, which had already gone, but because of the new feeling of having crossed a line I’d been looking at from far away for years. Sometimes the things that scare us most are the ones we’d been waiting for without knowing it.

So now you know: I took the plunge, and I don’t regret it one bit. There will be more broadcasts, I suppose, although I still have a thousand things to learn. And the next time someone asks me for a private, maybe it won’t catch me so off guard.

Although, between us, a part of me hopes it does.

Until next time.