So much for my weekend off, because “we’re going to fix this” turns out to mean Divya showing up at my door Saturday morning, armed with a huge stack of binders and a laptop.

  ‘Put the kettle on, Babes,’ she says as she breezes past me, the scent of flowers trailing behind her.

  ‘How are you so perky?’ I groan as I shut the door and trudge down the narrow hall after her. ‘And will you pick a single fragrance, please? You’re confusing my sensitive little brain.’

  I can hear the smile in her voice as she yells, ‘Noooope.’ And I step into the kitchenette of my shitty flat to find her already spreading things out over the little table.

  ‘How did you ever manage to share this place with him?’ She asks as she tries to open multiple binders at once and finds nowhere near enough room for them.

  ‘I ask myself the same question, all the damn time,’ I reply as I squeeze past her and put the kettle on the hob. Divya settles herself at the table, a shaft of morning light hitting her hair and making it shimmer like oil. Giving up on the binders completely, she dumps them on the floor and opens the little laptop; it chimes as it wakes, showing a background of the two of us… A still from the livestream; her looking like a goddess and me a gurning idiot.

  ‘Why would you take a screenshot of that, let alone make it your background?!’

  ‘This?’ She innocently asks, a delicately painted nail flicking to the screen.

  ‘Yes, that!’

  She smiles at me, a look of affection and sincerity. ‘You look adorable, don’t you think?’

  ‘No I don’t!’ I cry, stepping away from the counter towards her. ‘I look like a fool!’

  She looks back at the screen, her brow creasing slightly. ‘I don’t see it, Babes. You look good.’

  I stare at the screen for a long time. I look stupid… Don’t I? Is it just me? Divya’s not the type to lie to me.

  ‘Babes, the kettle.’

  I jump. I hadn’t even noticed it was whistling.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say as I pull it from the hob and get the mugs ready. ‘It’s too early for me.’

  ‘It’s nine-thirty,’ she laughs and I shudder.

  ‘Definitely too early.’

  Moments later our drinks are steaming away, precariously perched on the table, and Divya unlocks her laptop and opens an intimidating but (as far as I can tell) perfectly constructed spreadsheet.

  ‘So, I stayed up late last night running numbers. I put in everything you’ve given me, added some projections and expectations based on things like location and the new, actually healthy product ranges you want to include.’ She pauses, a deep red lower lip held between her teeth.

  ‘And?’ I ask, still far too tired for this shit.

  She sighs, then scrolls down the sheet a bit. ‘And it’s not looking good.’

  ***

  I’ve showered and dressed, leaving my hair to dry naturally. We’re on our third cup each, and the sun is well past the point where it can be seen from the kitchenette’s tiny window. We’ve talked for hours, but it still doesn’t look good.

  The plan had been solid enough to get us a small business loan, but it involved two people running the place full time and, as it turns out, pretty shoddy “healthy” food supplies.

  The reality is that Divya can’t keep helping me run the place, and the better food is seriously damn expensive. Something like eighty percent of small businesses fail in the first year regardless, but the way things are looking the chances for Slim Pickings are more like a hundred percent. We need staff, I need training, and we need better food.

  ‘It’s gonna be a little while before this really hits you, what with the loan and all,’ Divya says, paging through a binder she’s now resting in her lap. It’s something to do with business financing. ‘Still,’ she says, face scrunched in concentration, ‘the sooner you get more money coming in the better.’

  I sigh and sit back. My back aches, but I’m not about to complain when Divya’s been working so hard.

  Suddenly she sits up and smiles, pointing at a section labelled “Employment Grants.”

  ‘OK, so we can get you some support towards hiring someone. But we’re still going to need a bit more income to cover the improved supplies.’

  She hasn’t once suggested I don’t try getting healthier “health food” for Slim Pickings, and I love her for that. Although, damn do I still hate that name!

  ‘You don’t have any passive income, right?’ She asks, glancing up at me.

  I just shrug.

  Leaning back in her chair, Divya takes a big swig of her now cold tea, pulls a face, puts it down, then turns to look me straight in the eyes.

  ‘OK, I have an idea, but I need you to hear me out.’

  I frown, but say, ‘OK, but I’m not selling a kidney.’

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  She chuckles but gets serious again fast. ‘So, you know about cam sites and stuff?’

  My brain goes blank for a moment, that was not what I was expecting.

  ‘Uh… Like, online sex work?’ I finally manage, failing to keep the incredulity out of my voice.

  ‘I said you had to hear me out, so curb the judgment,’ she says, and though she’s using her teasing voice, I can see a flash of something real in her eyes. ‘Yes, I mean like online sex work. It’s a safe and reliable way to make money, both on the side and full-time.’

  ‘Shit Divya, is the situation really that desperate?’ I regret my words at once, as her face goes flat.

  ‘I’m not desperate, and I do it.’

  Whoops.

  ‘Sorry,’ is all I manage.

  Divya sighs, leaning forward to rest a hand on my knee. ‘It’s not just tits and fuck machines, Babes. I just do foot stuff.’

  I guess I look as confused as I feel because she smiles and continues. ‘Like I sell pics of my feet, artful shots mainly, though some people prefer a more “raw” look. Sometimes I just stream footage of my feet. I’ve even sold worn socks a few times,’ she finishes with a laugh and a cringe.

  ‘Socks?!’

  ‘Hey, guys will pay for all kinds of things! I get lots of different kinds of folks on my streams, but so far it’s always been men who’ve bought stuff. You don’t have to sell things, though; plenty can be made through the tips on streams alone.’

  ‘Why did you never tell me about this?’ I ask, honestly feeling kind of hurt.

  Her face falls and seeing her looking sad breaks my heart. ‘I thought you’d judge me for it.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Divya,’ I reply, taking her hand in mine. I stare at her for a long moment. Divya’s always been more open, “freer” than me, but I’d never have suspected she’d do something like this. I can’t imagine myself doing it either, not least of all because who the hell would want to look at me for something like that? But she’s right, guys will pay for all sorts of things, and I know Divya wouldn’t even suggest I try something like this if she didn’t think I could do it.

  Squeezing her hand and turning towards her laptop, I say, ‘Show me.’

  ***

  I don’t do this! I don’t dive headlong into things. I mean sure, I left the actual food part of Slim Pickings to Brann, but that’s because I apparently do trust people when I shouldn’t. But I spent so much time on the business side of the diner; I studied online, I went to seminars, I attended everything BizBro said I should attend. I went in prepared.

  But now I’m sitting on my cracked navy leather sofa in nothing but a black thong and my best skull-covered bra, with my phone in a ring light across the coffee table from me. My phone’s hooked up to my laptop and I’m logged into an account on PourFanatiques I’ve literally just created. I’m staring at myself on my laptop screen and I can’t help but cringe; Divya assured me that there’s always a market on sites like this, but I can’t see how anyone would be into me. My face is flushed, my chest too, but the rest of me is deathly pale. I’ve managed to open a live cam room and I have no fucking idea what I’m doing, like how am I supposed to sit? Why didn’t I at least watch some othe-

  DING-DING

  Oh shit! Someone’s here, in my cam room, this is real. I try and smile, doing my best attempt at a sexy voice as I croon, ‘Hey baaaaby.’

  Silence. I try and hold the smile in place as I stare at the name on the screen; StuckStepSisSlayer. The fuck does that mean?

  Then suddenly there are ellipses; they’re typing something. I suck in my belly, trying to lean sexily (I assume that’s a thing I can do,) and do my best to ignore the creaking of my old sofa. The ellipses stop, then start again, and then suddenly there are words on my screen.

  ‘Fuck ur ass btch.’

  Wow, can’t even spell bitch. I clamp my eyes in place to stop them from rolling.

  ‘I… uh, sorry babes, I’m not doing that.’ To be fair, I made that clear in my bio. People read those things first, right?

  Oh, they’re gone. I’m staring at an empty room again.

  I deflate, letting my belly out and slumping back on the sofa. Not an ideal start. But then the laptop dings again, and again, and again, and suddenly there’s a whole bunch of people in my room and I’m scrambling to sit up and lean forwards and try and look sexy and not like I hate myself and I hate this and I hate Divya for suggesting it! Ok, I could never hate Divya, but still.

  Ellipses again, and then PoonPounder69 comments, ‘Ass.’

  Classy, Poon, classy.

  ‘Sorry, babes,’ I say again, trying to sound sweet and like I actually am sorry that I won’t- Annnnd Poon is gone.

  I feel my smile slip and yank it back into place as I shift on the sofa. The glow from the ring light is so bright my eyes are watering, my stomach is rumbling, and I don’t see how anyone would want to pay for this.

  ‘Ignore them, sweetness,’ says DIYDaddy. ‘Boys don’t deserve your time anyway.’ I know I’m blushing, and I hate myself for it. It should not be this easy to woo me. ‘But we’re here to see you in all your beautiful glory, so perhaps you could start by just losing the bra?’

  I want to refuse, on some kind of principle I guess, but this is why I’m here. I reach behind me, and with a practised movement, unhook my bra. I’m about to just shuck it off and toss it away, and I do have to suppress a sigh of pleasure as it releases from my back, but I remember what I’ve seen on TV and take my time peeling it away. After a moment of attempted teasing, I lower my bra and yep, those are my tits, on a webcam.

  I drop my bra and cup my breasts awkwardly. “Better, baby?” I ask as I lean towards the camera again. Stop saying Baby, you sound like an idiot, you idiot!

  Silence. I feel myself turning red again, but this time from shame. Then DIYDaddy says, “Done. Thanks, slut.” And then they’re gone. I stare at the screen in shock. Done? Does that mean what I think it means? Divya said it’s about tips here, yet he left me with nothing but the feeling of being all sticky and ashamed.

  I want to cry, but the room isn’t empty. Three people are just watching me, and it makes my skin crawl. 2BackBeast, EatMeEatU, and FootFetFem…

  “Divya?!”

  And FootFetFem is gone. We are gonna have words!

  I sit back with a huff, my tits still on show and my belly rolls now on show too. Fuck this. I reach over and grab my post-cam treat; a chocolate muffin Divya left for me, not even slightly healthy and all the way decadent. Screw these people, let them watch, I need a make-feel-good. I take a bite and just lose myself, damn that woman can bake. The chocolate is rich and deep, close to dark chocolate with a hint of berries to it. The cake is moist and soft and crumbed with sugar crystals and in the middle? Soft chocolate fondant!

  I let out an entirely unsexy and unintentional moan as I lean back, a blob of the chocolate fondant falling from the open end of the muffin to land on my left tit with a wet plop. I freeze, feeling suddenly even more exposed, even more humiliated.

  CHA-CHING

  My eyes widen and I lean forward, the fondant rolling off my tit to land in my lap.

  CHA-CHING, CHA-CHING

  Tips?!

  2BackBeast tips ￡1

  2BackBeast tips ￡1

  EatMeEatU tips ￡10

  DING-DING, DING-DING

  Suddenly there are more people in the chat, and I can barely keep up with the messages.

  “So hot bb.”

  “Wanna be tht muffin.”

  “So fit, wanna fuck that cake into you.”

  “Lick it off.”

  “Shove it up u.”

  “Tell me to eat bb, gonna eat till I’m sick for you.”

  Oh. Oh wow, I was not expecting any of this. I’m still trying to wrap my head around that last message but something else happens that I don’t think I could have ever expected. A glowing, translucent screen appears, floating before my eyes like an AR display. Bold white letters pulse with an intense blue light.