I moved to the San Fernando Valley at the worst possible time. Right after the financial crisis hit at the beginning of 2009, Los Angeles was probably running at about 50% unemployment. My friend Kate worked at Trader Joe’s, and they received 300 applications for one job opening. The only people working regularly were the Mexican fruit pickers standing outside Home Depot, and even they would sometimes wait half a day before anyone drove by. The counseling center I volunteered at started to fill up with clients who had been unemployed for a year and were deeply depressed, considering suicide. Los Angeles is a terrible city to be desperate in.
I was sending out ten resumes a day to Craigslist jobs, with no responses. I assumed that the moment they clicked “Post,” HR directors were immediately inundated with resumes and panicked, choosing new employees at random. My boyfriend, Jason, was struggling to pay his part of the rent by selling musical instruments on eBay. We were living in a pool house and eating street-cart tacos every day because it was cheaper than buying groceries.
So I went to the fallback job: internet porn.
I signed up with a third-party website to be a cam model. It works like this: you have a webcam. Guys go to the website, pick you out of a lineup, and instant message with you a little bit. When they decide they want to fork over $3 a minute, they click the “Pay Now” button and take you to a private chat room, where you can do whatever you want. I got half of the money for each minute, and grew quite adept at stripping slowly. The guys mostly just wanted straightforward tits and ass; I learned how to pull my pussy lips open, how to use camera tricks so it looked like I was shoving four fingers in my asshole.
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