Roxy

I posed naked on the bed. Having forgotten to refresh my music, I listened to the same old shitty dance tunes through the laptop speakers. Despite the music grating on my ears, I smiled and hummed along with the bland lyrics.

Legs spread, I rested my head in my hand while doing my best to appear interested. Pouting like the whore I was, I’d part my pussy lips to show off my healthy inner pinkness. Gazing into the laptop, I watched IrishRover5 wanking in front of his camera. My eyes felt tired, there is only so many ginger pubes that you can take in one night. Still, he was paying me £5 a minute. So I lay there, fingering my clit, until he fired cum all over his laptop.

How did I end up camming? Well, I simply searched online for an easy way to make money. I’m not a natural cashier, or bargirl. Hello..? I’m studying to be a doctor. You’re not going to find me stacking shelves in some discount shop.

I know camming is a risk to my future career, but as well as clever, I’ve always felt free spirited... or if you want a more exciting phrase, slutty. The feeling has always been there since I started puberty, like an itch waiting to be scratched or a clit waiting to be tickled.

The thought of being a doctor has never excited me. It’s my father who chose my career path, he is a heart surgeon and wanted his little daughter to follow him into cardiology. Don’t for one minute think I’m a pushover, but I can’t exactly say, hey dad, I would rather be dancing poles and getting my arse felt by random men... could I?

It’s not that I didn’t try and get a normal job to get me through uni. When I first arrived in London I got a job at as a waitress in a high-end Indian restaurant, where I worked for a month. But I spent more time turning down dates from my colleagues than I did waiting tables. That’s when I realised that I attract South Asians like a Dog would attracts fleas. It was not just the restaurant, it was uni. They chase me all over the campus. I’m not kidding, after lecture there will be a queue, ten deep, offering me proposals and questions. What are you? Where are you from? Please meet my parents. Will you marry me..? Fuck sake, it’s endless. They’re obsessed with me. They treat me like some kind of deity, so I started calling them pilgrims.

The problem is, technically I’m one of them. I’m mixed race, half Bahraini, yes I’m as hot as the desert and half English – hence the foul mouth. I dress in Western clothes and possess a liberal attitude. The whole package drives my South Asian classmates mad.

It’s not that I have a particular problem with my South Asian pilgrims either, they’re usually good looking, kind hearted men, who are for the most part very clever. But they want to marry me.... right away!

Despite changing careers, it was no different while camming, where I get bombarded with emails asking my ethnicity. Of course I can’t tell them the truth, Bahrain is a small island, not to mention highly conservative. If word got out that I was an online stripper, I’ld be stoned to on my return from London. So, usually depending on what I want for dinner, I tell them I’m Indian, Pakistani, Bangladeshi, Iranian, oh and if I fancy a Sunday roast, then I’m British Asian.

Anyway, I packed away my work clothes and got ready for bed. I had an early morning, the Border Agency was coming for a visa check, so all foreign nationals had to attend. Sometimes it really does feel like a Nazi state. I wouldn’t really mind, but I look like shit on my ID card. Plus I needed an early night because I felt my period coming on, so I was going to be that little bit bitchier in the morning... God help anyone that crosses me.