I’ve got a new girl set up with cameras, and I swear, it never gets old.
The first time I look in on a girl she’s usually prepared, anxious, and watching for the LED to change color. She plays it cool, and her nervousness comes out by hiding behind her hair or blankets, or through the waggling of her hyperactive hands/feet.
But the next time, I try to catch her when she’s not expecting it. When she’s in the middle of a mundane thing, in an empty house, just like always. Say, getting dressed for the gym and talking to mom on the phone. The camera comes on and she doesn’t even notice the light, so I text her a comment about slouching. Her head snaps to the camera, and panic floods her face. I can see her messy hair. Her no makeup. Her fat rolls. I can hear her gossip with her mother.
She loses the power of speech. Her mom becomes concerned, asking if everything is okay. She sputters out two-word, broken sentences. “I’m just— I can’t— I think—“ She’s holding up a hand to keep herself from seeing the camera, which at that point feels like the eye of God, or at least Sauron. She manages to get out that she’s lost her train of thought. She begins pacing, trying to return fully to her body.
She tries to go on autopilot, and go through the motions as planned. She keeps talking to mom, then walks over to her dresser. She pulls out a sports bra. And a wide-eyed, slack-jawed expression comes over her face. Both hands fly to her face and her shoulders sag. She seems completely defeated. I’m laughing.
Her hands go behind her, up to her work-bra’s clasp. They fall down. They go back up. They fall down. Her fingers are twitching. She squeezes her eyes shut, takes a deep —but silent, for mom— breath, squares her shoulders, clenches her fists, and quickly reaches up to unhook the bra. The strap falls loose, but she holds it in place with her arms. She looks down at her feet, and I’m wondering if she’ll cry.
With another deep breath, the bra falls as she scoops up its replacement, and I watch her tits wobble about as she struggles to get into it. Somehow, despite her apparent conviction to the contrary, she surivives the experience.
She sits down, puts on her shoes, and glances up at the camera pleadingly. I then get an urgent DM, telling me that she is frozen in place and needs my permission to act. I tell her to tell mom goodbye. She does. She looks at the camera expectantly. She needs to leave to meet a friend, but she’s scared to leave the room as long as I’m watching… it would feel disrespectful. I give her permission and sign out.
It’s adorable, if you ask me.