Adrift

might look bad. And I didn’t even fuck her.

Chapter 10
Poppy
The tenth of the month marked the day I ran financials. A twenty-five percent decline month over month in subscriber revenue underscored the urgency of my situation.
Back on that random day three years ago when I decided on a whim to create an OnlyFans profile out of unemployed boredom. I had no idea it would end up generating more money than I made as a bartender. My experience had been a case of perfect timing. The world quarantined, a burgeoning platform, and a need for sexual stimulus. When I hit a six-figure annual revenue, it blew my mind. Now, mind you, that was revenue, not profit. You had to minus out the ad dollar expenditure and, of course, taxes, because Uncle Sam was no different from anyone else. He wanted his share.
Those were the good ole days. There’d been a lot of competition back then, but every day, competition grew fiercer. For a while, there, I’d lived life high on the hog as a high-ranking page. But, as my declining numbers showed, lame accounts didn’t remain at the top. I didn’t even do nudes. At the end of the day, spreadsheets didn’t lie. The gas tank on my temporary job vehicle needed a refuel.
I stared across the marina at Jules. I could see the shapes of a few patrons sitting on the deck, basking in the winter sun. Behind the large windows, a bartender sat there, probably rolling napkins, helping to prepare for the dinner crowd.
I thought the next time I worked in a restaurant, it would be as the owner. I’d moved into this marina-side home when I was raking it in. At one point, I earned over a hundred grand from OnlyFans. Times changed. My subscription base had declined substantially. And not only did I have tuition for the restaurant management online course, but I needed to be socking away every dollar I could.
The updated rental agreement emailed to me this morning reminded me of my terms. Fifty thousand coming due soon for me to stay another year. And that was Mrs. Rittenhouse giving me a huge discount. She could probably get closer to a hundred grand renting it to weekly tenants. The discount didn’t change what I could afford. The pit in my stomach did the math. No way could I justify another year. I’d blown way too much money in rent giving myself a gift.
Nope, this coming year, life changes were in store. I needed to find a small, cheap place on the mainland, and I needed to find a bartending gig. I could work during the day, and at night bartend. I’d save up money.
My phone rang, and I stilled when I read the name. Ben Parsons. I shouldn’t answer, but I did.
“Hello.”
“Hey, there, stranger. How’s it goin’?” His familiar drawl carried a strangling effect.
“Good. How are you?” Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I paced the screened porch. An older man lugging a white cooler across the boardwalk whistled, and the high-pitched sound carried across the marina.
“Good. I’ve got news.”
I’d already seen his news on Facebook over a month ago. An awkward silence filled the line.
“I’m getting engaged. But I guess you may have seen that on FB.”
“I’m not on there much.” Embarrassment warmed my skin when a vision of my hearting his post flicked before me. If he ever looked to see who liked it, he’d know I lied. But Ben would never read through three hundred likes.
“Yeah? I’d think you spend a lot of time on social media these days.”
“Why do you say that?” I closed my eyes and held my breath, waiting. It had only been a matter of time. Someone from Lakewood, Louisiana was bound to stumble across my account.
“Oh, Pops.” At one time, I mistook his use of my nickname to be affectionate. “I want you to come to my bachelor party.”
“You’ve set a date?” They’d gotten engaged seven weeks ago.
“We’re thinking a summer wedding. But Billy wants to plan a weekend fishing trip for my bachelor party for all the guys. I thought I’d check your calendar, you know, make sure we pick a date you can make it out for.”
“Ben, I’m touched you want me to be a part of it, but I don’t think a fishing weekend with the guys is for me. Maybe another time.” The empty offer rolled off my tongue, sugary sweet and as void of merit as sweet tea.
“Billy told me you’d want payment, but I told him I didn’t think so. Wouldn’t you do this for me? Your best friend?”
“What, exactly, are you thinking I would do if I joined you on the fishing trip?”
“Well, it’s my bachelor party. We want strippers. And you probably know lots of them, right?” I shuddered as I comprehended what kind of entertainment he wanted me to provide. “I mean, don’t tell Cindy, but I’m one of your subscribers. I’ve always loved your rack.”
My vision blurred. The red circle wavered, but I pressed it, ending the call. Ben had been my next-door neighbor. Moved in when we were in seventh grade. We’d played video games together.
I loved him. Hard. On one Saturday afternoon in his parents’ basement, he mumbled, “You have great boobs.” His cheeks flamed pink, and his embarrassment lassoed my heart. Dumb girl that I was, I interpreted the blush on his cheeks to mean he liked me, too.
“Can I touch them?”
“Yes.” He’d dropped the remote. Groped me. He didn’t kiss me. Like a twat, I didn’t see a problem with that.
“Will you take off your shirt?” I didn’t want to do that. Even back then, in high school, my belly wasn’t flat. I hadn’t worn anything but a one piece since, like, first grade. But I happened to be wearing a button-down shirt, and I unbuttoned it to below my breasts. My bra wasn’t sexy. It was more of a cotton sports bra from Wal-Mart. He pushed