I'm tired of saying I don't do quickies for my reasons, reasons that, in the end, tired me more than they helped me. So I adapted to the fact that there will always be that impatient guy who enters my room with 99% of his masturbation already done, ready to ejaculate and hang up on me without guilt for his lack of manners. After all, manners are for human beings, right? And many people simply can't see the person on the other side of the screen as one. But, getting back to the point: I do quickies. Yes, I do. But I do them with the enthusiasm of a soulless robot. And I do them very happily. (Inside. Because, on the outside, I refuse to even smile.) This happiness comes from knowing that this guy watching me isn't really watching me. He never would be. Because the show I really put on is something he'll never know. I open my vagina like I'm opening a jar. My moans for Mr. Flash are faker than a three-dollar bill. And I never again felt bad when that female voice announced that "the chat (simple, private and, very rarely, exclusive, because it costs more) is over." I don't feel bad because he's the one who missed out on the delight that I am. He paid for a sample. A small amount, but he paid. The real show still has a different price.