Watch Me

I consider myself a pretty normal guy; 46 years old, long ago divorced, no kids, retired from the fire department after twenty years. I supplement my pension by selling equipment to fire departments and rescue squads. I enjoy softball with my buddies, watch movies, travel a bit with old friends, and date occasionally, but don't have a steady girlfriend; don't need or want one. Like any guy I have desires and fantasies, but none that anyone would consider too far out there. Once or twice I've acted on a few of them, but most remain locked away in my head. Yep, pretty much normal, like any other guy.

I am very passionate about animals, especially dogs. A good dog will never do you wrong, and all dogs are good as far as I'm concerned. When I retired I decided to use my experience in swift water rescue and founded a nonprofit agency called Four Paws First. We save pets caught in natural disasters, like hurricanes and floods. I don't work alone. Jessie is my partner and co-founder of Four Paws. She's a fire fighter, is also swift water trained, and feels the same way about dogs as me. Even though we've worked together for years, I didn't know much about her, except that she's five years younger than me, also single, and doesn't have any kids. What I did know was that she's an outstanding rescuer, and as passionate as I am about animals. She seemed normal like me. At least I thought so.

"Hey, don't go in there," Jessie shouted over the sound of the water that flowed past the ramshackle house before us. "You know better than that."

"I can hear him in there," I called back. "He sounds desperate."

Jessie rolled her eyes. "It's not safe and you know it. There's no telling what's going on inside." My partner was telling me what I already knew. A flooded house is a potential death trap, especially in waist-deep, rapidly moving water. The frantic yelping and whining increased as if the dog trapped inside could hear my partner warning me off, sentencing it to death. "I'll spot you," she said with resignation knowing that I was hooked. She clipped the lead rope to the harness around my waist. "Be careful and don't be an idiot."

I nodded, aware that I was about to do put her in as much danger as me. Jessie clipped her safety rope to a tree, then wrapped the one attached to me around her waist. While she paid out the rope I forged through the churning water toward the half-submerged house. I flicked on my headlamp in the growing darkness.

When I gripped the empty doorframe of the dilapidated house and prepared to enter, a chunk of wood broke off in my gloved hand. "This isn't good," I thought to myself. If the exterior was in such bad shape, the interior might be even worse. There was no telling how unstable the whole structure might be. The whining from inside pitched up a notch. I ignored my reservations and stepped inside.

Bits of furniture and old clothing floated about in the swirling water. Photographs, books, letters and papers glided by; ghosts of a life, or lives, washed away by the hurricane that had overwhelmed the region. More whining and yelping came from deep inside the house. "You shouldn't be doing this," I murmured out loud. "Not a good idea." I moved deeper inside pulling along the rope that connected me to my partner and entered a narrow hallway leading to the back of the house. The light from my headlamp played along the walls. Framed pictures of smiling kids, and proud adults came into view. What had happened to the occupants? Why had they abandoned their pet? Why had they left a family member behind? My boot struck an unseen object below the water. The floor beneath my feet felt boggy.

Whine, yelp, bark, "Save me, please," the sounds came from deeper into the house than I knew was safe to go. I pushed forward through the rising tide. My headlamp penetrated the darkness of the last room and there he was. The poor dog was balanced on top of a dresser, hooked to a taut leash that disappeared beneath the black water. He was frantic, panicked, terrified, and stunned that he was, alone without his humans. The look he gave me said, "Thank god you're here! Please help me!" I pulled out my knife and sliced his leash in half. He immediately jumped into my arms and licked my face. I hugged him tight, trying to calm him and communicate reassurance. He looked at me again as if saying, "Get me the hell out of here." I laughed and turned to exit the room. "Good idea," I said out loud. That was when my left foot dropped through the floor.

For an instant we both went under. Sputtering, I pulled myself and the dog, up above the water with my right leg. I yanked my left intending to continue with my exit, but my foot didn't budge. I pulled again harder, only to realize that I was stuck tight. Suppressing panic, I gave the line back to Jessie three sharp tugs, which was our signal for help. All I could do was hope that she got it and would reach us before we both drowned in the rising water. Three tugs came back down the rope in response, Jessie was on her way. "It's okay buddy," I said to the dog. He looked at me hopefully.

There was nothing that I could do except wait for my partner. If I let go of the dog and tried to free myself, there was a good chance he'd panic and drown, possibly both of us. If I continued to try and force my foot free, I might get even more stuck or fall through the floor. Training told me that our best chance for survival was to wait for my partner. I stood still and shone my headlight around the small room. What I saw there stunned me. In all the years I'd been a firefighter, I'd seen a lot of stuff that most never do; dead bodies burnt beyond recognition, trauma from car accidents and personal violence, and decadence that most consider beyond belief. I'd thought that nothing would surprise me anymore. That evening, in the glow of my light my jaw dropped. The walls of the room were plastered with photos of naked women. Every square inch was covered with picture after picture of bare flesh, thighs spread wide, naked breasts, shaved pubic mons up close, glistening, damp genitalia. After a moment I realized that it wasn't pictures of multiple women, but just one anonymous woman, in many different poses. "My god," I heard myself say. Jessie's voice called from the hallway, "Hang on. I'm coming."

"Umm, you might want to..." I shouted.

"I'm almost there. You idiot. I told you not to go in." It was both an admonishment and an expression of hope that I was okay.

The beam from the headlamp caught another photo and my jaw dropped farther. On the upper left hip of the woman was a distinctive tattoo that I'd seen only once before, when I qualified for my swift water rescue certification along with another trainee. It was on the hip of my partner who had come to save me. I stood frozen in place, my light motionless on the tattoo in the picture as Jessie entered the room. She looked first at me then the picture. Her eyes went wide. "Fuck!" She exclaimed quietly looking at me, then the picture. Panic then resignation washed across her face. "Let's get you out of here." She ducked under the water and pulled my foot free. When she rose up her headlamp burned into my eyes as she studied me. I didn't move. My own headlight remained fixed on the incriminating photograph. "Mike," she said quietly, but firmly. "We need to go ... now" There was urgency in her voice. I wasn't sure if it was about the rising flood waters or the display on the wall, but she sounded full of concern. It shook me from my reverie and I nodded. The dog in my arms whined, agreeing with my partner. I stepped forward and followed her out of the room and to safety.

We trudged back to our flat-bottomed skiff through chest high water. I placed the dog into the boat and steadied it while Jessies climbed in. She pulled me up next and fired up the outboard, while I wound up the ropes. In silence we motored back to our truck, safely parked on a high bank well away from the river and the now sunken house. After trailering the boat, drying off the thankful dog, and stowing our gear, we drove to the temporary animal shelter without saying a word. Thirty minutes later, in full darkness, we were finished with the rescue. It was the last day of our deployment and we were scheduled to head home the next day. She'd fly and I'd drive the truck and boat back, two states away to the hometown that we both shared. "Dinner's on me tomorrow," she said. I began to protest. "Please," she asked. "I'd really like to do that ... and we can talk then."

I nodded and headed toward the makeshift showers the Red Cross had set up.

"See you tomorrow night. You promise?"

"Of course Jess," I answered.

The five hour drive home went by in a blur. Thousands of unanswerable questions ran through my head: Were those really pictures of Jessie on the wall in that house? How did they get there? What did she know about them? Why didn't she seem shocked? Why would she do that? What else about her didn't I know? I pulled into the driveway of my small home not remembering much of the drive. It was well after four o-clock in the afternoon by the time that I finished storing the boat and our gear. A ding on my cell phone signaled a text message from Jessie. "Hope the drive was easy. Thanks for doing that. Got the stuff done that I needed to do this morning. Dinner at seven ok?" I had forgotten that we'd agreed to get together that night. "Sure. Where?" I replied. Her answer came back immediately, "My house. How about ribeyes on the grill, baked sweet potatoes, and something green for health?" My stomach growled. I hadn't eaten good food in a week. "Sounds terrific," I texted back. "You bring the wine. And bring a decent bourbon for after dinner. I'm all out. None of that Jack shit." Good alcohol was another passion that Jessie and I shared.

I pulled up to her house at exactly seven o'clock. I'd never been there before despite the years that we'd worked together. It was a modest sized house, with an impeccable front yard that someone put a lot of time and money into. On ringing the doorbell, I heard the low, loud barks of excitement from the pitbull that Jessie had rescued from the local animal shelter. As soon as the door opened I was assaulted by fifty pounds of tail wagging dog. "Hey Phoebe. How are ya girl?" I knelt down and gave the snow white dog a big hug. She immediately rolled over so that I could scratch her belly.

"Where's Bandit?" Jessie asked about my dog.

"Left him with the sitter. I didn't have time to get him this afternoon. I'm sure he's perfectly happy there, probably doesn't even miss me."

Jessie punched me in the arm. "Something like that. Come on in. The grill is heating up out back." She led the way into a spacious kitchen that opened into a dining area overlooking the backyard. The space was drop dead gorgeous; granite countertops, hard wood cabinets, and high end, stainless steel appliances. The view into the yard was equally impressive. The cherry trees that surrounded a swath of green grass were just starting to come into bloom. When they did, the yard would be awash in pink blossoms. A large stone patio with a firepit sat off to one side overlooking the gorgeous landscape.

"This place is beautiful," I said putting a bottle of Malbec on the counter.

"Thanks. I put a lot of time and effort into it."

"And more than a little bit of money," I thought to myself.

"What's in the brown paper bag?" Jessie asked.

"Just what you asked for." I pulled a bottle of fifteen year bourbon from the bag.

"Oooh. One of my favorites. Pour us some wine while I go check and see if the grill is ready for these babies." She held up a platter with two juicy ribeyes on it.

"My kind of woman," I though as I filled the two wine glasses that Jessie had left on the counter. "Loves good wine, good meat, and good bourbon." Out loud I chuckled and said, "And dogs too."

"What's that?" Jessie asked breezing back into the kitchen.

"Nothing. I was just thinking how alike our tastes are." I reached down to scratch Phoebe's ears.

"Just figuring that out?" Jessie took a sip of wine. "You are a little slow on the uptake." She smiled.

I decided to play along with the verbal sparring. "Give me a break. I am a guy after all."

"I noticed that a long time ago." She picked up a glass. Her eyes sparkled.

For the next few hours we chatted while we ate the excellent dinner that Jessie had prepared. It was light and lively conversation that focused mostly on her house and how she had renovated it over the years.

"How were you able to afford all this nice stuff on a fire fighter's salary?" The light buzz I had from the wine made me blunter than usual.

"I did a lot of the work myself," she said. "And I found some extra money."

I could tell that Jessie wasn't telling me the full story, but decided not to push. We cleaned up the dinner dishes, grabbed two low-ball glasses and the bottle of bourbon and headed out to the patio. She lit the firepit while I poured two generous servings of liquor. We sat in silence staring at the flames and cradling our drinks.

"I gotta ask," I began.

"About the tattoo or the pictures?" Jessie interrupted.

"Both."

"The tattoo is easy. I got it right before I finished my certification in swift water rescue. I wanted the accreditation so badly that I got it before the test as an incentive to myself. It worked too."

I raised my glass in toast to her. "It's nice."

"Thanks. I designed it myself. I'm really proud of what I do and that ink." She took a sip of the amber liquor and paused. "But there are times when I wish that I could hide it."

I kept my mouth shut and waited for her to go on.

"I'm sure you already figured it out, but yes, that was me in those pictures at the house." She paused again, then straightened herself in her chair. "I wouldn't say that I'm especially proud of that, but I'm not apologetic or embarrassed about it either." The fire reflected in her eyes and I could see hard defiance as if she was prepared for a fight.

"Go on," I said gently.

Jessie relaxed and settled back in her chair, relieved that I wasn't castigating her. "My mom got really sick with cancer about a year after I joined the department. It was ovarian, stage three, advanced. The doctors gave her a chance, a slim one, but a chance. Of course we jumped at that." She stared hard at her drink, then took another sip. "She did it all, surgery, chemo, radiation, more chemo. It wasn't long before the bills started rolling in. Do you have any idea how expensive cancer treatment is?"

I shook my head.

"Let's put it this way, somebody's getting rich. Her insurance was good, but it couldn't keep up with the cost of the drugs, in-patient admissions, ER visits, and home health care. When it ran down and her bank account went to nothing, the doctors waived their fees, but the bills kept coming. I worked extra shifts and we sold off so much stuff you'd have thought we were E-bay. Still there was no way that I could keep up. Bankruptcy looked like a good option."

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I had no idea."

"No one did. I kept it that way." Jessie sighed. "I needed money and it hit me one night when I was surfing the web looking for solutions. My ex-boyfriend and I used to watch internet porn together." I raised my eyebrows. She shot back, "What, you think that only guys enjoy porn?"

Once again, I kept my mouth shut.

"Sexist pig," she snorted, but smiled. "Anyway, I remembered the 'live webcams' that he liked so much. You know what they are?" I nodded. "I did some research and learned that I could make money flashing myself on one of those. I bought a cheap camera, hooked it to my laptop, and joined a porn distribution service." Jessie took a long sip from her glass, then I refilled both her drink and mine.

"The first time I took my clothes off in front of the camera I was so nervous that I almost threw up. I couldn't believe that anybody would pay to look at my bare tits." I raised my eyebrows again thinking that I should say something. "Boy was I wrong. I got view after view, and for each one I got money. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to offset my mom's expenses. And I learned something about myself in the process." I held my breath. "I like people looking at me naked."

A tingle ran through me. The sincerity in her confession was evident. Jessie wasn't bragging, she was just stating a fact, an honest revelation about herself. Something also tickled in the back of my mind on hearing that Jessie liked exhibitionism. It resonated with me in a way I'd never imagined. Lust and desire welled up and blood began to flow into my groin.

"I loved the feeling of being exposed to complete strangers. Each time that I flicked on the camera, stripped, and sent myself out over the web, I got turned on. I felt so sexy. Viewers would send me email telling me how much they liked looking at me, how hot I was, how excited they got. It was like a drug and I couldn't get enough. Over time, I did more and more in front of the camera, and that just pumped up my ratings and I got me more viewers. And I made more money." Jessie took another long drink from her glass. "I started doing it to make money for my mom's treatments, but I kept doing it because I liked it so much."

Without thinking, I reached out and touched her arm, silently trying to communicate my understanding and acceptance. Jessie looked down at my hand and smiled. "She died about three months after I started doing internet sex work. That's what it's called you know, sex work. But it's definitely not 'work' as far as I'm concerned." She finished off her bourbon and set her glass on the arm of her chair. I went to refill it, but she waved me off. I poured myself more. "I took a break from doing web porn, buried my mom, and settled all of her affairs. There was money left over after I paid all the medical bills."

"Good for you," I said immediately regretting such a lame comment.

"Thanks," Jessie smiled. "The exhibitionism itch didn't go away though. The thrill of being in front of the camera, exposing myself to strangers, doing things for an anonymous audience, called to me. I wanted to, had to, keep doing it." Jessie stared, willing me with her eyes to understand. "After a lot of soul searching, I decided that if I was going to keep on being a porn diva, I needed to do it on my own terms. I read a ton about forming an on-line company, hosting a website (specifically a porn site) and internet commerce. I hired a good programmer, an understanding accountant, and fired up my own website where I could do what I wanted and be paid what I deserved. It didn't take long for me to amass a good following, mostly private clients, that I'd perform for. That was about two years ago."

I took a big drink from my glass and waited for her to continue.

"It's worked out well, don't you think?" She waved her hand around indicating the house and the yard.

"What do you mean 'private clients'?"

"I don't advertise my website, it's just word of mouth. Most of the people who buy from me (I'll explain that in a minute) do so over and over. I call them private clients. They send me an email describing what they want to see. Then we schedule a time for me to act it out. I sell each of my fifty-minute performances for one hundred dollars." I whistled, impressed by the price. "For that they can see exactly what they asked for, and they can interact with me via on-line chat. I record every act, so customers can stream, but not save, a recording for fifty dollars. A download costs seventy-five. I also sell stills, and write a blog."

"Wow. You've got quite a system." I drank more bourbon and did some quick math in my head. There was a lot of money involved. "I'm glad you appreciate it. I like doing live performances the best. Customers send me text messages during the act and I'll change things around in real time so that I can get a bigger reaction."