With nothing to identify me, the pretty, disembodied pink lips on the screen could have belonged to anyone. I almost couldn’t believe that they belonged to me as I pressed send.
But no sooner had I sent the photo then the bubbles appeared on the sooner.
“Thats bullshit,” it read. “Cant even tell its you”
“It’s me,” I wrote back quickly. “I swear”
“Prove it,” he wrote. “Show tits and pussy”
“no way,” I wrote back. “I did what you asked”
“tits and pussy,” he wrote back. “Or no more nice guy”
I knew I shouldn’t be negotiating like this, that I couldn’t keep letting this 19-year-old boy push me around like some kind of submissive plaything. But I was also so tired and anxious, and my nerves were completely frayed. I just needed to satisfy him enough to get through the night.
Slowly, I pulled the tank top over my head. Then, I reached behind me and unclasped my bra, letting my big tits spill out from beneath the cups. Turning my head away from the screen to hide my face, I held the camera aloft and clicked the shutter. Then, I forced myself to look at the screen.
Although you couldn’t see my face, there was no denying that the big-breasted, half-naked Asian woman on the screen was me. You could tell from the clothes uselessly strewn about my body, from the skin color and the proportions and the haircut. Anyone who knew me well would likely be able to identify me from this photo.
This had to be enough. It just had to be. Reluctantly, I tapped send.
A few seconds later, the response came.
“Damn Nikki you’re a fucking MILF”
“Goodnight,” I wrote back. Then, I re-blocked the number.
I slumped down against the bathroom door, a wave of guilty disbelief crashing over me. I’d just sent another man a photo of my naked body.
And not just any other man. A 19-year-old white boy who I’d thought was my son’s best friend. A 19-year-old white boy who was using my son to manipulate me. I’d sent him a photo of my tits and pussy that even my husband had never seen.
At least I could rectify that one wrong. Quickly, I sent the same photo to Steve, then I deleted it.
Exhausted, I climbed into the shower, then stumbled into bed.
…
The next morning, I had a very appreciative message from Steve waiting on my phone:
“Damn you are so hot,” he wrote. “Whatever’s gotten into you, make sure you bring some of it back with you to Cali”
Mercifully, there were no messages from Johan, as his number was still blocked.
And for most of the day, things seemed to be almost normal. Danny was cubing well, and in the morning, he defended his title in the 5×5. But that afternoon, as Danny was warming up for the 4×4 championships, I saw Johan staring at me from across the practice room.
“Hey Nikki,” he yelled, gesturing at me to come over to him.
I shook my head at him, waving him off. Everyone here knew me as Danny’s mom, Mrs. Kim. What was he trying to prove by calling me Nikki in front of my son and all these other people?
A moment later, he walked over to where I was sitting with Danny.
“Hey Danny,” he said, pulling out his phone. “You wanna see a funny photo…”