#Growing Into the Job

[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job, Post 367: That was Then, This is Now, Epilogue

Amelia Eklund was making bank. Who knew a girl could earn so much money being a casual, relatively disinterested cam girl? So far she was doing it through one of these new companies that took a little cut but handled it all. She heard the money went to the Movement so yeah, whatever, great. These services were getting super popular, with a bigger and bigger stable of girls that did this every day. And not just the slutty ones that used to be on like Streammate or Twitch or whatever, but regular girls who let internet guys look at them for a couple minutes here and there. It was a good way to make some extra cash and exploit these dorkey losers, which had an appeal in and of itself. You didn't even have to take clothes off, really. It was still half an unspoken secret, but men were becoming so submissive; they’d stare at a girl's foot for an hour, or a bra tag, and pay big shit for it. It wasn't just the few weirdos ethier, it was like all of them. It seemed every guy was becoming crippled with these similar fetishes, couldn’t help themselves. Tons of guys, now, would spend much of their day just surfing around from girl to girl, dropping dollars just to watch a pretty girl put on her makeup. So, women were making money on it all over the place, casually. It was just one of the ways the bulk of the nation’s wealth was slowly being transferred, changing hands from male to female. The men seemed helpless to stop it, and girls like Amelia were taking full advantage. Every day there were more and more guys on Amelia’s morning stream.

Like, this morning, Tuesday. Amelia had - after only like twenty seconds - more than 300 viewers, each paying $10 just to see her OOTD. Granted, her popularity had skyrocketed - as had his lololol - after she’d streamed her boss getting swarmed on Melissa’s couch, beat off to a whimpering mess under a sea of them and then watching all the girls surrounding him grow, right on camera. He’d been in a daze, didn’t remember the moment, but the world fucking loved it. Who knew, right? Everyone was jonesing these days for big women and short, weak, pathetic little guys,  man-children. And watching one of these twerps actually make girls grow? A goldmine. The Tiktok video, with all the shares or reblogs or re-posts or whatever by others, onto all the different platforms, had already collected more than thirty million views since Saturday. As many women watched as men. Maybe there were more women, actually.

Amelia got tons of DMs from girls: who WAS that guy?? Can I have a piece haha? So vulni!! The hilarious thing was he didn’t even know about it yet, that he was internet-famous after, like, one minute of being on camera. And yeah it helped Amelia’s cam-girl career start to really take off.  

Honestly - and she’d never admit this outloud, but the thrill she got wasn’t just from the money she was raking in; it was from seeing those viewer numbers go up. It was more than a thrill, actually, there was something darkly electric about it. Like, every new viewer seemed to bring her more energy, and that energy made her tingle and buzz. And besides soaking her panties, she could tell it was all going somewhere, like it was being collected and channeled into something. The bigger those numbers were, the more simpy little men that signed on to her stream, the bigger that buzz became. She would only find out later that it was all going to Melissa. 

So, yeah. Amelia looked at her live viewer count. She was bored already but the numbers helped. She’d make a couple grand this morning before work by giving the simps what they wanted for a minute and taking their cash. She knew she could call them ‘good boys’ for ‘looking at mommy’ and watch the tips explode. But not today, nah. She didn’t really feel like talking. Everyone wanted big mommy, all the time; this morning they'd have to settle for this.

The comments came in a rush:

omigod look at her put her hands behind her head like that. 

she’s bigger than she was yesterday. 

that sweater can’t contain her

Her simps loved to fill her chat box, just talking about her. Sometimes they tried to get her attention. 

goddess please smile for us

you are so beautiful

please tell us your bra size again

how can I send you more money?

Every once in a while there’d be someone interesting, someone with something to say. Sometimes they were rebellious jerks, but most of the time they were just confused twerps trying to figure this all out. She rarely had the patience for them, and most of the time she could quiet them down by just filling their screens with her tits. 

why does she look taller whats happening

LOG OFF NOW SHES PART OF THE CONSPRCY

remember back in the day when camgirls would just do what you told them?

That last comment caught Amelia’s eye, and it actually brought not just a chuckle out of her, but a response. Quickly, right before logging off, she smiled crookedly into the camera and typed out a reply to that misguided cretin:

That was then, assholes. This is now. 

======================================

more more more:

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[x3nshit]

“you have to work hard!” why? “so you can get good grades!” why do i need good grades? “so you can get into a good college!” why? “so you can get a good paying job!” so then i can use that money to do fun stuff? “no you have to save it for later!” why? “so you can survive and retire comfortably!” then i can do the fun stuff? “no, you’ll be too old so you have to take care of your health!” then when can i do the fun stuff? “in your youth, enjoy it while you still can!” but i thought-

[transgendz]

My roommate and I are financially unstable while he does through a long, complicated diagnosis process that started as we stopped being homeless. I just got a job, and it's going to pay well and allow us to get caught up and stable, but I don't get my check for a week and a half. We have rent due on the 1st, our storage bill due at the end of the month, and we are out of food.

Dm me for proof or details

I will do art for anyone who gives, just message me @theartistrans I also take commissions there.

Dm me for zelle

$creepiecrippl

V

PP

$0/$900

[turtleblogatlast]

Imo the most impressive thing Leo’s done is hold this pose for as long as he did while covered head to toe in gold paint:

[measuringbliss]

People are acting so weird and possessive of Markiplier for the whole OnlyFans situation. He's an adult. He's an adult who's been a celebrity for years. He knows people thirst on him. That's why he had this idea in the first place. He's not some naive kid you must protect. He's not some innocent soul that the evil sluts of Tumblr and Twitter will corrupt. He knows the Internet, he knows his fans and he knows his job.

He's an adult and he can make his own choices.

[eccentricmya]

The Valar's mistake did not lie in seeing a possibility of good in Melkor. Rather, their mistake lay in not seeing the equal possibility of him remaining evil.

[rassebers]

Pull yourself TOGETHER man

[zvaigzdelasas]

[yesloulou]

just saw 17 yo daniel and 30 yo daniel side by side in the notifs i think it changed my brain forever

[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job, Post 372: Gone Viral

At this point I’d watched the video, the twenty-second clip from Amelia’s Saturday-night stream that had gone absolutely viral, more times than I could count. The clip was everywhere now. My phone was broken but I still had my desktop computer, and the video player filled my screen.

MAN MAKES GIRLS GROW BY CUMMING!!!

 It still made my mouth gape, it still made my skin crawl, and as I sat in my office alone this Tuesday morning it made me deathly afraid. What the actual fuck is happening?!? What had I become involved in?!? What had been happening to my body and - what was I doing to theirs?!?

Josie’s breasts broke out of her top. 

It was a trick, had to be something with editing, or a really good animation, or something - right?!? People don’t just…grow! It was physically impossible! It broke so many fundamental laws of nature and physics and physiology. It had to be fake. Didn’t it?? And, of course, it wasn’t me that caused it. It couldn’t be!

Lakshmi’s ass ballooned. 

Someone - one of the girls, or some online perv - had obviously made this clip of Amelia’s live recording of me sitting on Melissa’s lap, on her couch, surrounded by girls in bikinis and pajamas and getting whacked off by Josie. They’d clipped it, done weird things to it, and posted it…everywhere. That was the only explanation, that it had been altered. But…no. Now that I thought about it, I remembered. Memories came flooding back. 

Katie’s feet grew and burst from her flip-flop sandals. 

And what was happening with Josie’s hair?!?

And Melissa…Melissa looked enormous!

Oh my god!!

As I relived it again - the first time, in fact, back in the breakroom after a few bites of that terrible scone this morning - the memories started to get clearer. The girls had grown, all around me, my female staff had burgeoned and swelled. They surrounded me pressing around into me on Saturday night right after my handjob in Josie’s grip. And, though it didn’t make it onto the clip’s audio, I now remembered Randi’s whispered voice in my ear: “Get ready little man, your girls are going to eat you alive.”

Again: Oh my god!!

Three million views! More! More than three million views this thing had already, just on GirlToob (this popular, rapidly growing new video platform filled with content “for a female audience”) and it was posted only two days ago! I watched it again, looping. 

There I was, naked as day (certain parts of my anatomy were pixelated out for modesty on some sites, like this one, but I was full Monty on many of the re-uploads) and spasming in climax like a rag doll. And then, as the camera left me and scanned the surrounding women all suddenly consumed in ecstasy, the growth began. Josie’s top, Lakshmi’s bottom, and Katie’s feet, they all got bigger. And, by god, they all got taller too, right after I’d obviously climaxed Yes, it was subtle, and maybe a trick, but the fact remained: I was now internet famous for making girls grow. 

Can one actually die from humiliation? Is there an ICD-13 code for End-Stage Shame? Because I had a terminal case of mortification that was currently making my blood ice water and I felt like I should just go hide under a rock for oh…I don't know…the next decade or so. 

I watched the loop again, still in stunned silence staring into my future and feeling the world close in all around me. Though I tried my best to deny it as trickery, part of me knew this was no joke. It was as if I’d realized this all before, sitting there that Saturday night, but only now had it actually become real. And it was very, very public. Had I been mad at Amelia for streaming this, on Saturday night? I don’t think I was. In fact, I’m pretty sure I didn’t even know it was happening at the time, but when the girls showed me the video early this morning I kind of freaked out a bit. They all just laughed as they watched my reaction.. 

“Aww! Don’t be so dramatic,” one of them had said. 

“It’s all good,” said another. 

“People love you,” they tried to tell me. 

“Here, look at these comments, there’s hundreds of them,” I was told, “one girl calls you a hunk!”

“Or this one: ‘He’s every girl’s dream’.”

‘I want to hug him like a teddy bear.’

I want to eat him for breakfast. 

Can I be next haha??

Though most of the commenters were women, men had chimed in too: ‘ugh the dude is supersimp’ and ‘fuck yes make them all biggger u fuck’ or ‘STOP JUST WATCHNG WE NEED TO STIP THIS’

GOOD LORD!! I was, suddenly, a pariah, a savior, an object of lust and envy all at once. Millions of people had seen this! My heart thrump-thummed in my chest as my skin prickled with ignominy and the anxiety that was coming on like a horde of locusts. It was eating everything! Did I need to go to the authorities? Did I need to go to the hospital to find out what was wrong with me? Or did I just need to commit myself to the psych ward and be done with it? 

I needed t-

A knock at my door.

“Dr J?” came Aubrey’s voice, followed by Aubrey herself. Goddamnit even in my discomfit, my soul-panic, my eyes went to her tits. Jesus, her chest. Holy Christ her figure. This is Aubrey?!? Little Aubrey?!? She’d been six inches shorter - easily! - three months ago. If somehow I was responsible for all these changes to all these girls -  What have I done to her?!? She stepped in, closing the door to my office behind her, wearing a sensible - if overmatched - blue blouse, a mid-length skirt, and a look of concern. She was also carrying my ‘World’s Best Boss’ mug. 

“H-hey Aubrey, c-C-ome in,” I greeted her, hearing my voice crack again. It had been doing that more and more recently, especially in times of stress. I sounded like a pre-teen. I glanced at the white mug, which after a contrite thanks she offered to me. I hesitated. I remembered the cup the girls had poured me earlier; I hadn’t been able to stomach even a sip. “Is that my coffee?”

“No,” she said, a funny shiver to her voice, “I…I know you haven’t been drinking coffee, so…so I brought you this.”

I didn’t even notice her eyes watching me, studying my face as I accepted the mug and took a look at its contents. Jesus the mug felt heavy to me. And inside -  milk, of course it was milk. Melissa had been insistent we keep a gallon of both 2% and whole in the breakroom fridge now, in case I ever got thirsty, or hungry. It was - I had to admit - the easiest thing on my stomach these days. I was more than a little self-conscious that I’d become a milk-drinker and blushed a little here in front of Aubrey. The smell, though, cut through my perturbation. Wow, I guess I’m really craving this. It made sense: I hadn’t eaten much at all this morning. 

Aubrey continued to watch as I brought the mug to my lips and took a sip. Wow. It was delicious. Creamy, sweet, earthy. Maybe this is a new brand? And…

“You warmed it up?” I asked. It was warm, perfect. Like body temperature. 

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Aubrey answered, still sounding slightly nervous as she bit her lip, “in the, um, microwave? Is that okay?”

“Sure,” I answered, taking another sip, and then another. It caressed my mouth, slipped down my throat and immediately went to work filling my body with warmth and a new sense of something good, familiar. Holy crap this is great. I fought the urge to just gulp it down. “Thank you so much, Aubrey.” There was something different in my voice. I sounded calmer. 

“You’re welcome,” she answered. 

This, of course dear readers, was Katarina’s breastmilk. I didn’t know that at the time though, and somehow, in that moment I didn’t put the memory together, or recognize the taste. Again, my abilities to avoid the truth were Olympian. I’d drank of it over the weekend and this was the same thing, but goddammit as I sat at my desk my mind was if nothing else a fortress of denial. Subconsciously I refused to acknowledge it - but  I was drinking breastmilk.  

I looked up at Aubrey and instead of seeing a woman complicit in a plot to overthrow my authority here at the office, physically infantilize me into a cretin, and help herald in a new age of overwhelming female power, my eyes saw someone else. I saw a girl who cared about me, an employee who wanted my day to go well, and a budding friend. A daughter-figure in some respects, a cool younger protege in others. 

Christ I was so deluded!!!

But, no. Aubrey - all the girls, really - was all these things. Our little story here, if you haven’t figured it out by this point, is complicated. Good guys, bad guys, heroes and villains? It was all too convoluted for labels. What was I, for that matter? A culpable anti-hero working against my gender? A victim, a helpless simp? Was I the lead actor in a comedy, tragedy or reality-show from the most fucked-up universe ever? I don’t goddamn know, even now. But the fact of the matter is, at that moment in time - gazing up at Aubrey with my “World’s Best Boss” mug in my hand and my medical-records clerk’s breastmilk worming its way into me - I felt great. 

“What are you watching?” Aubrey asked, noticing that my screen was on, video player playing, looping. 

“Oh, yeah, this,” I said, taking another sip of warm, delicious  milk and turning the monitor towards her, “this is great. Wanna watch..?”

====================================

mucho thanks to RiF for editing and guidance

[witchspeka]

When Ritsu grows up he'll exclusively wear trenchcoats and one day he'll be walking down the street and see Reigen and they'll be wearing the same coat and it'll be the worst day of his life

[silverwhittlingknife]

from this real advice column:

i see you person who wrote this sdfsdfdsf

[harbingersecho]

she should've been problematic at the club

[wormboyfriendcentralstation]

heathcliff: i killed cathy...... im a horrible person in every timeline. my revenge killed her. my remorse literally broke through timelines.

catherine who got back at heathcliff by stealing a house to remodel into the Magic Cocaine Labyrinth after draining the financial assets of england's least tragically ill victorian man, making carmen contact her copyright lawyers by sealing her ambiguously dead body into a glass tank while her brain powers a building, and potentially hiring the Mueseumafia of Modern Art because if she pays them with cash she doesnt have to report her Green-Energy-Human-Tank Powered Hydrogen Bomb Basement Factory's earnings to the IRS or whatever the city uses: 'tis what you get for trying to boyfail without your girlboss, methinks 😇😇😇😇😇

[thisischeri]

ig: cheri.png