The Little Red Eye Looking Back
I got a new computer and for the first time in my 49 years I have... a webcam.
It was built-in; I had no choice. Besides I've had enough people wanting to webcam with me now that I have kind of run out of excuses not to. And when my old computer's internet port finally busted for good and I realized it was time for a new laptop anyway... well, webcam here we go.
We can discuss why I've never had a webcam until now at another time (or never would work for me, too). Suffice it to say, it's here and it's queer and it's staring at me even at this moment.
And it scares me to death. No really, how have you guys lived with these things for as long as you have? It's been three days and I'm a nervous wreck. And I'm a fuckin' actor, for Christ's sake.
I've had two chat sessions with my cubby in Michigan so far and we didn't even get naked or anything... just us, chatting... and I can't believe how self-conscious I was the whole time. Really. It's like chatting in front of the bathroom mirror. I'd cover up the little window on the screen that shows my image, so I don't have to be so... present. But I can't, because you never know where the little eye is aimed and you may end up looking like Kilroy at the bottom of the screen or even worse, the cam could be trained on your left armpit the whole time. And we can't have that, now can we?
Webcams.
I mean, sure, I've always been a bit of an exhibitionist. I like to go to the nude beach and I'm not shy about stripping off. I have no problem taking off my shirt at the dance or showing my dick in a gloryhole or getting naked in the hot tub. So why does a webcam make me so nervous? No really, I'm asking. My respect has doubled for all those men who allowed me to watch them on webcam in my pre-cam past. It takes balls to put yourself out there like that!
I mean, everything you do is ogled when that thing's on. Before I had a webcam, I could chat with a guy and scratch my balls or pick my nose or whatever and I didn't have to worry about being called out on it. Now, I can't get away with shit. And, face it, boys, there have been those times (pre-cam) when you were chatting with a guy and it was getting all hot and sexy and then you just, oh I don't know, changed your mind or gave out or got bored, and you didn't want to jack anymore but you didn't want to be a nasty whore and just exit while he's getting off, so you just pretended and wrote shit like, "Oh god, yeah. I'm gonna cum, boy. Yeah, take daddy's dick deep. Yeah I'm gonna spray you down with my bearjizz. Aw yeah! Aww! I'm cumming! I'm cumming!" and let it go at that. No harm done. Two happy guys: one a liar and the other satisfied.
Those days are gone, gone, gone. The webcam doesn't lie.
Sigh.
There is one thing. I remember pre-cam, meeting my cubby through word-chat and pics sent to one another. Then I remember when he let me chat with him on cam. And suddenly, he was... I don't know... real. Three-dimensional (within the two-dimensional screen). I could see his expressions unposed and his idiocyncracies and his cuteness in real time and unrehearsed. The next best thing to being in the same room with him. My cubby unguarded, unmasked.
Kind of like the shit I'm bitching about.
Maybe that's the point. Allowing someone to see myself as I really am, without the mask of words, without posing or editing... how I am as I am when I am it. God, I didn't want a moral to the journal entry. But there we go.
So for now, I guess I'm going to try to make friends with the webcam. See if I can express myself with words and images.
Until I'm sick of it and cover it up with electrical tape.