Contrary to popular belief, having boobs does not make it easier. Not when no one can see them.
It’s true. I was feeling lonely and bored on Steemit, unsure of how to start up a conversation in Discord or Steemit.Chat. I tried once, blurting out hi, awkwardly blundering into a conversation about poetry, but they treated me like a ghost. In the end, I had no choice.
That’s what I became - I just stood by, listening, watching, admiring the confidence of other Steemians – how they freely frolicked about chatrooms, uninhibited, stripping down to their bare identities right there in front of everyone. The back and forth was so natural for them…but my botched attempt to join in was the equivalent of blasting Radio Head’s “I’m a Creep” in the middle of a rave.
After a failed one on one conversation, just me and another Steemian in a room, (life lesson: don’t get into politics and privilege with someone you don’t know too well…never ends well), I gave up, and accepted my fate: The only way for me to find love and attention on Steemit was to pay for it.
Butterflies filled my stomach before I took the plunge, I felt naughty, but curiosity drove me to do it. It started with paying for a (cheap) membership to the Minnow Support Project – for just .001 or .002 Steem, I’d gain affection from bots in the form of upvotes – my posts no longer alone with 1-5 votes, earning less than the price of a pack of bubble gum in the 1950’s. With that, I turned out my thoughts on the page, sent them out to the cold, Steem streets to make me money. There was no turning back now.
My heart raced, and I felt a dirty guilt as their street value increased. Some, I dressed up with new photos, edited out glaring typos. Others, I left alone as sort of a social experiment. How well can the ugly, stupid ones do?
That’s when I discovered – even they could succeed with the help of a whale. The Minnow Support Project’s votes did as intended, causing a spike in my dopamine levels – but not bringing in the money I hoped for. My cravings intensified – I needed more love, even if I had to pay for it.
So I turned to…RandoWhale. Before I knew it, I was addicted. Throwing 2, 3, even 4 Steem per post in hopes that she’d give me 100% of her affection, her undivided attention. But being passed around as she’s been, she was tired, weak. I know she gave me more than many, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
As I finish this sentence, my fingers are already twitching, giddy with anticipation. My index finger has a mind of it's own, leading itself up to my warm, wet mouth, and finally inside, where it's licked and sucked, from tip to base, then making its way back down to the keyboard, gently gliding toward the “r” "a" "n" "d" "o" keys tracing their curves before pressing down hard…
My God, what have I become?!