My name is Veronica Chaos, and I'm a ventriloquist clown camgirl. That sounds like a random string of words I just made up, but what it means is that I make my living performing hilariously horrifying sex acts with my dummy, Slappy, on the Internet.
This is the kind of job that could only exist in the 21st century, so maybe it would be helpful to explain how a person can wind up in a vocation that leaves their home covered in smears of rainbow clown makeup and dummy semen.
#5. If You're Doing Live Porn, You Need a Gimmick
"So ... how does a girl like you wind up having vigorous sex with a ventriloquist dummy on camera for cash?"
Well, it's a career path that happens in steps, like how Leo DiCaprio's character in Wolf of Wall Street gradually became a con artist, if instead of committing illegal fraud he wound up having a puppet ejaculate on him with its fake mechanical penis.
"Eh, I'd rather him than Jonah Hill."
I started as a regular, garden-variety stripper at a club, and it was all right for a while, but eventually it started to wear on me. Creative control over my performance boiled down to "slutty nurse or slutty schoolgirl," the pay wasn't that great, and the management wasn't the most professional, if you know what I mean. Then I started doing it from home and live streaming it, but I immediately found that a lot of girls had the same idea. On the site I use, there are thousands of girls online at any given time, and that's just one site. You may not know this, but there are just, like, so many titties on the Internet. Imagine a vast, seemingly endless ocean, but instead of fish and dolphins and anemones and shit, it's full of titties.
But you only see the ones floating at the top -- most users never make it to Page 2 of the site I use, and only the most popular girls get Page 1. I'm a hardcore Trekkie, so at first I tried to stand out by marketing myself as a "geek girl." Since you've clearly been on the Internet in the last five years, you know how embarrassingly naive of me that was (it turned out there was no shortage of women eager to fuck themselves with phasers).
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"I call that 'captain's logging.'"
There were only 10 to 20 people in my "room" at any given time, and I found my site ranking falling every day. It was time for something new.
As I was idly clicking through YouTube videos, I came across a ventriloquist and instantly fell in love with the idea. Honestly, I was just really lonely and wanted someone to talk to. I thought to myself, how great would it be to have someone who is always around, has no choice but to listen to me, and always says what I want to hear (and don't judge, unless you've never talked to your dog or cat -- it's basically the same thing). I dove in and bought a cute, creepy raven puppet to start with, not knowing that I was about to embrace my destiny as a puppet fucker.
#4. The World Is Full of Puppet Fetishists
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Of course anybody can buy a dummy and have it sit on her lap next to her boobs -- to make him talk, that takes skill. And I intended to go all the way.
So, I got a how-to book about ventriloquism that was disappointingly not named Dummies for Dummies and started practicing nonstop, on and off camera. My regular followers slowly drifted away as they realized I wasn't going to stop with the whole dummy thing ... but I was pleasantly surprised to see my numbers slowly start to pick up again. People who are bored on the Internet -- God bless them -- will seek out the weirdest shit they can find, and I'm a highly specialized brand of weird shit. There simply are no other naked ventriloquist camgirls -- believe me, I've looked.
I should put that thing on my forehead, because I'm a damn unicorn.
More often than not, people would stop by, chuckle, and move on, but a surprising percentage of them consistently stick around. This new support emboldened me to take my act to the next level, and I started thinking about doing live in-person performances. I wanted a better puppet, though -- you can't use a dark raven in a dark theater -- and my memory drifted fondly back to my childhood love of the Goosebumps novels, particularly Night of the Living Dummy and its star, Slappy.
I was overjoyed to find out that, all these years later, you can actually buy Slappy replicas on Amazon, because it's just a wonderful, weird world out there, you guys. That's when things started getting out of hand. Specifically, into other body parts.
#3. So Then You Fuck the Dummy
There are some shocking things you learn about people when you give them total anonymity and permission to issue commands directly from Captain Bonerpants, and one of those things is that they will ask you to fuck whatever they can think of, regardless of how unsexy that might actually be or whether it violates the very laws of physics. Anything and everything that people can see in my apartment, I've been asked to fuck. Can you fuck that water bottle? Can you fuck that hairbrush? Can you fuck that ... fuckin' ... lamp? No joke, I've been asked to fuck my glasses. I don't even know how I would do that.
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"How much for UV and KY coating?"
It was only a matter of time until someone showed up, presumably glassy-eyed and with 74 other tabs open, and idly asked, "Can you fuck that dummy?"
You have to understand, in these sorts of group cam situations, where you've got one girl and any number of viewers, it's kind of a party environment. I'm usually drinking, and on this particular night, I had already put away the better part of a bottle of wine (which I'm sure someone also asked me to fuck at some point). What I'm saying is, don't act like you've never fucked anything you weren't proud of on Sunday morning.
So when someone finally asked me to fuck the dummy, and the entire room swelled with encouragement and presumably blood, I was like ... sure. Why the hell not. You know what, let's make an event of this. On the site I use, you can advertise special shows to people who aren't in your room at the time, complete with a countdown, so I sent out a broadcast of "HEY EVERYONE, I'MMA FUCK DIS DUMMY IN 'BOUT FIE MINUTES, YOU GONNA WANNA SEE DIS SHIT" or something equally eloquent.
P.T. Barnum ain't got shit on me.
The response was huge -- so much bigger than I anticipated. Suddenly, my room was swarmed with more viewers than I had ever seen before who did indeed wanna see dat shit. I didn't really have much of a choice at that point. I did what needed to be done.
As for what happened next, well ...