“A lot of artists,” I said, “have been obsessed with the color blue. Yves Klein got so crazy about it he painted canvas after canvas with nothing but pure ultramarine. They named a new color after him. He had models roll around naked in blue paint and throw themselves at blank canvases. He called them ‘living brushes.’ That’s how intense it was for him.”

SoBlue: you’re an artist.

“Photographer.”

SoBlue: more than that.

SoBlue: you speak about art sensually.

SoBlue: you’re a living brush, too.

“I’ve dabbled.”

SoBlue: don’t be modest.

SoBlue: let me see your art.

I waved at the wall behind me. “Voilà.”

SoBlue: not photos.

SoBlue: i want to see something that came from you.

My first instinct was innuendo—I washed that off in the shower, baby—but instead I gnawed my lower lip, not even caring how unattractive it looked. I kept staring at that black rectangle and thinking how, a thousand years ago, it would have been the same blue as the sea.

“That was the past. I don’t paint anymore.” Then I let my temper fly, a small barb. “Don’t ask about it again.”

Blue didn’t respond.

It shocked me to see that the hour was up. It’d felt like mere minutes.

“Why did you pay so much to listen to me ramble?” I said.

SoBlue: i’ve thought about you all day.

SoBlue: every day.

SoBlue: for a long time.

SoBlue: tonight i just . . .

SoBlue: needed more.

“So you’ve been watching me. Are you one of my regulars?”

SoBlue: i wouldn’t call it regular.

“What would you call it?”

SoBlue: obsession.

It wasn’t unusual. The entire point of camming was to coax viewers into a frenzy of infatuation. Make them want more, and more, and put a price tag on each piece. We became obsessed with them, too. We fell in love with their infatuation. It’s hard not to love the way someone loves you. The entire industry was a device to bring two lonely minds together in a digital nowhere, put two disconnected obsessives inside the same small box and let our explosive yearning generate money.

In a way it wasn’t so different from art. It bridged the void between minds, let us feel something together, ten tokens per minute. Sometimes I thought, Money isn’t filthy or cold. It’s the only way we can be human with each other anymore.

SoBlue: morgan is thinking . . .

I smiled. “I wonder what you think will happen. Between you and me.”

SoBlue: i’m not thinking beyond this moment.

SoBlue: i’m completely in it with you.

His words made my chest expand in a strange way. Partly just the breath in my lungs, partly something unnameable.

“Tell me about yourself, Blue.”

SoBlue: our hour is up, morgan.

First rule of camming: protect the product. Value your time.

“You’ve already paid me a ton,” I said. “I don’t mind talking more.”

SoBlue: if you could see how my face just lit up, you’d laugh.

SoBlue: i’m like a little boy on christmas.

I laughed anyway. “You’re kind of cute.”

SoBlue: i’m excessively cute.

“Don’t be modest. Let me see how cute.”

SoBlue: clever.

SoBlue: you like me, morgan. admit it.

SoBlue: you don’t want to stop talking.

“You make me laugh. It’s been a while since a client’s done that.”

SoBlue: “client” sounds so cold.

“What are you then? My Romeo? My—”

I’d started to say Prince Charming and felt a stab of guilt. Here I was flirting my ass off with some guy, while Elle was alone out in the dark woods.

SoBlue: not quite that tragic.

I sprawled on my side, switching to typing.

Morgan: sorry, bad thoughts

Morgan: where were we?

SoBlue: let’s see.

SoBlue: what are you wearing?

SoBlue: no. we’ve established that.

SoBlue: the question is, what am i wearing?

Morgan: bet I can guess

SoBlue: please try.

SoBlue: this should be good.

Morgan: you’re too anal-retentive to be a boxers guy

SoBlue: why do you say that?

Morgan: no misspellings, perfect punctuation

SoBlue: i’ll take it as a compliment, then.

Morgan: you’re also too much of a hipster to be a briefs guy

SoBlue: this seems more like character judgment than an erotic guessing game.

SoBlue: why am i a hipster?

Morgan: your pathological disdain for the Shift key?

SoBlue: fair point.

Morgan: so, Blue

Morgan: I think you fall somewhere in the middle

I raised a knee, not too provocatively, just teasing him a bit.

Morgan: you’ve got an edge in you

Morgan: a little ego, a little swagger

Morgan: but you’re too smart to be one of those caveman chest beating types

Morgan: you’re a boxer-briefs guy

Just the way I like them.

He didn’t respond for a second and I said out loud, “Am I right?”

SoBlue: you’re right.

SoBlue: but i bet you can’t tell me the color.

On impulse I said, “Red.”

SoBlue: i’m torn between being aroused and alarmed.

“My next guess was Superman undies.”

SoBlue: funny you should mention that . . .

“Oh my god. No.”

SoBlue: yes.

SoBlue: owned. never worn.

SoBlue: i’m saving them.

“For what?”

SoBlue: for the girl of my dreams.

SoBlue: who’s waiting to be swept off her feet by a suave anal-retentive hipster wearing superhero skivvies.

I lay back on the bed, laughing. “What grown man admits he owns Superman underwear?”

SoBlue: one who’s very comfortable with his masculinity.

You are, aren’t you? I thought. You don’t give a shit what I think. You’re not one of those try-hard guys desperate to prove how alpha you are.

You just paid me enough to get my attention. And then you were yourself.

There’s nothing sexier than a man who’s comfortable being himself.

I gazed at the cam, my eyelashes lowering. “Blue.”

SoBlue: morgan.

SoBlue: you have that look in your eyes.

“What look?”

SoBlue: like you want to get off.

“Do you?”

SoBlue: in my mind, this whole time . . .

SoBlue: my hands have been all over you.

SoBlue: every time you move, every time you breathe, i can feel it.

“That’s fucking hot.” I slid a hand over my thigh, toward the inside. “Let me get you off. Both of us.”

SoBlue: i want you.

SoBlue: so badly.

SoBlue: but not yet.

“Don’t be shy, baby. Are you hard?”

SoBlue: no.

SoBlue: now stop.

Spit stuck in my throat. I sat up straight. “Are you for real? I want to do this for you.”

Do you not realize how rare that is, dumbass?

SoBlue: this isn’t business.

SoBlue: i’m not your client.

SoBlue: don’t give me a show.

“Who exactly do you think you are?”

SoBlue: let’s not end on a bad note.

“Well, being sexually frustrated kind of sucks. Which I’m sure you know, since you drop thousands of bucks on cam girls. I can’t believe a client is turning me down.”

SoBlue: i’m not your fucking client.

There we go. I’d found his button.

I dragged the laptop closer.

“You are, though, Blue. You might be funny and cute, but you paid me to talk to you. Don’t forget that.”

SoBlue: when was the last time you truly connected with someone?

SoBlue: when you didn’t feel completely alone?

SoBlue: i saw it in your eyes.

SoBlue: it was tonight. with me.

SoBlue: i may have paid you, but i gave you something, too.

SoBlue: don’t forget that.

My pulse vibrated so hard it made my hands shake. Who the fuck did he think he was? Paying me a couple thousand bucks didn’t mean shit. He had no idea what kind of relationships I’d had. What they’d meant to me. What they still meant.

When I wrapped my hands around Elle’s neck I felt a deeper human connection than I ever had with anyone else. It might be sick and unhealthy, but it was real. I felt it in my marrow. My blood.