OnlyFeet

Kat

No matter how often you hear that you're beautiful, it still lands with a thrill. Over time, it might lose some edge, but vanity is a well with no bottom. Now add money to the equation, and those kind words from strangers finally feel real. The admiring glances, the doors held open—all of it starts to build a kind of confidence I never thought I'd have. In a household where compliments were as rare as snacks in the pantry, self-admiration seemed like something reserved for the movies. Now, I have paying customers calling me beautiful, asking for more, always more. One of my most loyal followers, @dredgekin@2, asked me today if I'd consider showing more than glimpses—a bit more than the close-ups I've been posting of my feet, hands, neck, and, on one night I felt especially bold, my navel. I still remember Rafi asking what had gotten into me that night.

It's strange calling them fans, but that's what they are. They see me, they appreciate me, and I take the time to chat with them, get to know them—a few of them, at least. Some, like Dredge, tell me why they pay a stranger for a photo of her calf. They say more nice things, but really, they're just lonely and have the means to pay for a little connection. And honestly, I'm more than happy to make the exchange.

Since I started a month ago, I've made almost five thousand dollars. Not quite what I'd imagined after my initial burst of popularity, but still more than I ever thought I could earn this way. Now, I'm toying with the idea of pushing it further, testing the limits, seeing where this could go. It's not like I'm batting away offers from employers. I haven't stopped putting effort into my career search; if anything, I'm more energized. This has given me a surprising momentum. I'm working out every day, and with the money coming in from both my account and Rafi's restaurant job, we can afford real meals again. Tonight, I'm prepping a rice bowl with marinated steak, grilled onions, and homemade guac. It feels like I'm finally in a flow, a rhythm carrying me somewhere that matters.

But today, that rhythm is thrown off by the conversation I've been dreading. I take a sip of wine, hoping it'll ease my nerves just as Rafi bursts through the door, energy spilling over. In his excitement, he forgets to kiss me.

"I made it to the final round for the IBM job!" He pours himself a drink, face alight.

"That's incredible!" I beam, setting the skillet aside, giving him my full attention.

"I can't believe it." He sinks onto one of the barstools, looking at me with boyish excitement. "I need to prep all day tomorrow, but the recruiter thinks I'm perfect for this one."

"You're so deserving of this." I raise my glass, and we clink. He takes a hearty swig, while I manage a smaller sip. "I have some news, too."

His eyebrows rise. "Did you find something, too?"

"No. It's... about the account." We haven't discussed my OnlyFans since that first conversation, like conservative parents pretending not to hear what their teenagers get up to behind closed doors. If he catches me working, he'll leave the room, usually to put on his headset and disappear into Xbox.

"Ah." He studies his glass, his eyes flicking down as if something fascinating has appeared inside.

"I've been getting requests," I start, choosing my words carefully. "Not for anything _intimate_, just fuller shots of me—face hidden, of course."

"Mmm." His gaze doesn't lift.

"So, I did some research."

"Oh?" His tone is flat, but he doesn't look away.

"Based on what I'm making now, a full-body post could increase earnings by tenfold. Nearly ten thousand a week."

He finishes his glass in one swift motion. "That's...wild." He refills his glass without looking at me.

I'd expected this. "I'd wear a mask, obviously."

His face is blank as he takes another sip, almost daring me to keep talking. I don't bite. I can sit in silence just as long. Finally, he caves.

"No."

"Ten grand, Rafi. Completely anonymous."

"You said when one of us found a real job, you'd stop. I'm about to land mine—my dream job."

"You've said that before." I wince immediately, knowing it stings. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I _do_ think you'll get this one. But should we really turn down an opportunity like this? It's ten thousand a week."

"So, you've said." His voice hardens. "Are you even looking for a real job anymore?"

I'm boiling over now. I walk around the counter to face him but bang my shin against something hard. "Damn it!" I glance down at the half-assembled coffee table. "Would be _great_ if we could actually use the coffee table as a coffee table."

"You saw those directions. You try to finish that piece of shit."

"You wanted the fancy lift-top we couldn't afford. I asked if we could get something cheap on Facebook." I walk to the coat closet and grab a sweater.

"Where are you going?"

"To walk off this bruised leg."

He gets off his stool, but I'm already out the door. He can bury his head in the sand if he wants, but I doubt he'll complain when I take us on our first real vacation outside state lines.