Page 12 of Shameful Addictions

They wouldn’t mope around and be sad, or let monsters under the bed scare them. They went on, knowing things would never be the same. They faced the consequences of their actions. So, she should face hers. She needed to look at her video channel account and judge the reaction. No doubt there would be articles written on her by now. Perhaps Mamba, or CM, had issued a statement. She had to find out what was being said so she could plan her next move.

Charlotte left her bedroom and crossed the hall to her office. Here, she paid her taxes, researched trends, and answered comments on her videos on her own time. Today she would be finding out her fate. She entered the room, which smelled of apples and cinnamon, and pulled the chair out from the desk. She started to sit down.

Was she ready for this?

The question came out of the blue and stopped her in her tracks. She still wore her pajamas. Her hair wasn’t done. She hadn’t eaten or had anything to drink, or even brushed her teeth. She was a mess. As a mess, could she make informed opinions and plan her next actions? Of course not.

Charlotte let go of her chair and went back out of the room, shutting the door behind her. She headed down the hall to her living room. Ignoring the television, her personal laptop, her charged phone, she passed through to the kitchen and put the coffee pot on. The delicious, earthy odor of coffee filtered around the room in an instant, a comforting ghost to haunt her wherever she went.

With the coffee brewing, Charlotte went over to the fridge and fetched eggs. The carton felt light, reminding her that she needed to buy more. In fact, she would do well to stock up on groceries now, while she still had money. She’d soon need to be frugal so she could afford to keep living in her apartment while hunting for another job.

Charlotte set butter to melting in a pan and started to crack eggs for her usual breakfast of egg whites on toast. She believed a dose of healthy protein and starch and just a bit of calorific fat was the best way to start the day. She’d done plenty of research on the subject and had conducted her own experiments using herself as the guinea pig until she found what worked best for her. She’d been having this exact same breakfast every day for five years now, even on holidays, even when she was sick and the idea of eating was enough to send her running for the toilet. If she felt a little adventurous, she might even sprinkle some salt and pepper on top of her eggs.

Charlotte finished separating out the first egg white and made to toss the yellow yolk in the garbage. She hesitated with the goopy mess dangling right over the trash can.

Maybe I should celebrate while I can.

She’d stuck up for what she believed in. For once in her life, she should treat herself.

Charlotte brought the yolk back over to her bowl and added it in. For the first time, she used two whole eggs instead of just the whites. It felt like a pitiful change. She added in a third before dumping them all in the pan together. And then she added salt and pepper right away.

But it still felt pitiful, like a child’s attempt at rebellion. Look at her, coloring the sky red instead of blue. She was still staying in the lines.

Returning to the fridge, she scrounged around for something to make her morning truly different. She had a lot of things she used sparingly, cheeses and meats to add to her dishes. Now she dug those out and added generous portions to her cooking eggs, scrambling them all together until the eggs were done. The mess looked positively disgusting, super fatty and greasy. She brought it and a cup of coffee over to her table and ate every last bite, and drained her coffee down to the last sip.

Charlotte leaned back in her chair and put her hands on her stomach, feeling bloated from all the food inside her. She’d probably regret it later on but for the moment, she was sated.

She had celebrated.

It was a pitiful celebration to be sure, lacking alcohol or drugs like other people used when they wanted to have fun.

She wondered, for the first time, if she was boring.

She shook her head and left the table, again passing by her computer and phone, the devices that connected her to reality. She pulled clothes from the dresser in her room and headed into the shower to get cleaned up. She pulled her nightgown over her head, freeing her bosom. The cold atmosphere of the bathroom, with its porcelain features and tiled floor, made her nipples harden. She ignored the tingle that passed through her and pulled her panties down and kicked them to the side.

Naked now, in the safety of her own home, she stepped into the shower and turned on the water to a steamy blast. Hot water needled her skin, stinging her nipples and sliding down to scald the protruding outer lips of her femininity. She gasped, half in pain, half in delight at the cleansing heat. Ducking in and out of the spray, she washed her hair, spending more time scrubbing and massaging her scalp than she normally would to pamper herself. She left the conditioner in to let it sink into her dark brown locks and grabbed her bath pouf from where it hung on the corner shower stand. She poured a liberal amount of shower gel on the pouf and ran it over her body, from between her breasts all the way to the top of her mound, leaving a smear of white suds that the water sent running between her legs and to her feet.

The feel of silky foam gliding down her body gave her shivers. Charlotte wiggled her toes in the tide of soap on the shower floor. She kept washing, running the soft mesh folds over every inch of her body. Her arms, her breasts, her legs and feet. It felt so good that, when she was done, she couldn’t help sliding her hand down to the apex of her thighs. She cupped her sex in the palm of her hand, felt her oversized lips sliding between her spread fingers. She probed with her middle finger, pushing through her soapy labia to the cusp of her entrance.

And there she stopped. Pulling her hand away from herself, she resumed showering, rinsing the suds from herself as if nothing had happened. Self-pleasure was a useful tool to help girls become familiar with their bodies. She advocated it in very small amounts, so young women could learn what to expect from their male partners. It was a learning process and not something to be taken lightly, or overused for the purpose of escaping reality.

She had nothing left to learn from her own body. She’d just gotten a little carried away, that was all. It was a little treat for herself, like her oversized breakfast. All that meat.

Charlotte finished her shower and stepped out to dry off, patting her body down. She dressed in a purple blouse and jeans, comfortable clothes that were like armor in their familiarity.

After brushing her teeth, she finally, finally felt as if she was ready to take on her newfound responsibility.

Charlotte held her head high while going into her office. She sat in her chair with her back straight and her shoulders squared, like a warrior ready to do battle. She ignored the tremor of uncertainty in the pit of her stomach, the quivering of nausea that made her want to throw up her breakfast.

Charlotte pulled up the video site and typed in the title of her video. Results poured in and she made to click on the first one, the one with the most views. The thumbnail made her stop. It was an image of a kid holding a lollipop. It should have been an autogenerated image of Charlotte herself. Unless YouTube had implemented some sort of weird thumbnail-generating algorithm…

No. She took another look at the title and realized it was indeed about lollipops. The candy kind.

Okay,she told herself,so my video isn’t popular enough to have become the number one search result.

It wasn’t in the second spot, either. In fact, as she scrolled, she couldn’t find herself anywhere.

Weird, considering she’d searched for her exact title. This wouldn’t be the first time the site had made a blunder with its search results, though.

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