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So this is how my first “pee session” went down. I walked in, took off my clothes, did about thirty seconds of “milkshakes,” and then pissed on the couch.  Lance had it all set up with plastic under the fabric, so all I had to do was sit and spray.  Then I wiped myself off, got dressed, and left, twenty dollars richer.  Lance videotaped everything, and, as instructed, I talked the whole way through.

At the same time that he went for things that felt contrived, Lance also seemed determined to capture The Real Me in a way unlike any of my previous employers.  He taped me talking from the second I walked in the door.  It was hard enough to turn Karla on when I was lying on a bed with a vibrator shoved inside, but it was even harder when I was just walking in off the street, taking off my coat and my bag, when all I could think about was my bladder and how much I had to pee.  But he wanted it all, even the stupid conversation.

Much like Jeff, Lance also seemed to want to be my friend. He kept asking detailed questions about my life.  For various obvious reasons, I preferred to keep the rest of my life separate from the porn.  I wanted my relationship with Lance, like my relationship with Jeff, to remain strictly business, but he kept asking about my job, inviting me to parties, calling me constantly with computer questions, and inviting me to still more parties.  He obviously really liked me, because he even kept offering me other jobs—asking me to help promote him, to help him with video editing, and with setting up his computer.  But I just kept saying no and no and no.

I was comfortable around him, though, and he was completely unthreatening and nice, so parts of me would slip out, despite my efforts to the contrary. I knew that the trick would be maintaining a balance.  For my sanity, I needed to maintain some kind of autonomy, to keep myself private, at the same time that I continued revealing enough of The Real Me to make Lance happy and thus keeping me paid.

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