A Boyfriend Shirt Tale

On Saturday, our working relationship continued to develop smoothly. Her choice was to shoot the vids of the five remaining shirts that day, with time off in between, so it didn't seem tedious. That way we'd be free on Sunday, and take a break from each other. We both have other off-work responsibilities, relatives to contact, and so forth.

Lois was now accustomed to the routine. She requested (and enjoyed) my fluffing before each shoot, but declined full-on sex after the first two. She offered to jerk me off or blow me, but I wanted to pace myself, and see if I could stay focused. I did, but it wasn't easy.

After the third shoot she welcomed me to join her in the bed where she had ravished a buttondown, a tee, and a hoodie. We started off easy, as we had after the first day's shoots, but our self-denial quickly got us to frenzy. As I ate her out, she said, "Oh yeah! Shirts don't come with tongues!"

She may have been losing some of the excitement of her shows, and maybe I was also, seeing this as becoming humdrum. I was really glad that this didn't apply to the sex we had together, and I told her so. (We were so swollen that we shared really good contact in legs-up missionary.)

"Sex with you is never a chore!" she gasped.

In the moment, she may have meant that. The thing is, after the final shoot, in the evening, she seemed less thrilled as we got through doggystyle. She allowed as how she was tired, and even with lube she was getting sore. Probably true, but her mind seemed to wander as we humped.

***

Despite Sunday being our 'day off,' the Shirley Project still got mindshare. I checked on new signups that night. I voice-called Lois and told her there were now twenty-one upcoming shirt shows, paid for by her fans. Seven had not yet reached the point of a shirt being shipped.

"I'm flavor of the month," she said, sounding chipper. "This will probably taper off. We know I can get through four on a weeknight, and catch up on weekends."

"So, the same approach tomorrow?" I asked. "I pick up the shirts at noon, et cetera?"

"Yep," she said.

"Sounds like the day off did you good."

There was a pause. Then, "Yeah, it did. How are you?"

"Fine," I said, wondering about that pause.

"Great. Now let's get enough sleep to act like our public selves on Monday. Nighty-night, Honey Buns."

"Yeah, nighty-night." The call ended.

She was getting rid of me.

I probably should have asked why.

***

Monday, four shirts, show lengths between nine forty-seven and ten twenty-three. A second fluffing after the second show, fun sex at the end. Instead of a complete collapse, she had us get up and check data from the platform. Her first seven shows had been posted, and the earliest was past four hundred views from paying members. A little of each general viewer's payment to the platform as a whole, would work its way to Shirley's account.

"So you have general appeal," I said. "You're not being watched only by guys who send shirts."

"Shirley, not Lois," she corrected me. "Can you please use 'you' more carefully?"

"Sorry," I said, trying to read her. She didn't seem upset or depressed. She sounded like she had on the phone.

I thought of a way to joke past this. I pointed at her, and put on what I used as my Leslie Nielsen voice. "Lois, I won't call you Shirley."

She smiled politely. Which told me that I'd laid an egg.

She was even more energetic on Tuesday, doing five shirt shows with no sign of lost interest. She rough-housed me plenty in our sex afterward, eagerly taking what had built from me watching her proxy-bang five men.

"That's what I'm talking about!" she crowed, peeling off the condom I had just filled within her walls. "I been watching you get blue balls all night, it's my job to cure them!"

She jammed my dork in her mouth without cleaning it off, and started sucking.

She'd never licked my cum. For an instant, I was grossed out. Then it felt too good, and I swooned flat on my back.

Okay, I thought as I drove home, she's having even more fun with this. No harm in that.

The thing is, if she were becoming a sexual amazon, or valkyrie, of some other kind of fantasy woman, I didn't think that had anything to do with me.

The next day, I found out that I was right.

I had to wait for a while at ShipCo for somebody to call my number and bring out the latest packages. To fill time, I looked up Shirley's platform on my phone, while standing away from prying eyes. I checked for updates on the usual data. Then, still waiting, I poked around on other parts of the site.

I had never gone to the chat room.

There, I saw quite a lot from, and to, ShirtShirley. So much, that I didn't hear my number being called at the counter until maybe the fourth time, with nudging from other waiting customers.

Somehow I made it through the rest of the workday in something like proper human behavior. I didn't call Lois. That would have triggered me to... something.

I demanded to myself, to understand why this was different from what she said to these guys in her shows. Some chat was even raunchier, because back-and-forth conversation took her into details about how she always swallowed cum, and once fucked bareback on a boat. But that wasn't my problem.

Before the workday ended, I had it. It was because she was coming on to these guys on her own.

When Lois let me in to her apartment, I chucked the packagaes on the floor and said, "How is ShirtShirley going to keep WildMan69420 from kidnapping her?"

Her eyes widened, but she tried to dismiss it. "Just another chat room bozo. The platform weeds out all the real psychos."

"You mentioned that you had to turn up the air conditioning! Stuff like that can reveal where you are, and who!"

"It's warm everywhere! Relax, you're still the only one who knows who Shirley is."

"And your chats will make all of them turn up their air conditioning! Some of these conversations get into a whole lot of detail!"

She may have been aggressive because I was, but she also seemed defensive. "If a guy is on the fence about sending a shirt, I flirt! It's good for business. And speaking of which, can we please get to work?"

"Fine!"

I started tearing open packages.

I still fluffed her, and she was still receptive.

Another five shows, certainly good enough, but with a couple lapses. I was able to edit them out later.

Our sex that night was slow and smooth, and generally quiet.

"I should have told you," she said quietly as we embraced. "I was afraid you'd be hurt."

I needed a pause before saying, "I was. Obviously."

"Stupid of me, really. The chat room is right there. I told myself you must have already stumbled across it, and didn't care."

Another pause made it possible for me to say, "Beyond drumming up business...how much do you like it?"

The face she turned to me was miserable. "It's great. It's what I've always wanted to hear from men, much better than their notes with a shirt. So many men, wanting me! Doesn't matter how fat I am, they pay to drool at my body while cumming in their hands."

"Does Lois still want that from Shirley?"

That got a rueful laugh. "Yeah, I'm a split personality, all right. I do want it. For a while anyway. Can you accept that, or...oh no..."

She looked away. I saw tears glinting at her lower eyelids.

My brain finally got in gear, and I understood what had generated my moods.

"Yes, I accept it," I said firmly. "I love you, Lois."

With a gasp, she looked again at me. "The L-word! Do, do I deserve that?"

"You do." As angry as I had been before, and even still was, my heart swelled. "I hope to bring you happiness. And I won't deny you the happiness from Shirley and her fans."

"I've treated you like dirt!" she said, sounding like she was beating herself up. "You run all my errands and give up your free time so I can squeeze money out of losers, and feed my ego!"

"You opened your heart to me, when nobody else would," I said calmly. "You gave me someone to care about, which made me whole. These past few weeks have been the happiest of my life. All because of you."

"My gosh," she said, as if in wonderment. "This is what's been going on, all along. Through all the sex, and my sense of safety, building up...I've been falling in love with you, Rob. And that's so scary, you could walk away, and I'm back to being a lonely fat girl."

"And yet," I said, "I keep running all your errands and giving up my free time. So maybe you're doing something right."

"Whatever it is, I want to keep doing it. Does this help?" She sat up, and dragged me to do the same, with an embrace. "I love you, Rob. Hearing 'love' and 'Lois' in the same sentence did wonders for me. And now I'd be happy to burn all those shirts."

I shook my head. "A deal is a deal. You, um, Shirley could stop taking shirts now, but she'd have to do what she promised for the ones in the pipeline. Anyway...isn't it fun?"

"It is." She looked at me closely. "But is it harmless fun?"

"It will be if you stop giving clues to your identity in the chat room."

She rolled her eyes. "I'll let you read everything before I post it."

Which got us back to our usual shared, casual mood. But the love moments had happened, we couldn't erase them. And wouldn't want to.

***

During the next week, there was the first instance of a previous client sending a second shirt. Chat had made it clear that he would wear the first shirt while watching Shirley wear the second.

"This is deeply sad," she said as were preparing for that shoot. "If this is really the extent of his sex life."

"There but for the grace of God," I said, thumbing at myself. "This could make it more intense for him. Smelling you while watching you."

"That shirt probably still stinks, but by now it must be stiff as a board."

Around then, the volume of shirts declined. About a week later, the volume leveled off. Shirley was no longer flavor of the month, but around fifteen shirts a week meant she was still on the tasting menu. Perhaps literally.

We also noticed an interesting tone in the chat. Still mostly pathetic grossness, but now and then, snippets like "I'd rather have a beer with you than bang the hottest model here," and "With you, I don't hate myself so much." Was she actually improving their lives?

The platform still loved her. Most of her shows debuted with a thumbnail link on the home page. Some of her view counts rose past one thousand. The platform offered to upgrade her to live streaming. Lois declined with thanks, but to me she was more blunt. "Right now I do shows when I'm good and ready. Live, I'd have to stick to a schedule. And what's the real draw in live interaction? Guys mouse-clicking tokens to zap the vibrator in the model's pussy. There are only two people in the world who will ever give me orgasms, and they're sitting on this sofa." For the record, Toodles was prowling elsewhere.

Sometime in there, we let ourselves become known as a couple. Rob and Lois, that is, among our acquaintances, with no involvement of Shirley or her fans. At the sports bar where we had met, Lois threw me a surprise birthday party. If she had been on the short side earlier, in terms of showing devotion, she was now catching up.

Shirley was still having fun, and I was too, but Lois was aware that her rainy day fund had now grown to the point of providing a substantial safety net. Then there came a sign that it might be exit strategy time. Two big names, one a cam model and the other a pornstar, began doing boyfriend shirt routines. They were both total knockouts, and they charged much more than Shirley.

We caught one video on a free site. Lois said aloud what I was thinking. "It's all about her. She rubs and licks and rolls around, but says almost nothing. Hardly any interest in the shirt's owner. The passion and energy ramp up steadily, but there's no sharing, no fun. The barrier of shame stands tall. He might cum big while watching, and he gets back his shirt with her moisture, but he'll feel just as bad about himself, and be out a whole lot of money."

That meant that Shirley's relatable, economy niche was still available. But Lois chose to retire, advising the platform to encourage its other content creators to consider shirt work, suggesting that fun be as important as excitement. Shirley posted a farewell announcement, set a date for the end of shirt shipments, and used those for her final shows. Her career ended with Lois's identity kept secret.

The day after the final Shirleyized shirt vanished behind the counter at ShipCo, Lois and I went out to a fancy restaurant for what only we knew was a retirement dinner.

"More than sixty thousand after taxes," said Lois, clinking her wineglass with mine. "We're going Dutch."

We already knew what our next level was, but we hadn't said so, in so many words. I had plans for that, later. We teased each other about it, she with her left-side smile, I with a wink now and then. (I'm a totally inept flirt. Even if I weren't plain and hefty, I'd get nowhere.)

We went then to her apartment, where the lease would run out at the end of the month.

Lois set the wig and mask on her bed. Then, with a placid look, she reached up and started unbuttoning my shirt.

I asked, "Anything I should be doing?"

She shook her head, eyes on mine. She dragged the shirt out of the pants waistband, then resumed unbuttoning.

I said, "There might be a little cologne on this one." Just to keep my aroma presentable while I was out in public.

No reaction. When she finished with the last center button, she picked up my left forearm and started on the sleeve button. Then the same, with the right.

I noted, "You haven't even undressed yet."

Eyes still on mine, she reached up, grabbed the collar, and dragged the shirt down my arms. Then she quick-stepped to the laundry hamper. She shoved in the shirt, then quick-stepped back, and pulled me down for a long, deep kiss.

When she was good and ready, she unlocked our lips and said, "I'm done with totems. Now I want only your original equipment. Body and mind."

I was trembling, which was audible when I said, "You already own them."

Now she showed the left-side smile, and also trembled. "I think we're ready for our next next-level discussion. But first, remind me how much you own me."

Which I did, respectfully removing all her garments. I had no desire to own them. By this time she had gotten me to the same condition. Hugging and kissing her, I advanced to the bed, with Lois having to walk backwards in something like lockstep. Once we lay side by side, I showed my pride of ownership with kisses in places like the fat folds in her back. Then she took possession of my cock, and sucked out its essence. I then stuffed my face between her legs, inciting and then consuming the fluids of her excitement which, by rights, belonged to me. Then we went into the shower and did various things to pass the time until I could again summon enough stiffness to satisfy my owner.

Even among owners, there can be give and take. Again on the bed, as I pumped into her in doggystyle, I gave her the opening for the punchline.

"Now that you're retired," I said, "surely we're going to get married!"

"Of course we are!" she exulted. Moving her front weight to her elbows, she grabbed the mask and ripped it in half. "And don't call me Shirley! Ever again!"