tchb060 — A Certain Man's Secret Record Collection 17
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At night, I read a book that has recently been attracting attention while uploading videos in front of my computer. I will not name the book, but it is a story about women. “Desire” and “consumption”—those words stayed with me in a strangely lasting way. My job is to edit and upload obscene videos of women. “This one will perform well, so put it first.” “Feelings don't matter. Look only at the numbers.” I remember the older man always saying things like that. At first, I hated his arrogant, cold manner of treating people like tools. Just looking at his face made something inside my chest grate. Yet before I knew it, I had started riding every rise and fall of his approval. Praise made me feel safe; being ignored kept me awake at night. Before long, I too had begun seeing the women beyond the screen only as “material” and “products.” In the book, women ate, desired, chose, and lived openly, embracing their lives as their own. I, on the other hand, lined up other people's desires and lived off other people's approval. A pretty face. A good body. A woman who looked suitable as a fuck buddy. A woman men would want to marry. In the end, their lives were being made a mess of by men and turned into numbers, while my fingers kept pressing the buttons with dull composure. When did it start? When did I begin wanting to become like that older man—strong, cold, and incapable of feeling anything? Did I think this job, this daily life, would become easier if I could turn into someone like that? But now that I have finished the book, that thought frightens me a little. I am still here, hesitating in front of the computer screen, and yet I still cannot make my fingers stop. The only small consolation is that some part of me is still left that can think, “This is wrong.”
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