Sock_Slut
When worlds collide, it's impossible to know what's real.
My relationship with Sock_Slut is a dream come true, I think while pulling a stockinged foot towards my face and snapping a selfie. I’m quite flexible. I send it to him in a DM and within seconds hear the familiar cha-ching of the cash app. Nothing about this feels insidious other than the fact that I have a secret and in the past, secrets made me sick.
It’s only been two days though, and I’m enjoying keeping this little gem of naughtiness tucked quietly into my back pocket, as well as the cash that flows freely from his account when I “drain” him. That’s what they call it in this world—the digital realm, where I am Princess Polly. She has no problem asking for what she wants and needs, and I, Holly, am perfectly safe, seeing as this is not reality.
What’s real is The Struggle. Having some outward success but not yet the income to show for it is a special kind of scary. Recognition for my writing and interviews, a fancy lit agent in New York, a few viral moments, support from literary heroes—I know I’ll be okay, eventually. In the meantime, if I keep living a life interesting enough to write about, these stories will lead to money. So I lean into the thing that every girl has considered at one point, even if under the guise of a joke. Selling feet pics.
