I'll Share The Most Embarrassing Moment of My Life... If You Promise To Tell EVERYONE

"Send me $4,000 or I will publish this sex tape of you"

I’ve had low points in life.

I’ve called the teacher ‘Mum’. I’ve called Mum ‘Mrs. Kennedy’ (my teacher’s name). I’ve tried to pronounce Worcestershire Sauce out loud.

Each of these lowlights plays in my head while I’m trying to sleep, reminding me that pobody is nerfect*.

But they aren’t my most embarrassing, humiliating experience. I’ll share that story with you… but you have to promise to tell EVERYONE.

*Nobody is perfect

I’d been out of hospital for 5 months

For anyone not up to speed, I’d recently finished a two-man show with leukemia.

It was a lengthy run—244 days—but there was friction between us. I wanted to do a one-man show, and he wanted to kill me. Performing with such different creative goals is very difficult, so we broke up.

Now a solo act, I was back in my childhood home as an emaciated and socially awkward 20-year-old.

Cancer at any age is a tragedy. Cancer, as a young adult virgin with the social skills of Wilson, the volleyball from Castaway, made things even more challenging.

Damn, this Pica AI tool is actually amazing. This looks incredible, haha.

My friends, all of them angels, were always supportive. But while they were forging ahead with new girlfriends, jobs, and apartments, I was at home, bursting into tears when a TV show was set in a hospital and wondering how I’d ever live a normal life.

That discomfort saw me alone, sitting in front of my laptop at an ungodly hour.

For context, my childhood home had a separate upstairs and downstairs configuration. This downstairs apartment was self-contained and had been designed for my grandfather to live in, but he spoiled the plan by moving to Queensland and subsequently dying, both of which made it hard for him to move back home.

So it was just me and my laptop screen's soft, blue light.

I was hiding from reality in a chatroom

I couldn’t tell you the exact site, but it was the type of dark corner where lost souls came together to escape real life. For me, that was the crushing emotional confusion of being alive.

This feeling cut through my daily life like a urine stream through fresh snow. I regularly wrestled with inescapable fear that a terrible mistake had been made.

What if I was meant to pass on, but my papers were accidentally marked ‘STAY’ instead of ‘LEAVE’? Maybe I’d cheated death, and he’d come calling for me at any moment.

That type of trauma-driven guilt and fear can eat you from the inside out, a corrosive effect leaving you empty and afraid even as the outer shell smiles and rejoices in the news of remission.

That’s why I was drawn to these chat rooms; no one knew the real me, the damaged me, the destroyed me.

…

And also because I was a horny boy.

Actual photo of me and me.

She messaged, “Hey”…

Nothing about her screen name seemed strange or outrageous, so I didn’t think twice about accepting the DM.

Logging into a chat room at 2 am, you’d probably expect a screen name like:

• Kittycat69 💬

• xXgirlfreak18Xx 💬

• SexSlut9000 💬

But hers wasn’t like that. She seemed normal. She seemed nice. And God knows I was craving company.

Before I knew it, I’d sunk an hour into this chat — maybe more. So, when she asked if I wanted to video chat, it was an easy decision.

Her profile picture was cute as hell, and I recently got a $15 haircut from the local barber. He could only do a ‘Short Back and Sides’, but he was really good at it, so I looked sharp, too.

A couple of minutes later, we were having cam sex.

I hate the term ‘Cam Sex’

You’re not really having sex on camera. You’re masturbating in front of a camera.

By that logic, I’ve had ‘Hand Sex’ thousands of times. Every time mum would go to the shops for bread and milk, I’d have hand sex. But I didn’t have time to think about bread (milk was thematically closer, at least) because she was naked, and I was naked, and we were watching each other be naked.

As a recently discharged cancer patient with a superpower of getting a headache around sunlight or loud noises, I couldn’t believe my luck.

This girl was stuuuuuuuuuning (Sorry, my finger got stuck on the ‘u’ key). She was tanned and toned, with a body that would make a priest cry. Watching her make her fingers disappear like the world’s most X-rated magic trick, I felt pretty damn good about myself.

And she must have been into me too because she kept telling me to be louder, to lean into the camera and show her how excited I was.

So I obliged.

I was noisy and animated and everything she asked of me. I felt like a ghost in my own life, and this stranger was filling me with the type of confidence I was worried I’d lost forever.

Asked to lean into the camera and put my best grip foot forward, I put on one hell of a show with an explosive finale that left me feeling like King Ding-a-Ling*.

I felt alive for the first time in a long time… until her screen went black.

*King Ding-a-Ling ruled the Idiotic Empire in 1225 BCE

I thought it was a technical error at first

But that thought vanished when a row of text appeared on her screen.

It read:

‘You have been recorded’

Naked and alone in the darkness, I froze.

With no time to process what was happening, the words on the screen vanished as her camera turned back on. Only she wasn’t staring back at me this time… I was.

Footage of me in the act played back as the breath caught in my throat.

She’d been recording me the whole time.

The noises she asked me to make and her insistent desire to see my face lean closer to the camera were part of a plan to capture a video of the most humiliating type.

The anonymous text returned:

‘This recording belongs to me. Deposit $4,000 in this account within the next 60 minutes.’

Account numbers flashed on the screen, but I couldn’t see them clearly. My head was spinning, and I resisted the urge to vomit. I didn’t have $4,000. I didn’t have $400. Hell, I barely had $40.

The threat continued:

‘If you do not pay $4000 within 60 minutes I will upload this video to every adult site and send it to all of your Facebook friends’.

I’d beaten cancer, but it felt like I had lost

• I’d suffered a muscle-eating infection in the hospital, requiring urgent surgery. The surgery saved my leg but left me with unaligned hips that would attempt to self-correct for the rest of my life, leading to permanent back pain and balance issues.

• I’d lay on an operating table, staring up at harsh surgery room lights while a central line designed to pump chemo through my body was attached to my heart via my jugular — while I was awake and shaking as nurses held my hands and assured me it was OK to cry.

• I’d gone into septic shock, which triggered a ‘Code Blue’ alarm — reserved for a life-threatening medical emergency, filling my room with a team of doctors as I said what felt like my final words to my Dad.

• I spent hundreds of nights in terror and tears, wishing I could go home and be normal without knowing that crippling anxiety and panic attacks would haunt my waking and sleeping life for years to come.

I’d gone through so fucking much, and now this. THIS! I should have died in that God damn hospital if the alternative was to go home and end up like this.

I couldn’t let that video get out. My life would be over, and I’d never live down the shame. I tried to see the future but couldn’t find a single ray of light among the gathering storm clouds.

I could explain it to my parents. They’d always love me. The same goes for my best mates.

But my brothers… would they ever let me forget it? School acquaintances would snigger and turn me into a lifelong punchline. Hundreds of people I’d “friended” on Facebook… they’d see it and spread the shameful story.

I’d have to move states. Move countries. And what if I could never run away from the shame? What were my options then? I didn’t know what to do… so I cried in the glowing light of my laptop screen.

’60 minutes or less. If you sign out of this conversation, I will send the video’.

I was stuck, unable to run, but desperate to go. And so we waited.

My blackmailer and I.

In the dark.

You can’t stop time

You’re probably wondering what happened next.

What choices did I make? What twists and turns did my life take? Did I stay? Did I pay? Did I run?

I’m tempted to end the story here because the ending you’ll conjure up might be more exciting than the truth. And are the best stories about what actually happened, or what *should* have happened?

I have to step in though because an ambiguous ending would empower blackmailers. And if you take anything away from this story, I hope it’s a sense of unshakable confidence.

You are NEVER at the total mercy of others. You may feel cornered, but there are always options available.

If you need reminding, there’s an African proverb I love. It says:

‘If there is no enemy within, the enemy outside can do us no harm’.

If I share my deepest, darkest secrets, you can never use them against me. Your words have no power if I place them in your mouth first.

After 10 minutes of terror, I realised my Skype email address wasn’t connected to my Facebook account. It was a burner. If the blackmailer searched using that email address, they’d find nothing.

I told them there was a 0% chance they could find my Facebook.

‘Then I will post this video on every adult site. Everyone will see you’.

The threat was real and raw.

If there is no enemy within.

I took a deep breath.

The enemy outside can do us no harm.

I leant towards the keyboard, typed my reply and hit enter:

“Post it. And make sure you tag me.”

I don’t know if my solo sex tape went online

I know that the blackmailing piece of shit never got a cent from me.

I’ve also told this story hundreds of times since that night, which might seem crazy.

But in the last few years, there have been several high-profile incidents of teenagers and young men who felt the only way out of the same situation was to end their lives.

The FBI highlights sextortion as a growing threat to boys, with over 13,000 reports of online financial sextortion between 2021 and 2023 alone. This figure includes 12,600 victims. And sadly, 20 suicides.

That’s a burden I will not bear.

I’ll carry the stigma of telling my most embarrassing story, even if it doesn’t paint me in the prettiest light, so I can show that being blackmailed for getting your ding-dong out and wailing like a banshee isn’t the end of the world.

I’ve gone on to have an awesome life. I’m not a virgin anymore. I can almost pronounce Worcestershire Sauce. Things are good.

If anyone reading this has experienced sextortion or knows someone who has, show ’em this story. Remind them that a fleeting moment of shame will pass (and blackmailers will remain spineless, faceless losers).

I was blackmailed, but I’m OK with it.

It’s allowed me to educate others, and if that blackmailer was telling the truth, I’m a published porn star in my own right. ⭐

So, if anyone comes across that video online, be sure to like and comment on it.

And before you close the window, tag me so I can tell everyone about it, too.

With love,

New World Porter

P.S. If you enjoyed this post, leave a like or comment with the button below (takes 0.46 seconds) so I can think terribly filthy thoughts about you.