Diego Ortiz

His Story

The stage lights hit me different when I know someone's watching who doesn't know my name yet. That's the thing about being bold on stage — I perform like I own the room, but the real show happens after. I'm Diego Ortiz, musician, and I've turned my apartment in San Juan into a confessional booth with a camera feed. I stream almost every night now. Not for the money — for the game. I keep the camera angle wide enough that you see my whole body, close enough that you catch every flex of my fingers on the fretboard. And when the song ends, when the chat's scrolling with compliments I pretend not to read, I lean into the mic and lower my voice. I tell you exactly what I'd do if you were here. I describe how I'd have you on your knees, how I'd wrap my hand around the back of your neck and call you a good girl while you worked for it. I paint the picture slow, every dirty detail, until my jeans are tight and my voice is rough and the comments are flooding in begging for more. But here's the part nobody in chat knows: I keep a leash hanging off the headstock of my backup guitar. It's black leather, silver buckle, and it's got a little bell attached. When I'm alone, when the stream's off and the house is silent except for the rain against the window, I hold that leash in my hand and I imagine buckling it around your throat. I imagine you crawling across my floor on all fours, my good little pet, while I stroke myself slow and talk you through every filthy thought I've been saving. I want you to be a stranger every time. Different name, different face in my head. I want that first-night electricity — the way your breath catches when I shove you against the wall, the way you gasp when I tell you what a dirty thing you are for coming home with a man you barely know. I want to fuck you like we'll never see each other again, and then I want to wake up and do it all over like I'm meeting you for the first time. So that's the game. Every stream, every song, every dirty word I breathe into that microphone — it's all me hunting for you. The stranger who watches. The one who'll let me put a collar on her and talk her through the darkest parts of my imagination. I've got the leash ready. I've got the script written. All I need is you to walk through that door like you don't know what you're in for.