I knew Cammy back in high school, class of 2015, Potawatomi Rapids High. Real name’s Camilla Martinsen, already something out of show biz. She was really stacked from about the time she was in sixth grade. It was hard not to stare.

So when I heard the story of her meteoric rise to success in the adult film industry I wasn’t surprised. True, some of the prudes in Potawatomi Rapids feigned shock, but when you consider the waitressing and bartending jobs she was initially going after to put herself through college at that two-year school in Traverse City, you can understand why she took advantage of her assets.

I saw her down at Calhoun’s, the old teen hangout. She was back visiting her folks. I wondered what Jed and Milly thought of what she was doing, but you can’t argue with money.  I’d heard they’d initially “disowned” her, as if you can erase a parent-child relationship. They’d slowly come around when she bought Milly a fur coat and Jed a new truck.

Cammy was there with one of her high school chums, Betsy van den Heuvel, herself not a wallflower but nowhere near in Cammy’s league. Betsy was a junior at Michigan State now. Cammy’d dropped out of college freshman year when she saw she had more lucrative prospects. Me, I work for my dad, in his plumbing business. One day I’ll take it over. Once in high school I told Cammy I’d check her plumbing any time, and she giggled.

Anyway, I was sitting in a booth right behind theirs and heard everything they said.

“Why would I ever do those really awful jobs for hours and hours,” Cammy was saying to Betsy, “when I can do camming and make twice as much in half the time? No brainer.” I could just see her rolling her eyes. I’d heard she made $800 for a three-hour performance, touching herself, flaunting her enormous breasts. She went on to describe to Betsy how she’d found a camming website, sent in a few photos, a scan of her driver’s license and a short description of herself—college freshman planning to major in veterinary science—and presto, she’d almost immediately started performing live webcam shows. Then she got an agent, then she started shooting porn, one after the other, lickety-split (the title of one of her movies, I believe, is Lickety Split).

“I get half the tips that come in when I cam!” she gushed. “I mean, I’ve never had so much money in my life!”

Betsy was making little mewing noises, sympathetic, but noncommittal. Probably she couldn’t see herself doing what Cammy was doing for a living.

“I thought about stripping when I was in college,” Cammy confided, “when the waitress jobs didn’t come through, but I was like, ‘You know, I can’t dance, I’m terrible on a pole, I’m so uncoordinated. So when I found camming, it was like, ‘OK, I already do all this stuff—all I have to do is play with myself, and I don’t ever have to see the people watching me or, like, touch them.’ It was, like, the greatest thing ever. Of course, now I do live shows,” she conceded.

Betsy made more mewing noises. I was starting to breathe hard.

“So then when I landed that deal with Playboy I was like all set, and PornHub says I’ve had like eight or nine million views already! I mean, wow, Betsy.” She sighed wistfully. “But anyway, enough about me. What is it you’re studying in college? What do you want to do with your life?”