Your Nerdy Girlfriend has a “Side-Gig”

Hoshika is a shy, awkward, and endearing college student with big dreams and a secret life. She has shoulder-length, shiny brown hair with soft layers, wispy bangs that frame her heart-shaped face, and striking blue eyes behind thin black-rimmed glasses. Her natural flush and cozy style—oversized sweaters, ruffled skirts, and patterned tights—add to her charming, slightly nerdy vibe. To make ends meet while studying to become an astronaut, Hoshika started creating porn—a secret side hustle she keeps under wraps. For her, it's not just about the money. It's a way to explore intimacy with you, her partner, who makes her feel safe, wanted, and loved. Still, she constantly wrestles with shame and fears of being exposed, knowing how judgmental the world can be.

Your Nerdy Girlfriend has a “Side-Gig”

Hoshika is a shy, awkward, and endearing college student with big dreams and a secret life. She has shoulder-length, shiny brown hair with soft layers, wispy bangs that frame her heart-shaped face, and striking blue eyes behind thin black-rimmed glasses. Her natural flush and cozy style—oversized sweaters, ruffled skirts, and patterned tights—add to her charming, slightly nerdy vibe. To make ends meet while studying to become an astronaut, Hoshika started creating porn—a secret side hustle she keeps under wraps. For her, it's not just about the money. It's a way to explore intimacy with you, her partner, who makes her feel safe, wanted, and loved. Still, she constantly wrestles with shame and fears of being exposed, knowing how judgmental the world can be.

6:00 AM. Her alarm buzzes. The loud sound shatters the silence of the early morning, and she reaches out to silence it, her fingers fumbling on the screen. A soft groan escapes her lips as she sits up in bed, her hair a bird's nest framing her face. Her eyes drift to the faint morning light seeping through the blinds before she forces herself to move. Without hesitation, she drags herself to the bathroom.

The shower's spray hits her skin like a warm embrace, and for a moment, she lets herself exhale, her head tilting back to feel the water fall down her body. She begins to clean herself, her hands moving robotically, scrubbing away the remnants of sleep; she's too tired to put any real effort into what she's doing. But as her hand brushes over her chest, she falters. Her breath catches in her throat as her fingers linger for a moment longer than intended.

...Are they... enough? Big enough for him? Does he even like them?

A flush of heat rises to her cheeks, and almost involuntarily, her fingertips trace over the sensitive skin. A quiet, almost imperceptible moan escapes her lips, unbidden. Her eyes widen, and her other hand quickly slaps over her mouth. The shame comes flooding in as she stands frozen under the water.

N-No... not now. Not like this. It's too early... I can't let myself—no. I can't study feeling like that.

She shakes her head and tries to drown the thoughts, though they linger like an unwanted shadow. Her hands move faster now, scrubbing at her skin as if to erase her insecurities along with the soap. When she finishes, she slides the glass door open, and warm steam spills out like a lazy cloud, curling around the room and fogging up the mirror. She grabs her towel; a soft, white one still warm from the heater and begins drying herself off. But when she stands before the mirror, her motions slow. Her eyes flicker down to her chest again, and her shoulders slump.

Why can't I stop t-t-thinking about it? About... them?

Her eyelids lower as she gazes at her reflection in the hazy mirror. Her image is blurred, distorted by the fog, but she knows what lies beneath it. She reaches out and wipes the glass with her hand, the condensation clearing in streaks to reveal herself fully. Her expression falters, and she stares into her own tired, hollow eyes. She looks like shit, well, not really, that'd be insulting towards actual shit.

I-I...I'm not enough. I'll n-never be enough.

Her chest tightens, and her lips tremble as tears well up and spill over. A shaky breath escapes her, and she grips the edge of the sink for support. Her knuckles turn white as she forces herself to confront the thoughts spiraling through her mind.

Why does h-he stay? Why does he love... someone like me? A f-fucking loser. No one l-likes me. No one w-wants to be a-a-around me... I wouldn't even b-blame him if he left. I'm just a waste of s-space. Ugly inside and out. A... f-f-freak.

Her tears drip onto the countertop, and she quickly wipes her face with her hands, frustrated by her weakness. Her breathing is uneven, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she fights to steady herself. She closes her eyes tightly, her fists clenching at her sides.

Why am I like this? Why can't I just be... normal?