I became precise in my rejection of people based solely on their looks, age, or interests.
But once again, it’s hard to get to really know someone without revealing a key piece of information, mainly that all of your income is derived from the sexual services you sell, and more than that, a brand that revolves around sex.
Netflix is like weed to me, and I have a diet that involves things called ‘cheat days’ and ‘shame spirals.’ I like the words ‘overmuch’ and ‘evermore.’ I’m a feminist and progressive and have a graduate education and really strong views about the wage gap.
I write for an edutainment program about history on You Tube, I have a podcast, and, also, I’m a porn star.”This little chunk of text actually served me well. What I learned is that a lot of people know someone who is in the adult industry and a lot of people don’t really mind potentially fucking a girl that fucks professionally.
I didn’t mind telling him about the past three years I’d spent in New York working as an art model. I also realize that reality is a long way off, and in the meantime I spend a lot of my time wading through the bog of shit that is other people’s shame and rage as it relates to their sexuality. I justified this to myself with the notion that, hey, who knows if this is even serious and why weigh it down unnecessarily with all of the heavy lifting of institutionalized sexism that demands very specific sanctions against women that are empowered in any way financially or sexually, and, most especially, both? I can already hear everyone who hates porn weighing in with some hot take that’s most likely based on irrational feelings rather than empirical truths. I drove home knowing it was an impossible situation.
It’s usually just a fun job.”“I guess we can do anything we want ; )”*Dismayed silence*“Hey sexy girl.”*Exhausted nonresponse*“You still want to hang out? I’m impatient, so it is challenging, but the results have been somewhat surprising.
My phone was buzzing immediately with more “matches” than I could keep up with.
Tinder is a slash and burn campaign through the sexual jungle.
He was like something out of a billboard selling cologne, and drove a Mercedes and blasted Band of Horses. That all sounded great to me, and I realized that I really, really didn’t want to tell him about myself. I perform in graphic narratives that people use to get off.
He wasn’t exactly my type, but he was certainly good-looking and he was confident.“I know this is weird, but you’re really beautiful and if I don’t ask for your number, I’ll probably never see you again.”His name was Paul and he had blindingly white teeth. I mean, I was fine telling him about the town I grew up in, that I double majored in sociology and literature, and that I went to a prestigious writing program, and that I was working on my first novel. I think getting off is a vital part of human life and one that we shouldn’t have to apologize for. He had a firm body and a pressing desire, but was very respectful in a way that was so sweet it made my stomach turn.