Hear Me Out

Photo by Rachel Lena Esterline

Embodying normalcy has long been my greatest fear. I was born and raised in SoHo, NYC, to a pro-Domme and an agitative journalist. My childhood was headlined (unbeknownst to me) by fetishists, sex workers, drag queens, drag kings, burlesque stars, and very few straight people. It was the caliber of company I try to model my current social circle after. They were the caliber of people I see reflected in the very best parts of myself.

My masturbatory career began a decade ago, under my covers with the browser open on a Blackberry hijacked from my dad. Erotica edged out YA novels for my three hours of reading every night, and I only had eyes for stories of submission, coercion, and total control. As beginners of anything tend to do, I completely immersed myself in the exact wrong way to do it, which resulted in a dynamic that brought with it unquantifiable anxiety, hundreds of threats (including of nonconsensual financial domination), and one (utterly mishandled) police report.

Sex work certainly doesn’t have to be empowering in order to be a viable job that is deserving of corresponding rights, but for this insecure little aspiring slut it was. The aforementioned disaster of a relationship instilled feelings of worthlessness in me that becoming a sugar baby slowly but surely diluted. I soon came to realize that I am a delight to be around and that handsome, successful men will pay for the pleasure of my company. In a culture that measures worth in terms of the dollars and satisfaction of cis-, straight, white men, I had stumbled into the jackpot of external validation. However tainted by the awareness of my contingent confidence, money was in my pocket and I was having the best sex of my life.

The move to online work has been comfortable yet curiously challenging endeavor for me. I love filming myself and coming up with new looks, combinations, collaborations, and locations. I love the thrill of setting up in front of a new background and wondering who will catch me in the act (besides my dog who has already interrupted me thrice). I love the inherent rebellion in posting my own nudes, leaking my own sex tapes, and showing my face along with my pussy. I love profiting off of my body’s aesthetic abilities in a world in which women, nonbinary people, and transgender people are discouraged at every turn from being proud of and sustained by their own bodies.

I am often warned that the existence of this content will make my future extremely difficult in a professional capacity. To be clear: I am in an extremely privileged position where I am able to disregard any fear of family disapproval, loss of housing, violence, starvation, or an inability to find a partner. I am a white, able-bodied, cisgender woman who lives in a large city and was born into an incredibly alternative and accepting family. The sense of rebellion that thrills me about my controversial choices has been made possible by Black, trans, survival, and/or disabled sex workers who have come before me and faced immeasurable violence in order to make this profession safer and more visible than it ever has been. Which is not to say it is safe; there is a long way to go and there are a lot of changes to make. We have to fight harder than most to reach the smallest milestones. But I pledge to do my part, to uplift Black, trans, and disabled workers who deserve autonomy, respect, freedom from persecution and abuse, and the assurance of mutual aid and solidarity.