So a big part of this blog is talking about Personal Shit, right, including deep dark secrets that I hold in my heart (and clit). This blog entry is like you finding the stash of wank material under the bed, and I'm really excited to share it with you because I think consensual sexual expression is a Good Thing for those who want it. I'm also kind of nervous, and if you were here, you would see that I'm blushing, because, well, I have a reputation to uphold and this is kind of against the grain. Or maybe not, maybe there's lots of other queer femme Domme-leaning switches like me who hide under covers and jerk off to similar things. I hope so, cause it's a little lonely on this ledge.

I'll whisper it.

I have the fantasies of a straight white dude.

PLEASE DON'T HATE ME

I really don't know when it started, or where it came from. But I have been shy about *even my partner* seeing what I search for on Pornhub. Keep in mind I'll happily talk to him about getting a Bad Dragon dog cock for our puppy play, or pissing in his mouth, or, as I've been doing recently, whining and flailing about my desire to electrocute my pussy and not being able to because first we didn't have the right batteries and then the box broke. I'm not exactly a shrinking violet when it comes to talking to my lover about fantasies.

But those are subversive fantasies. And that feels ok, having subversive fantasies, especially ones that don't privilege heterosexual interaction or male gaze type stuff.

THESE ARE DIFFERENT

These are cliche! These are normal porn search terms! I realized this by looking at the incredibly offensive and hypnotic live porn search stream on PornMD (TW- they use the T word). Yet I find myself creaming all over myself to them in the safety of darkness, alone, over and over again. Maybe I really get off on the shame, I don't know.

You know you've done a fair amount when heterosexual sex is really kinky to you.

Anyway, I figured I'd go into five. Just five of them. A girl needs SOME secrets after all and you can't have all of them.  Deep breath, here goes!

Anal 
I am obsessed- OBSESSED- with anal sex and anal play. I have in my mind always wanted so badly to be able to handle anal sex, but it's always felt uncomfortable to me. I suspect no one has ever really been slow enough to make it worth my while. I've even been tempted to try something like Anal-Eze, even though I know the sensations of discomfort mean to slow down, because I worry I'll never get there if I don't get over the hump! I know better though. I'm just impatient.

I watch probably more porn featuring anal sex than anything else and I watch it with ENVY because I really want it, it makes my clit so incredibly hard, but my body, so far, has Not Been Into It. I've experimented with butt plugs, and as long as I put them in myself they feel ok, but my fantasy is to be able to have someone else do it and just enjoy the sensations (which is why I've recently gotten a pony plug from Crystal Delights....!).

Ok, my REAL dream is to be (at least) double penetrated *coff see below coff* and being able to have anal sex would greatly assist in that department.

Gangbangs
So I've done gangbangs before, queer ones, lots of women and one guy (always as a giver, too, not the receiver).... but that's not what I'm jerking off to. Nope, it's the bog standard, girl in the middle of the room, lots of men around her type gangbang. I'm not picky about this fantasy- bent over an office table is one I see a lot, or I like the idea of being just on a round bed surrounded by hard cocks, or I could be strapped down to a medical table and used by a staff of Victorian student doctors. Whatever. The point is to feel overwhelmed with cock- blowjobs, in my cunt, up my ass, spunking all over my tits and hair.

You have to understand, in many of my sexual encounters *I do things to them*, very stone femme style. They don't do things to me. This fantasy totally changes that dynamic so that I'm the center of attention. That feeling of loss of control is one I find hugely erotic, particularly as I am a massive control freak in every other area of my life.

Interestingly, I shift drastically between fantasizing about an encounter where I'm "taken" vs one where I give myself eagerly- sometimes I like one, sometimes the other. Sometimes the perceived lack of safety is part of what makes it sexy, even if there's precautions in place. And sometimes, it feeds into the next fantasy...

Creampies
Creampies, where a guy ejaculates inside a woman's pussy or, sometimes, her ass, REALLY does it for me... until I orgasm. Then I have a really interesting recoil reaction, I think because there's a part of me that feels weird getting off on what seems like heterosexual penetrative sex for procreation. Also, because I think "AAAAAA STIs", though I'm reassured about that when I watch porn as I know the testing guidelines are typically pretty strict.

It's not enough for it to just be an anal creampie, either, which is why I think it's because I find pregnancy so scary and taboo for myself. It's when it trickles out over her labia that I get off. I've enjoyed it when the guy comes on her pussy rather than in, but that's pretty rare. Most of the time I enjoy it if someone cleans the creampie up- but, weirdly, only if it's someone who is not the recipient of the come. I realize I am now outing myself as someone who watches ENOUGH creampie porn to have these kinds of specifications figured out.

Human psychology, fascinating stuff, huh?

Messy Blowjobs
This is a relatively new thing for me. I learned through a client of mine that I really liked playing with spit, and after that it was kind of all over- gags that keep the mouth open for blowjobs, or just to watch the drooling. I think messy blowjobs offer some indication of excitement and passion to my brain, plus the sounds are really hot for me. I *can* deep throat, though I do have a bit of a gag reflex. I have a real hardon for trusting a guy enough to let him put his hands on my head and guide me during a blowjob.

I discovered how into this I was when I had some insecurity about my blowjob technique and watched a ton of blowjob porn only to find myself scrambling for the hitachi rather than focusing on moves. I discovered that while I loved messy blowjobs and spit was sexy, bukkake on the face was not my thing at all. Too many experiences with come in my eye, I imagine!

Baby Oil
This was out of left field. I was looking for something (anal I imagine) and found a baby oil video where she was rubbing it all over her ass. I think she drizzled it all over her breasts and her belly as well, and I was hypnotized by how shiny her skin was (also interesting as latex doesn't do much for me outside of fashion). I was completely transfixed and found it the hottest thing ever. I ended up watching a lot of "sexy massage" videos after that and was really surprised at how my clit responded. Sometimes I think my clit and I are two different people!

This is another one of those things where my logic brain pipes up "but Kitty that's not really a great lube particularly as it's not latex-safe" and I tell that voice to shut up because I'm busy, my eyes wide, my hand cramping from gripping the hitachi so hard.

So, there we go. Here I am, a queer femme Domme-leaning switch with some of the the most mundane fantasies in the world.

This post was made possible by my amazing patrons- please consider supporting my writing!  

So, one of the things I'm going to try to do is highlight some of my older posts which were super popular on my old blog and aren't getting any notice here. Today? I'm gonna remind you about what it's like fucking in a coffin (with some edits, because, well, thankfully I'm improving as a writer)

So I joined the 6 Feet Under Club.

I mean, I needed something to distract me, and it was a typical evening in San Francisco, so when asked "hey, would you like to have sex in a coffin" really what other answer will you give other than yes, yes, absolutely.

My self-preservation skills have never been great.

Now, to clarify- the woman who fucked me in that coffin, R, she's been a friend for a while, and we've flirted about as long as we've known each other. But we've never gotten around to a date- she's busy, I'm busy, so it just got put off. You know how it is, too much of a good thing, always distracted, FOMO nipping your heels all the way.

Until she asked me if I would join her for this Arse Elektronika experiment exploring private and public space. And how did they want to do this? By creating a coffin for two, with a night vision camera, burying it in a dumpster in SoMa, and recording/projecting the camera's visuals onto the side of a building, of course. I mean, what better way to explore what privacy means in an internet age?

I wasn't sure if I'd be in California when this was going on as I was waiting on paperwork to fly to London, so I hesitantly said yes, despite my fear of enclosed spaces. I wanted to challenge myself, and hell, this isn't even on the purity test, so it must be awesome. Plus, ok, I'll admit it... I read a lot of Anne Rice and Poppy Z. Brite and this sounded like the sexiest, most terrifying thing ever.

Well, thanks to bureaucracy taking such a long time to process my visa, I was here for it. So I asked her Wednesday if she was still up for it. She was. We made some preliminary plans, I discovered there were slots available, and started freaking out about what one wears to a first date where you're going to be having sex in a coffin. You know, the usual problem for a Saturday night. I decided on a sheer striped black slip, stockings, and, of course, no panties. For practical purposes. Coffins don't have a lot of wiggle room, after all.

So I laid all this stuff out, and then spent too long at a friend's house so rather than the slow, chill time I had planned to get ready and prepare myself, I found myself doing what I often do on Saturdays- grabbing my outfit and running out the door, sadly without any of my femme makeup. Or a vibrator. I did have condoms and lube, though- old habits die hard, I suppose. I decided, fuck it, it's a night vision camera, would it matter really if I had eyeliner on? Probably not.

I had promised dinner but ended up grabbing some Thai on the run, as opposed to the sit down leisurely dinner I had planned, due to traffic and my own rushing around like crazy. Oops. Still, I got some nice stuff, and she was happy to be fed, as was I. We wandered into PariSoMa right as the last panel discussion was wrapping up, a discussion about making spaces for sex, at parties, within rituals, and on the playa. Fascinating stuff. If you're into sex and technology and how they interact, I highly recommend checking out this conference, it's got some great stuff (I've spoken there a few times now, and it's kinda how I got to know Maggie and Ned Mayhem).  The Monochrom kids are completely nuts. Read their blog and poke around their site, it's like if club kids were geeks... and Austrian.
Anyway, thankfully, despite my forgetfulness, I had picked a fabulous partner for the 6 Feet Under Club. R is well-versed in erotic film, and sex with girls, though not with coffin sex. She had brought a lovely dildo, condoms, two harnesses, vegan lube, and enough gloves to fist an army. This is one of many reasons why I adore her. We ate, and tiptoed to the bathroom- I could see through the window the dumpster filled with dirt and the coffin in the middle, waiting for the first victim/volunteers. It gave me goosebumps, and, well, some wetness between the legs. I'll admit it- I was scared, and it was hot as hell.

I decided that I needed to have a smoke, but really I wanted to sneak out and investigate the coffin up close. It was satin inside, and cushy, with a comforter doubled up on the bottom and some lovely pillows for under the head. The camera was precariously perched on the ceiling right in the middle of the coffin- meaning, you either got visuals of the head, or the feet. Looking at it in person, 80x30x24 actually seemed kind of roomy, though that camera was going to take some manipulating around.

R and I started to discuss how we might position ourselves when a lady came by and asked if we were going in the coffin. When we replied to the affirmative, she asked for an interview. I said sure, cause, hell, my parents read this blog, and Grandma's pretty unlikely to watch SF Weekly videos. So she asked me why I was here, was I a necrophiliac, what made me want to do this, was I into Dracula, etc. I did the interview, finding the whole thing wildly entertaining as a hedonist who has a fetish for novelty, and then went back to discussing logistics. One of the gravediggers gave us details about how it worked, that they'd cover the lid with dirt, and then give us a 5 minute warning via banging on the cover of the coffin. It was originally just R and I and another couple, and I felt a little disappointed.

Then, a couple of friends arrive, including one who does fantastic paintings, who reassured me that a friend of hers who was an engineer had done the math and there'd be plenty of air to make it safe. Probably. I was so happy to see people I knew! Both of them were curious but not sure if they could follow through. I, meanwhile, took too long to get changed so had to wait for couple #1 to go first. In retrospect, I'm really glad, because it gave us a feel for what it'd be like, how to position ourselves, and how we wanted to deal with things like gloves and lube.

While couple #1 were getting it on in the coffin, one of their friends says something about how she's not sure how she feels about watching her friends having sex. Initially, I was like "really? I watch my friends have sex all the time!" but actually being a porn reviewer who knows a good number of the porn stars you see... it can feel a little weird, maybe even invasive. I've been known to ask people if it's ok to watch porn with them in it, just to be sure.

Oh, I forgot to mention the release form. It basically said that being buried alive is, well, dangerous, and not for people who are claustrophobic, afraid of the dark, have breathing issues, heart problems, etc. Amusingly, as it was being read out, the cops drove by, and waved. We waved back. Just another night in San Francisco I suppose, though I doubt they had any idea what we were up to. (note: now, in 2014, I wonder if we'd get away with it)

"Don't worry," said Johannes, the Undertaker of the experience, "we have a permit. For the dumpster, anyway".

R and I happily signed our release forms and started getting ready- I took off my street clothes and slipped on my negligee, removing my panties (practical, remember?) while she strapped on her harness and got the safer sex supplies ready. I was pretty nervous, but way, way too excited to back out. Plus, remember, first date, and first playdate, with this hot woman I had been wanting to sleep with for a while- doing it in a coffin would be a memorable first time, though I'm not sure how I would top it next time around.

Couple #1 came out, safe, happy, and flushed. I gave my coat to one of my friends and asked her to take photos of the night vision projection. They didn't come out very clearly, and keep in mind, the camera was positioned right in the middle so we had to maneuver around it. And yes, there is a recording of this, and we'll get it in a couple of days- I'll post it if I can (I am a show off after all).

The coffin was opened for us now, so I took a deep breath and stepped inside. I was surprised at how comfortable it actually was, though glad to have gotten rid of the satin barrier that was my panties. I settled in, R strapped her cock on while I lubed up my pussy, and we tried a few positions, finally settling with me on the bottom, slightly to one side, and her on top. She's pretty slender, and I'm fat, so it was a bit of a squeeze but we worked it out! We realized it'd be easier to insert the cock while the coffin was opened, so I put on some latex gloves to guide her cock in, and the door was shut.

It was dark in there. Really dark. And lying there, a cock in my pussy, hearing the dirt being dumped over the lid was incredibly sexy. We started kissing, gingerly at first, then more and more passionately as she started to fuck me. The confined space meant my left leg could only go up so far (I recommended afterwards that they install some rope foot loops to give some leverage), but it was far enough. I was definitely feeling conscious of the camera until her cock started to touch my cunt. With her cock hitting my clit as she slowly, then faster inserted herself, I was in heaven.

Together we freed my breast from my bra and she licked and sucked my nipple as she thrusted. We giggled, and I gasped a lot. It was cramped, so we had to change position a little to make it more comfortable, but it was incredibly erotic. The darkness, the blind reaching for each other, the sounds, the scent. Oh, the scent. A coffin fills up very quickly with the smell of aroused girl, that's for sure. Soon she was rubbing my clit while I grabbed her harnessed ass, and then her latex gloved hands were fingering me so expertly I would have squirted if I wasn't so self conscious about the next couple in!

I had been worried about the air, hot air being something that can trigger panic in me. It actually wasn't so bad, and, as I kind of guessed, being fucked while in that sort of confined space really makes you care less about claustrophobia. Instead I found the warm air to be even more sensual, and the satin against my skin made me tingle. 15 minutes literally flew by in a haze of moaning and building orgasm. "Bite my nipples, please" I begged R, and she did, making me go right to the edge. I came right before they opened the coffin to two panting, shaky women, and we scrambled up to a round of applause. Appropriately, we were told to bury our safer sex supplies in the dirt, so we did, and gratefully took the towels they provided for afterwards. My legs were wobbly, and my head, I think, was a bit out of it, as I tried to put my shoes on before my underwear, then thought better of it. After the sweating and the heat of the coffin, the cold night air in SoMa was rather shocking to the system. I kind of wanted to crawl back in.

We got certificates for joining the 6 Feet Under Club. I'll probably frame mine (note: I did). I feel really proud that I did it in spite of my fear, and am still completely giddy. There ended up being three queer and three straight(seeming) couples. I even got to watch one female friend initiate another into her first bisexual strap on sex in 25 years, and also saw another friend and her boyfriend get it on. There was a hot gay couple I know from Burning Man as well, which was fabulous. I loved the variety of orientations and types of sex represented. Though, Monochrom, next time you make a sex coffin, let me give you some tips on where to put the camera for a better angle... and, yeah, foot loops. There's no traction, in a satin-covered coffin, and it's hard on the fucker to get enough oomph to really get going.

Would I do it again? Most definitely. I'm happy to have done it, and consider myself incredibly lucky to have had such a lovely companion for the experience. Though, as she said, next date, we're going to go for a place with pillows. And a shower. And, probably, more room.

I wanted to write this while it was still fresh, but it's 4am now, so I'm signing off. But yes, fucking in a coffin is dead sexy.

(Note: I have not yet gotten to do this again... but absolutely would!)

I had to think for a hot second about whether it made sense for me to write about the topic or porn stars escorting and how that related to health and safety on my personal blog, because I've been a porn star who also escorted, or on the consent culture blog, because it reflects a social and cultural judgment around physical autonomy, consent, and agency. I decided that ultimately it made sense to cross post it, because I feel strongly enough about the topic of stigma and how it affects self care, personal health, and financial stability. So please bear with me if you follow both blogs and see it twice.

The Salon article "When porn stars become escorts: Lucrative new trend could also be risky" came to my attention via XBiz, actually. As I haven't been a mainstream porn performer, or ever had a taste for LA, most of the news of XBiz doesn't usually snag me but when it comes to sex workers spanning multiple areas of the business, I tend to perk up my ears a bit more.

I've certainly heard fellow porn performers question whether they should supplement their income with other types of work, considering porn jobs aren't consistent and the industry can be feast or famine. Stripping is a classic choice for many, though the hours can be long, the shoes killer and the stage fees often exorbitant. Others might choose private cam shows if they have a space available, though at least in my experience with camming a lot of time is spent being politely flirtatious to men who don't want to pay for your time but want to try to get you naked anyway.  Some become sex coaches, which can also offer another type of dvd opportunity and in-person work that can be particularly helpful when you no longer want to work in porn itself. And some become escorts, because at the end of the day, sex for money is sex for money. I figured this article was going to talk to a few performers about the pros and cons about that decision making process, probably discuss the various disease transmission cases that had happened over the past few years, and maybe ask the question if porn stars who escorted were, actually, a greater risk than those who didn't.

But no, that's not really what I found. Instead, I found it to be pretty problematic, and likely something that's going to get picked up and waved around by people who want to show that porn stars are, in fact, reckless secret sexual lepers who will end up infecting us all.

The issues I have with the premise of this article are countless. First, this is not a new trend. Porn performers have supplemented their income with other types of sex work, including "working private", as long as porn has existed. In fact, if I recall correctly, many of the original pornographic performers in the first films were prostitutes- I mean hell, the WORD itself was coined to mean a depiction of a prostitute or of prostitution, even if that's not the popular usage today. So porn performers escorting or escorts performing in porn, not really a new thing. Being open about escorting? I don't know, maybe that is new compared to, say, fifteen years ago. But I think that more likely, the ability to Google such information to find out if a performer escorts, or to trace a photo, means that it's a hell of a lot easier to find out if a porn star is escorting now than when most adult ads were in print. I think it's as common as it ever was, but like with everything else, we hear more about it now, because we hear more about everything now.

Actually, on that point, I think it's also worth mentioning that because of that access to so much intimate information (which you have to provide, because it's marketing when your body is your business), it's also pretty impossible to erase a porn career once you've had one, which means that you might not have many other options if the porn jobs aren't paying what they used to. I just saw a story about a guy being refused to perform boylesque because he worked in porn (I mean are you fucking kidding???) never mind the ongoing stories of kids being kicked out of school, women losing their jobs, their kids, their families, their lives, etc. I mean, newsflash, we are living in some damn hard economic times. But that's not really what this blog post is about. ::deep breath::

I have a problem with the people they spoke to, particularly the two prominent voices in the article- Michael Whiteacre (I can only find direct links to him, which I refuse to do) and Mike South, both men who pen their own porn "news"/gossip sites and both of whom have, at various times, been actively emotionally abusive to sex workers. Why on earth Salon would consider these two men authorities on this topic, I have no fucking idea, but it really pisses me off. Whiteacre is the sort of man who finds it perfectly acceptable to post private conversation screencaps to gaslight abused women, and South's attitude of "better for you to confess your sins to me before I expose you" is no better than the assholes the two of them fought to hard to shut down years ago, Porn WikiLeaks. I'm really disappointed at the laziness of this research and the overwhelming potential for harm it can do, particularly when these two men make their careers off of fostering gossip, fear, and shame.

Additionally, I want to confront this idea right now that porn stars who escort are greater health and safety risks. I have not seen any data to support this claim, and as far as I can tell, none of the porn moratoriums were sparked because of a porn performer escorting on the side. As far as I know, Mr. Marcus? Not an escort. Cameron Bay? Got it with her lover. Derrick Burts? Got it on set. So I'm confused (and if you have some info, please comment below, I'm happy to update this!).

I mean... there is risk inherent in having sex. I get that. And yes, I think that a porn set should be a safe workplace- frankly if I had my way, the way the mainstream would work is that porn performers would feel free to ask for whatever safer sex supplies they wanted to use on set, and everyone would get an STI panel paid for by the company, rather than out of pocket, because I think pay-to-work models are shitty. But it sounds like, as far as I am aware, people are not actually in real life being infected because of porn star escorts.

Though, I mean, we all know how prostitutes never use safer sex or get tested and are totally reckless while people having sex for reasons that aren't direct cash exchange are always monogamous couples who are sober and using all the safer sex techniques all the time properly 100%. /sarcasm

To be fair, Salon does link to this article on Forbes where Susannah Breslin breaks down what porn performers do when the porn industry shuts down, which I think actually details many more voices and is in many ways more informative. Adahlia says it perfectly:

“In my escorting work, I have always felt much safer and protected because I am able to choose what kinds of safer sex practices I wish to utilize, and I don’t lose business by choosing to be safe."

I think she speaks to a greater issue - losing business by choosing to be safe. Let's be real, money is fucking TIGHT, especially for people on the edges who are already struggling. Shit, I'm barely scraping by, I just found out our rent is going up another $50, and there is not a job to be found. I want to acknowledge that when financial stress is high, this is often survival sex we're talking about here. So compromises get made that wouldn't otherwise get made- faking an STI report, working with a company that doesn't have as stringent policies, doing types of sex acts you're not comfortable with, doing bareback escorting, whatever it might be. Because rent has to be paid, food needs to be bought, the car needs to keep running and god help you if you have any medical bills or debt.

But ultimately, even that desperation and those choices-that-aren't-really-choices are not really about the porn industry. That's working under capitalistic patriarchy (an argument I actually make here in the New Internationalist).

And what I saw resonating throughout that article was "this is why we need better worker representation, and why we need sex worker rights".

Basically, I don't want porn performers to read that damn article and freak out that they aren't booking enough shoots and they were considering other types of sex work but maybe they'd be shunned for life or instantly drop dead. It is OK to do what you need to do. That mainstream porn industry is floundering because it's not adaptable, it's scared of change. But us sex workers? We're chameleons, baby. We're survivors. We're fierce.

And Salon, next time, can you at least try to talk to current sex workers about sex worker issues?

This article was brought to you by my kind sponsors – sign up and help make “Consent Culture: the Anthology” a reality! 

I have watched you work with known rapists to further your career, because they were popular, and you were cowardly. And that is shameful.

I have watched places like Dark Odyssey continue to hire known rapists year after year despite knowing there are repeat allegations. I have witnessed pushing the boundaries of volunteer staff.

I have watched this community back down when racism was challenged as a "joke" in a theme or a costume without any context or deconstruction, and I've watched you blow off the controversy as  "PC gone mad". I've been disappointed in you. I've thought less of you. I've thought less of you, and of me for not speaking up.

I've watched as sex workers have been taunted time and time again, their rights and bodily autonomy seen as less than in sexual spaces. I've seen their workplace rights treated as useless, easily bought out or shoved under the carpet, dismissed.

I've experienced recommended leaders who have violated my boundaries, demanded blow jobs from me, demanded sexual favours negotiated,  threatened consequences to my career or reputation if I didn't comply.

I am at the point where I am falling apart under the weight of years of holding onto the hundreds of complaints and stories of violations. And I just can't anymore. I just CAN'T. I am ONE FUCKING WOMAN AND THIS IS KILLING ME. Do you not understand? I can't just turn a blind eye! This is destroying my life. I know better than most how serious all this is. We all pretend that everyone gets the love they deserve, but people of colour don't experience that, fat people don't experience that, trans people don't experience that, queer people don't experience that. Non-normative bodies get fetishized and treated like novelties to be deposed of, to be fucked and checked off on a list. I'm experiencing that right the fuck now, that in theory I'm a catch but in practice I'm a scavenger hunt check list item pokemon to catch em all.

You bleed us dry. You bleed us 'til we have nothing left to give and then you guilt us for not giving more. You shame us for using substances to push ourselves to keep ourselves going, which seems unfair. You judge us for using sex work for making that money that allow us to keep funds in the bank so we can keep being activists, shaming us for being capitalists, for numbing ourselves by any means necessary.

I call bullshit. Sometimes I need a drink so I can put up with the douchebag talking shit while he puts his dick in my mouth. Sometimes I need it to be ok that I don't want to put his dick in my mouth, too, and still be welcomed as sex positive. Sex need to not be compulsory to still be positive.

If we want to be sex positive its about damn time we deal with this problem.

PEOPLE ARE NOT NOVELTY ITEMS FOR YOUR BUTTERFLY COLLECTION. We're not stupid. We know what you're doing. and it really, really hurts.

I'm usually fairly secure in my fat body. Most days I love my round tummy, and my stretch-marked breasts, and my thick thighs, and even my jiggly upper arms. I perform in pornography, have modeled nude since I was 19, and I don't feel awkward when taking my towel off at a hot tub establishment. I have a closet full of costumes and clothes that I've cultivated over multiple years that make me feel fierce and femme.

But it's not easy. And, frankly, it doesn't come naturally to me. It's a constant effort to care about my body, which is pretty sad. I, like many others, been taught to hate myself.

The times that I become insecure, uncomfortable, ashamed of my body are often when I slam against the fatphobic culture in which I live. It happens when I shop for clothes and I have to choose between stylish and comfortable fit. It happens when I go to the doctor and she tells me that any pain I have is simply due to being fat, rather than looking into it. It happens when I go to a sexy party and realize that other women who look like me also aren't having sex, or being flirted with. It happened when I turned an offer for sex work down and was insulted or threatened, using my weight as a weapon. It of course happens when people seek to ignore the things I say by saying my fatness overrides my intelligence.

When I was a teenager I struggled with my expanding, softening body. My breasts were accompanied by a belly, which made me incredibly self-conscious. I was on medication that made me gain water weight, and went from the high end of normal into overweight, and then obese, over about 2 years. I had to eat in order to take the medication, but the medication made me fat, so I didn't want to take it.

My first experiences with severe control over my food intake started then, along with an ongoing fight with bulimia. I struggled with eating disorders off and on for multiple years, well into my mid twenties, figuring that if only I was skinnier, people would love me more, I would have more success at work, I'd enjoy clothes shopping. I would limit my caloric intake to a third of what was the recommended amount in an attempt to shock my body into submission. Everything I wanted in my life was put off until I lost weight, because then, I thought, I would be valued in society, by lovers, and by clothing companies.

Unfortunately, I've grown up to think that some of those things very well might be true. Fucked up, but true.

Dieting wasn't particularly effective, especially as I was poor and couldn't afford the fruit, veg, unprocessed meat and whole grains recommended. I could starve myself easily enough but figuring out how to have balanced meals every day for a week on about $20 at the most was pretty impossible (and still is, by the way). I lived in Massachusetts and depended on public transport so didn't tend to go out or socialize much, just to and from work and long evenings in front of my laptop, flirting with a guy in the UK (because honestly dating men here has always been rough). That guy made me feel better about my body by desiring me, something I wasn't sure would happen... but I still wondered if he would want me more and invest more in us if I was slimmer.

I already walked 6 1/2 miles a day every day I went to work and it wasn't making a difference so I started exercise regimens that, on the low nutrition I was getting, made me feel tired all the time. I thought that working out until I was exhausted was the goal, so I overworked my body into the ground. Now I wonder how badly I damaged myself during that time in my need to be accepted. And the irony is that when my BMI was technically "normal", I was so weak I had to go to the ER. And yet the doctors told me how my body was healthy, because, well, my weight was finally "right", even if I shook when I walked and struggled to keep food down.

I also wonder how much bullshit I took from boyfriends and girlfriends because I thought I should feel lucky to have a lover at all. I did threesomes I didn't want to do because I wanted to keep my lover. I put up with a partner who didn't use protection with me or his other girlfriend, because I didn't think I'd find someone else who would care for me. After a life of being told that only slender, pretty women were lovable, I really truly believed it. I tried to be submissive, tried to be pleasing to people who were cruel to me, because I thought it was better to have a slice of attention once in a while than be alone.

In some ways I wonder if I entered sex work so willingly because it offered the sex and affection I craved. I know for some people sex work drains them and makes them feel shitty, but it was the first place I felt I had sexual power and value. But for every client who kissed my tummy and my stretch marks, I had several who would call me to tell me how hideous I was, how I should just kill myself. I had a reputation for being confident in myself, while at home I would sob and cut my breasts and thighs, wishing I could destroy myself and rise up from the ashes.

So here I am now, trying to exercise on a regular basis. I've had two weeks of 30 min a day workouts, and am starting to calorie count as well to try and have better nutrition. But I can already sense myself falling into the same traps, worrying that it won't make any difference, that no matter what I do I'll always be fat and always have to deal with fatphobia. I get frustrated with my partner, who eats whatever he likes and doesn't gain. He's not terribly fit, but people don't comment on his body the way they do on mine. These aren't concerns for him, but they're the difference between being respected or not for me. And that kills me.

In order to feel comfortable while exercising, I sought out exercise clothes. I couldn't find a sports bra that fit me, never mind workout pants. I make do with a sports bra that's too big and  leggings from Forever 21 that aren't really made for the kind of activity I'm wearing them for. It's incredibly disheartening to be constantly told to work out & exercise more while also making it impossible to find workout clothes for fat bodies.

Exercise classes have traditionally been equally scary and uncomfortable. I've been shamed at multiple classes for not being as flexible or quick on my feet, especially when learning new moves or techniques. It's humiliating to be picked on by an instructor when you just want so desperately to work out and fit in. I've decided that for now I'll stick to Wii Fit, which I can do at home and not worry about being judged.

To be honest, I'm also worried about my identity- I've been fat and tried to be fierce about it for so long that I worry if I *do* lose weight I'll be admitting that being fat is Bad or something. I have a hard time figuring out how to be fat positive while also admitting that I feel like I'm giving up , putting myself back under the pressure to lose weight because I'm tired of feeling undesirable. I feel stupid and weak and vain for wanting to lose a couple dress sizes simply because I want to be able to shop at H&M. And yet, here I am.

It's certainly a journey of self-discovery. I want to work hard not to go to extremes like I have in the past, to be self-destructive in that fashion but to go slowly, steadily, and try to care more about fitness and consistency than the weight loss. I'm trying to be disciplined in listing all the food and drinks I have every day, and so far I'm doing all right.

But it's really fucking hard, and it's thankless, and I resent feeling like a loss of 30 pounds will change how people interact with me. I mean, fuck, I resent the Wii Fit telling me I'm obese every time I weigh in. I work really hard and yet it feels like things won't get better. I hate how disappointed in myself I feel when the 3 pounds I lost gets gained right back.

I just want to get health care, and be flirted with, and treated like a person.

It sucks that I have to lose weight for that.

I just also feel exhausted and tired of fighting to feel loved.

"When I turned 30, I decided I was going to go get some fancy wrinkle cream from the department store," my mum told me. "But then I had cramps, so... I didn't bother again". She told me this while laughing, an indication of how many fucks my mum doesn't give to beauty standards of femininity, which is one of the many reasons she's a great role model.

Turning 30 seems to be a harbinger of doom for many women, something I can't say I understand. I've looked forward to getting older my whole life- wrinkles, spots, hairs on my upper lip and all (which, mind, I got started on early- I grew my first whisker at 27 and was overjoyed). There's loads of bucket lists, particularly for women, of glamourous things, intelligent things, charitable things they want to do before they turn 30 and are, I have to assume, taken out. I was unaware that we lived in Logan's Run, but hey.

Well, I hit 30 and nothing changed. My boyfriend was not suddenly repulsed, I didn't become wiser, I continue to get catcalled on the street and I continue to scream obscenities back. I still fall asleep with my makeup on because I'm still too lazy to remove it before bed.

Maybe it's because I have a fat body that I didn't really feel pressure to beautify myself EVEN MORE now that I'm 30. Being fat is a great shield for that sort of thing, in a way, because fat folks learn to brush off comments about stretch marks, cellulite, jiggly upper arms and muffintops every damn day. When every day people comment on how dissatisfactory your body is, you learn to tune them out as best you can. Hopefully you gain the strength to get those people out of your life.

I was inspired to write this in part because of a piece in Vice by Molly Crabapple on her experience turning 30. She says how she doesn't get propositioned anymore, now that she's the magic number. i'm envious of her invisibility, something I certainly don't have regardless of my age. I will still get inappropriate propositions, I will still get harassed in the street. The major difference is I've developed the willingness to fight back- but I had to develop that early, at 22, 23, because men would consistently push me into situations I didn't want to be in, because women would continuously touch my stomach and ask for my due date. I couldn't afford to wait til 30 to grow a backbone, which is good, cause I imagine I'll get harassed for the rest of my life. That's just part of being a fat woman, where having a fat body is seen as an invitation for society to comment, touch, and cross boundaries.

So far, my 30th year has seen me become a lot more driven than I've been... well, really since my breakdown. So far, I've written the Consent Culture book pitch, been working as the social media/PR girl for TroubleFilms, socialized with friends more often than I have for a while, worked out every day (and can now touch my toes), been writing more often and for pay, and only had one cigarette (and bought none). My life has gotten better on most counts, which is fabulous. But it's not because of or in spite of my age, it's just part of the process.

I will say that Olivia Wilde wrote a great piece in the "advice for turning 30" vein, with decently good advice. But you know what? I really genuinely don't think that there's things you should feel limited about doing or wearing once you've been on the planet for 30 years. You can be awesome your entire adult life; it's ok to enjoy having fun and being responsibly hedonistic whatever your age. Stop looking to the media as a guide on how to behave, for fuck's sake. Or, if you NEED a role model, consider Maude, who is one of the most compelling and interesting female characters ever to be on screen. Her beauty and playfulness radiates, and THAT'S what I want to be like as I grow older.

Also, I'm frankly relieved to not have to dig out my ID anymore, it's a pain in the ass.

This article was brought to you by my kind sponsors - sign up and help make "Consent Culture: the Anthology" a reality! 

I was asked to do a debate with a (thankfully polite and sensible) radical feminist about ethical pornography- could it exist, and what would that look like- for the New Internationalist. While I enjoyed the discussion, I found the format (3 statements of 250 words each) to be incredibly difficult to engage with. This is a complicated issue with a lot of nuance, and the call-and-response methodology meant we had to both respond to the other AND embrace our own pet issues at the same time. I, being me, focused on my experience in the porn industry rather than academic citations, something I kind of regret now.

I've written about ethical pornography in the past, and it's a topic I think about a lot. I am personally of a mind that a set of standards would be useful, as it's easy to label something as "feminist" or "ethical" when there's no clear definition of what that entails- I don't see a company that only hires slender white women as particularly feminist, or a site that tells performers they have the right to safer sex supplies, but then will get a kill fee for insisting on them, as particularly ethical, for example. Yet of course when "feminist porn" or "ethical porn" become marketable points, you're going to see the quality be pretty varied across the board. That's similar to other areas where politics meet an industry- the food industry with "organic", for example, or what "fairtrade" actually means in practice for  those making handicrafts.

I have my own checklist for what makes porn ethical, and I know that over in the UK the Ethical Porn Partnership is forming to address this issue.  I think having some basic agreements, especially ones that address sexism, racism, transphobia and safer sex allowances, would be a first step towards making the adult industry an ethical workplace. It's one of the reasons I'm excited about performers maintaining their own sites, creating and selling content on their own terms. Personally, I feel creating ethical porn also involves a safe workplace - making sure that people are expected to be sober on set and not employing people who are abusive, though I acknowledge that can be more difficult to enforce when the behaviour isn't witnessed on set.

Anyway, the debate (which will be posted at some point I hope) brought up some issues that I wanted to address here in my blog, as I feel now that I didn't address them as well as I could have there.

One of the things I brought up was that the discussion of ethical pornography needs to acknowledge gender diversity. The adult industry is one of the only areas where women are often paid more than men, and is therefore a path of potential upward mobility, especially useful for those without degrees yet. When even entry level jobs seem to require you have multiple years experience, as well as a Bachelor's, is it any surprise that some people turn to pornography to pay the bills? This is not only true of cisgender women, but trans* women, who struggle to get employed or keep their jobs if their trans* status is outed. To stigmatize porn performers is often to further marginalize people who are already marginalized.

I think it's frustrating that this is true of the adult industry, to be honest. I've written about my own desire to leave the industry and move on to other employment, as I entered sex work like many do, to pay bills while going to school. Even though I have excellent references and know what I'm doing, it's been incredibly difficult to get past my searchable porn history. I've particularly noticed that women who have a history with the adult industry are, over and over again, punished for it while simultaneously being told they need to be "saved" from it. This stigma keeps people who are unhappy doing porn unable to do anything else. That's not a great basis for any type of ethical work... when you have no other options. Considering these people offering to "save" people from the adult industry often fall short of practical support in getting another job, I'm not buying it.

It's interesting to me that an 18 year old male high schooler was kicked out of school for being a porn performer... and then taken back thanks to the support of the other students and his mother. Would it have been different if he wasn't a cisgendered male? We already know how teachers are treated, even if revenge porn of them is posted online and they have no agency over the images being released, even if it's a racy photo. Once you've been an adult performer, you're given the scarlet letter for life. As the aforementioned student said, "It's just (my mom) trying to feed me and the dogs and pay bills," so he went into porn, a job with flexible hours, a good time-to-money ratio, and constant demand. Who can blame him, or anyone else struggling to get by in this economy, for taking that step?

I think there's a difficult chicken and egg situation with pornography. In order for porn to be recognized as work like any other, it would help for it to be a workplace like any other- with some health and safety rules in place and clear contracts. But in order for the mainstream porn industry to make that kind of step, social stigma of porn performers would need to be a thing of the past. Currently if porn performers try to bring legal action against their treatment at porn companies, or organize the workers, they can get fired and might be blacklisted as "troublemakers" at other companies. Culturally we need to support porn performers who are mistreated in their workplaces get justice rather than shame them for their employment.

Under capitalistic patriarchy, there are multiple strategies to fight back. I believe ethical pornography is capable of being a strategy that can be financially sustainable within patriarchy while also against it by challenging institutionalized oppression within the work itself. Porn has been a source of extra money that I can work into my schedule while doing other activism, working at other jobs, and taking time for the things I care about. As I have the financial privilege to do so, I choose to work with companies that care about showcasing all different types of diversity- sexual expressions, gender identities, ethnicities, body types. The places you see me naked tend to be places that don't employ oppressive language in their marketing, that pay performers based on things other than gender, where I can use the safer sex techniques that feel comfortable for me. As a fat queer woman, I don't see a lot of pornography that represents me, so I perform in it myself. If people get any part of their sex education from porn, I want them to know that sex looks different for everyone, that non-penetrative sex is fun and ok, that pleasure doesn't center around the penis. I think creating a space where all bodies and sexual expressions are valued , where consent is seen as part of the process, is vital to combat the effects of capitalistic patriarchy on self esteem and on our desires. I've been told that seeing my body and my enjoyment of sex has helped other fat women feel comfortable in their bodies, and that's fucking revolutionary.

I don't think that this is just about sex, mind. I think we need more positive examples, not only of diverse sexytimes, but also of people deciding they don't want to have sex and not being shamed for that, either. Ethical pornography to me means that I, as a performer, can feel safe talking about the ebbs and flow of my libido. I don't feel I have to pretend that I'm turned on all the time, or that I have no politics or opinions. Ethical porn can make space for the myriad, real experiences of people fucking, and that's awesome. Showing people they aren't alone (and that they're ok!)is important, not just when they're kinky, but when they're celibate. Thanks to where I live, and the people I know, I can create beautiful erotic videos with people I enjoy playing with and then go back to knitting and writing about capitalistic patriarchy. That's fucking awesome, and that's how porn performers should feel- empowered, healthy, multifaceted, and safe. And yes, I think we *can* begin that work right here, right now.

This post was sponsored by people like you - help keep me writing by considering donating!

All images via Lesbian Curves: Hard Femme (co-star Betty Blac) available from TROUBLEFilms

So, I'm thirty now, which conceivably makes me more of a Proper Adult than being in my twenties. I certainly feel under more pressure to behave like an Adult, to have Real Furniture and be doing something with my life that I can point to as a success. Like write a book, which is long overdue (and I'm very close to making enough per article from my patrons so that I can spend the time to write the book!) I spent my 30th birthday dealing with a broken down car, working, and playing my 3DS while watching TV. I ate a cupcake and went to bed at a reasonable hour. It wasn't a big deal, but then, nothing feels like a big deal anymore, just ongoing creeping panic at a low simmer.

Reflecting on my twenties, I spent a lot of it on unrequited love. Unrequited community, where I invested more than I got back, unrequited friendships where I gave more than I got back, unrequited relationships where I was more emotionally available or stable than the other person could be. I've spent a lot of time being Good Giving and Game and getting very little of that back. When I turned 20 I was sexually adventurous, excited, interested- now I feel drained, like I crave being a sexual and sexualized being but don't know how. I miss the sense of assurance I had when I was doing sex work in London, where my desirability was confirmed regularly- I still feel insecure being a fat woman in San Francisco.

This year is the year I'm going to try being really true to myself. I'm going to dedicate my social time, which is now more precious to me as my spoons are fewer, to people who make that one on one or small social gathering time for me. I don't think I want to go to massive parties so much this year, as I find them overwhelming and alienating. I want to be surrounded by people who will draw me out of my shell, not people who I have to perform for in order to feel accepted. I've written about community, and this is the year I'm going to purposefully seek out mine as often as I can. I'm going to stop "making an appearance" and only going to things I give a shit about run by people who talk to me outside of events. If I'm not having fun, I'll leave. If a partner isn't respecting my space, I'll leave. If my grandmother starts talking shit about my body, I'll leave. I don't have to stay and fight every battle.

I'm also going to stop overwhelming myself trying to be a one person crisis center. I need more people working on Consent Culture, as writers and as content curators, as well as people donating lists of local, alt-sex friendly resources rather than taking it all on myself. It's time for me to actually make time to get some volunteers on board to help. And even though it makes me feel really vulnerable and awkward I'm going to keep being open about how I feel and what's going on for me, because it helps me process and helps me get the care I need. It's also ok for me to focus on my own needs. The revolution never ends, and it's ok to take breaks.

I figured it might be useful to think about thirty things I learned in my twenties, because I like to overanalyze everything.

1. It is possible to travel by yourself to a new town and still have fun.
2. Road trips are worth it, every time.
3. I don't need sex to be happy, but regular sex does help my happiness.
4. I can't make myself like a fetish I don't like.
5. Sometimes beautiful people are really kind. Sometimes they're awful. Don't assume.
6. Women can also treat me like I owe them sex after dinner and it's just as violating.
7. If I say "he's going to get help soon" for longer than two months, I'm lying to myself.
8. There is no "acceptable angry hitting".
9. If I haven't seen the contents of the box in years, I don't need what's inside.
10. Create limits to crafting supplies. Then be creative about using them up to get more.
11. Pinterest is actually filled with good, easily implemented ideas.
12. I am actually not bad at performing on stage.
13. The line between an anxiety disorder and depression is blurry.
14. If I feel pissy, make sure I don't need water, food, sleep, or a hug before anything else.
15. People will pay for my writing. I don't have to work "for exposure".
16. My boundaries are ok. They may be hard for other people, but my real friends will respect them.
17. I enjoy nonsexual touch from people I trust.
18. I'm more creative than I thought I was.
19. I enjoy making time to read. When the computer stresses me out? Try reading.
20. I do have a sense of humour. It doesn't depend on laughing at marginalized people.
21. Sometimes you have to challenge the status quo. That will be painful. Be prepared.
22. Cats make everything better.
23. If a sex party doesn't make me feel desired and sexy? Stop going.
24. I don't always have to DIY. I can encourage others.
25. Signal boosting is important and useful.
26. I am a good lecturer and people like to listen to me speak.
27. I really love DnD.
28. Drugs aren't always bad, but I need to feel safe and like I can get away to enjoy them.
29. Vulnerability is hard and scary, but I'm always surprised who comes to help out.
30. Sex work was amazing for me in many ways- it was also very hard work, and pretending it wasn't doesn't help me.

Oh yeah, and 31. I have cancelled a wedding. I have gotten divorced. Neither was the end of the world, but it's ok that I still feel upset about it. I deserve to have a dreamy proposal and a wedding that's about love, not practicality.

So there we have it. I'm thirty, and I'm still alive.

This post was made possible by my amazing patrons- please consider supporting my writing!  

New Years Resolutions are one of those things that I have tended to do for years and years. It's interesting when you write down your resolutions online, because you can go back through the years and see what you've done and what you resolved to do and then never really managed. I can track my resolutions/observations of 10 years on the internet, which is kind of amazing if perhaps a bit obsessive of me. I have definitely noticed that I moved away from specifics, preferring to choose vague goals that could be interpreted in multiple ways, allowing me to choose the path that worked best. Here's some other observations:

Things I've Learned:

I always wanted to write. 2004 I wanted to be published, and it took many years for me to trust myself and my writing enough to actually have it happen. I can now be pleased that multiple pieces of mine are in print, and my blogs (this one and Consent Culture) are assisted by people willing to pay me for my work, so I should stop doubting myself and invest more in my writing. I feel confident enough that writing is now helping me pay my rent, which is a scary step, but one that I think I really need to take. It's also important that I be paid for my writing- the lie of "exposure" is just that... a lie in almost all cases.

Traveling, especially to new places or with new friends, is something that invigorates my mind and makes me happy. I've been lucky enough in 2013 to have been invited to go speak on the East Coast and the UK, and it was great to go to places new to me to lecture/present. That said, I also want to limit how many places I go, particularly when the flights are longer than 3 hours. It was incredibly exhausting to travel so much, and I don't think I want to spend another year doing that!

Taking chances has been an area that used to terrify me. Now, I'm much more comfortable with the Fool, taking that step into the unknown. "Sometimes, we wake up. Sometimes, the fall kills us. And sometimes, when we fall, we fly," is a quote from Sandman that really touched me, and I try to live my life in such a way that doesn't shy away from that which scares me. I've learned to take risks and try new things... at least when it comes to new places, changes in career, that sort of thing. When it comes to people... I'm still frozen, solid.

I am totally invigorated by doing photo shoots and having my hair done. These are both things that improve my self-image and are worth spending time and money on.

It is OK to be an activist fighting with the issues you're an activist for. It's OK to be a body-positive activist who has fat days. It's OK to be an anti-abuse activist struggling to leave an abusive relationship. It's OK to be a sex work activist and still be critical of how patriarchy and capitalism influences it. And it's OK to be publicly vulnerable about those things- in fact, I've found it vital for my survival. "Fake it til you make it" sounds catchy but can make you feel incredibly alienated from asking for help... and it's OK to need help. My Indie GoGo was difficult to create, as I felt ashamed that I couldn't take care of myself, but the response has been amazing and is allowing me to not worry about homelessness in the near future as I ramp up my work... and I'm endlessly grateful.

Things I Struggle With:

I have, on reflection, always struggled intensely with meeting new people, particularly if I might see them again. I'm happy to converse with strangers on the street, but give me people at parties who are friends of friends and I clam up and end up on the smoking patio. I get overwhelmed in social situations easily, and looking through my resolutions, I think I always have but because I'm an extrovert I forced myself to go to parties and interact. It's not surprising that I had a few years where I was pretty promiscuous, or that I enjoyed sex work so much- I think for a while there sex with relative strangers felt safer than talking to people.

Now that I'm not as promiscuous, I still feel isolated and anxious in groups, which I think ends up reading as me not wanting to talk to people or be flirted with, when that's what I *do* want. I'm not entirely sure how to handle that on my own. I have definitely leaned on alcohol and smoking to get me through, and ended up regretting it, so I obviously need another, healthier method!

I also struggle with hedonism, in that I tend to be pragmatic about how I spend my time and money rather than pleasure-accepting. I struggle with sex outside of a work context (Ive always been better with one night stands than sex in a relationship), I struggle to feel comfortable treating myself to nice self-care things like massage or manicures, I struggle with spending money on nice restaurants. I think that's partially from guilt around being poor much of my life (and now), so the idea of spending money on a meal feels extravagant and impractical. I remember I used to spend my few dollars on clothes instead of food, eating from food pantries, because food was just eaten and processed out in private, while clothes glowed with the possibility of upward mobility for years to come.

This is also related to my desire, every single year, to relax more. It's kind of funny that I always thought I had depression when I could never manage to just chill the fuck out!

Particularly Interesting:

In 2004 I resolved to be less angry, instead deciding I wanted to use seduction as a tool to get things done. This coincided with my move to San Francisco, where I initially had the scene name of PurrVerse (which is where PurrVersatility comes from, btw). I was definitely into embracing "make love, not war", even though in my experience "seduction" was less about my power and more about my sexual availability and submission to sex-as-compulsary norms for women looking to gain social currency. My lack of anger was mainly rooted in my strong commitment to denial, which made me really depressed.

About 6 years later I began to change my mind about anger, adding the tag to my blog. With the founding of Consent Culture, it became cemented into my consciousness as necessary to shift things, though I'm constantly adapting how I use my anger in my activism (Mattie Brice just wrote a piece about this that I'm going to be rolling around in my head for a while). However, as I began to accept my anger and stopped having sex with people I didn't want to in order to feel powerful as a sexual being, I stopped being flirted with and began being told how intimidating I was. I am still working through all of this, because on some level I do want to be approachable, but not at the expense of gaslighting myself.

I also had several years of wanting to be more spiritual. I really, really wanted to feel spirituality in my life, but it just never really clicked for me. I slept through drum circles, never felt called by any particular deities, and felt that praying just made me feel more hopeless, like even Deity didn't give a shit about my struggles. So I stopped trying. I've found that what I seemed to want, and what I still want, is the sense of community and family that so often gathers around spirituality, a sense that individualism and isolation isn't the answer, an ability to trust in something beyond oneself. But for me, at least, spirituality isn't what gets me there. I still think I need to work on trusting, but rather than trusting "the Universe" or the law of attraction or God, I need to trust other people.

Conclusions:

The London years were years I did not do resolutions. I'm not entirely sure why they didn't interest me, as there's plenty of blogging and struggles going on during those times, but I didn't write about my goals. I think partially it's because I was majorly caught up in relationships that sucked me in and took up all my brainspace- there wasn't a lot of room for contemplation or navel-gazing when I was trying to fix other people. Partially it was because those years were incredibly unstable, and I never knew exactly where I'd be living, what support I've have, or what job I'd be doing, so making goals felt like a recipe for feeling disappointed in myself.

I did, however, write reviews of each year instead of having any particular goals in mind, retrospectives rather than plans. And on reading those, I can see how important London was for my growth and my security in myself. In London I grew more confident in my body, started to trust in my ability to throw major, game-changing events, began to believe that people wanted to hear my voice as I took media requests, taught workshops and wrote for an audience beyond my blog. I stopped being vaguely political and became incredibly so, especially around racism, transmisogyny, sex critical feminism, sex work activism, male sexualisation and the female gaze. I began to understand what intersectionality and privilege meant, and how it affected the sexual spaces I had been frequenting my entire adult life. Slowly I began to not only turn that gaze on my past, but the present, and how these things influenced my current experience. I had a public breakdown after hiding my suicidal feelings in private successfully for years.

While I initially credited that shift of awareness as part of what made me a more conscious person, if a more anxious one... reading through my history I realize I was *always* emotionally struggling. Before, I focused that energy on relationships almost exclusively. Now, I can step back somewhat and see a greater framework for my struggles. I don't know if that's better, entirely- I've always been a sensitive soul who cried as a child because the world was a terrible place- but maybe I need to refocus my friendships around people who similarly critique these things, and who also manage to enjoy life. Who can help me embrace both my politics and pleasure. I don't have to settle in my friendships and who I expend my energy on any more than I have to settle in my relationships.

I posted on Facebook, "Ok, for real- 2014 is the year that I cut out of my life people who say things like "the PC police", "post-racism", "real women", "you're too sensitive", "depression is a choice", etc. I may end up with a lot fewer friends, but the ones I keep will be people I don't have to apologize for." I'm sticking to it. It was reassuring to see 125 people agreed with my status, too!

I think a lot of my depression has been because I've wanted so desperately to be accepted, not just as a person but as a friend and as a lover, as someone who gets invited out to things, by those I met through sex parties. I think now, at 30, it's about time I stopped chasing unrequited love, instead fostering the friends I have who DO make me feel included and loved. It's perhaps time I start leaving the spaces that make me feel undesirable, self-conscious, not cool enough. I've often felt that many San Francisco friendships are like yelling into a void, based on the sense that hugging each other at parties is a good enough stroke of each other's egos to allow us to ask each other for favours but never get any deeper than that. I have considered a lot of people friends that I never spend time with outside of events. This is the year I stop treating parties as a way to see many of my "friends" at once. I am far more invigorated by small gatherings and really getting to know people. I need to prioritize that rather than "making an appearance" at things that don't value me in my entirety- my body, my politics, my heart. It had its place. It's time I grow up.

I've written about community, and how I feel that what makes a community are people who share some standards of behaviour, who mutually care for each other, who share accountability and responsibility to each other. I think 2014 is, for me, the year that I figure out who my community truly is, who raises me up and encourages me to be better, who I can reach out to for support when I'm feeling anxious, suicidal and scared. That's what will actually keep me alive, not how many "friends" I have on Facebook or how many people follow me on Twitter, but that there are people I feel a duty of care to who feel the same for me. I've been hibernating for too long- it's time to break out of this chrysalis, stop surviving and start living.

This post is brought to you thanks to my patrons over at Patreon- please consider helping to support my writing!