Just the ramblings of a retired adult industry worker.
We can thank Michael for the background art. See more of his work here.
And…thanks for joining me. 🙂
“The More Things Change, The More They Remain The Same” – Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr
“Once a Whore, Always a Whore” – my mother
Yeah, so, I’m back at it (kind of). This is my sixth pregnancy and I’m obviously older than I was during the others. I’ve gained more weight. I earned a few stretch marks and funky veins this time. Yet somehow, I’m feeling pretty darn good about myself. I’m loving my big belly and feeling oddly confident in my skin right now.
So I’ve dipped my toe back into the waters that I know too well. I’ve done a few sets of photos and short video clips. Just received a new webcam and I’m looking forward to playing with that. I’d love to shoot some full scenes, but the industry still gets on my nerves…so I’m not sure it will happen.
Maybe I should feel guilty, but I don’t. At this point, I don’t feel like the industry can cause me any more grief than it already has. Plus I’m really doing things on my own terms at the moment. And it does feel good to be good at something.
So there it is.
Television had me convinced that if my children ever came out as gay, I was guaranteed to have some certain feelings about it. Even if I was supportive, I was supposed to be a bit upset and worried about their future. Maybe a bit mournful over how things could have been. No matter what, there was supposed to be some drama involved.
Well shockingly enough, television was wrong. Didn’t really feel a darn thing. I’m happy that they’re figuring themselves out, and that they’re comfortable enough with themselves not to hide in the closet.
There was not an iota of grief, regret, anger, fear…nothing.
Therefore my bout with Christianity seems to be over for now. I can’t sit in a building full of people who hate (or even just feel the need to “pray for” my kids), just because of who they’re attracted to.
I know that there are “tolerant” and “open-minded” churches out there. But the religion as a whole has made their opinions on the matter clear. And I just can’t participate in any of that. I’m still cool with Jesus, and I’ll continue to donateand serve others like I believe he’d want me to.
The world is difficult enough without having to hide who you are or pretend to be something that you’re not. I’m not the loud and proud, PFLAG attending, type of person. But I do love these kids more than anything, and they fill my heart with pride every day.
Yesterday I hit the 3rd trimester. This has been the fastest pregnancy ever. I keep begging the universe for more time. An elephants gestation period or something. But the universe just seems to be laughing at my requests.
I’ve been rather sick and on temporary disability from work. Feeling like a big ol loser at the moment. But I know a lot of that is hormones, and that this too shall pass.
I haven’t done any modeling, etc. due to being ill. But I will be taking some maternity pictures soon. I have zero interest in little chalkboards or making a heart with my hands in front of my belly. No desire to hold tiny sneakers next to my bump or use alphabet blocks that spell out his name. And I’m definitely not feeling those awkward pics where the expecting couple embraces each other while topless and making googly eyes at her belly.
I’m really wanting to do some post-apocalyptic boudoir/maternity type of pictures. Though folks give me a weird side-eye when I tell them that lol.
So because people are nosy and have been asking. Yes, I am pregnant (again). This will be baby number 6. Yep, another (adorable) biracial baby. And no, I haven’t done any scenes or anything else like that.
If my teenage daughter and I see a spider in the living room at night, we’re going to panic.
When we realize it’s the size of a tennis ball, we’ll get the shop vac to suck it up.
After we’ve sucked it up, we’ll squeal and chuck the shop vac out onto the porch (if it gets stolen, it gets stolen).
Then we’ll realize that we need supplies, so we’ll go to the 24 hour Walmart to purchase natural bug sprays (and maybe some snacks).
Once we make it home, it’ll be time to wash every blanket and piece of bedding that we can find.
While the bedding is in the washer, we’ll tear apart the couches and beds to check for more bugs.
By then, it will be time to blast everything with the natural bug sprays.
After the place has been doused with essential oils, we’ll realize that we’re suffocating a bit.
So we’ll open up all of the windows, and go outside for some fresh air.
We might eat some snacks.
Afterward, we’ll put the place back together. Then we’ll realize that it’s very late, and we are exhausted.
So we’ll get into our beds, and play on our devices all night long.
Because once we’ve seen a spider in the living room, there is no way that we are going to sleep that night.
On a personal note, I was baptized yesterday. It has me feeling a bit invigorated, so I thought I’d post some of the small things that I do to try and help others. Poverty and especially homelessness are issues that hit close to home for me. Overcoming those challenges continues to be a struggle. But I’ve come a long way, and I’m very fortunate.
I skipped over blessing bags because information on those can be found everywhere. So here are 5 of my favorite, simple (and low cost) ways to help people in need.
I will do much more in the future to help tackle this complicated issue. But in the meantime, these are some of the small things that I can do to try and make a difference.
I’m just giving a middle finger to the world for now and doing me. I’ve provided so much of myself freely. My body, my thoughts, my name, my privacy, my life has all been out there for public consumption. I gave so much and received nothing more than a few dollars and some (mostly unwanted) attention in return.
And it’s never enough.
I am still bombarded with emails and private messages from complete strangers. People who demand answers about where I am and what I’ve been doing with myself. Men begging me to get back into porn. Spamming my social media pages with vulgar pictures of myself. Telling me how much they “love” me as they’re making my life hell. Not to mention the sickening amount of focus that many dudes seem to have on my daughters.
I take responsibility for making this bed. But seriously, fuck ya’ll.
But since folks want to be nosy. I’ve been hanging out with my kids, working, and in my free time, I’m trying to learn coding and other computer related skills.
I’ve had people email me and wonder why I stopped writing. I didn’t stop. I just haven’t been.
I was advised that it’s easier to maintain an online presence on Twitter.
I don’t want an online presence.
13 years of the sex industry has changed me and isolated me in ways that most people just are not going to understand. And I’ve given up on trying to help folks understand.
Sometimes I get lonely and write up a blog post.
And you know who (for the most part) follows my blog?
My old fans.
Isn’t that some sick irony?
One of the most common questions I get asked at work is “how do I keep my wife/husband from finding out about this bank account?” Seriously. It comes up all the time.
You know who visits escorts the very most? Married men. Not military guys. Not widowers. Not young or inexperienced dudes. Ninety-plus percent of the time it is married men. The majority of them who claim to be there because their wives recently had babies…and now they don’t want to fuck often enough.
Just some stuff that I notice and think about when I see my social media friends doing the marriage thing. Many, for the 2nd, 3rd, or 4th time…
For some reason, I’m just not at all interested in getting married.
*****I don’t generally do any trigger warnings since the entire blog is a free-for-all of adult topics. But if you’re at all sensitive…just skip this post*****
I’m not sure of the reasons why. But the children are being eaten alive. They know they are going to die. Most seem oddly at peace with it. Many have their favorite music playing to help distract them from the pain.
I’m forced to eat some of my son. Carefully I scrape off the smallest pieces of his skin that I can get away with. He’s being so brave and is really proud of himself for not crying.
My time is done and a man is there, ready for his turn. My expectation (hope) was that he would be as cautious as I was. I assumed that he’d try and drag the process out the same way that I did. Attempt to minimize the boy’s suffering.
He digs right in. Cutting, stabbing, consuming. And he refuses to let me hold my sons hand during the process. The boy is crying, and clearly in agony. I’m frozen by the horror of it all and how helpless I am to do anything about it. Even though I know my son is about to die, I can’t fully comprehend it.
I don’t have a good way to wrap this up. My stomach still feels icky over this one. I have nightmares almost every night, but this one is really sticking with me. Probably because it hits too close to home. No, I’ve obviously never had to eat a child. But I am lost as to how to help one of my children who desperately needs assistance. I still can’t wrap my mind around some of the things that have happened. Feel like I’m living out a bad Lifetime movie or something.