Sex and sexuality, kink and fetishes, I love all that stuff. They are huge passions for me, in the same way I have friends who are super into fashion or video games or 90’s cartoons or cooking. I love learning about them. I love talking about them. I love sharing about them. Because they interest me and people naturally like to share the things they’re interested in. It’s what the internet is there for. But that doesn’t make my sexuality, that I choose to share with you, yours.
And most of my fans—my lovely, lovely, fantastic fans—get this, I think. The people who actually take the time to look at what I do and write and post. Who leave awesome comments and send me amazing messages. Who have the common courtesy to treat me like a human being. They understand and rock my world.
But, as for the rest, who seem to get off on firing off the same dick-jerk reaction message for threesomes or bootycalls or naked vids or pics that they’ve just sent to twenty-five other profiles just tonight…why? Just why?
These people are ruining it for everybody. They are why porn quality and sex culture in general is spotty, at best. These are the people who inspire angry Tumblr groups. These are the people who make women everywhere bitter as hell. Because people like them make people like me feel like trash and opt out of the landscape. So just, please, stop.
And I know that I recently just had a blog post about how I’m—in the loosest sense—a sex worker, but I’m not actually a porn star or an escort or even interested in casual sex. Yes, I have very revealing, very sexualized photos of myself online, but I’m still not a porn star or an escort or even interested in casual sex. I talk about sex, sex positivity, and sexual health a lot on this blog, but that still doesn’t actually make me a porn star or an escort or even interested in casual sex.
Not that there’s anything inherently wrong with being any of those things but, even in the face of all that I do, I’m still none of those things. And, despite what anyone else may think, I haven’t done anything to invite the assumption. I may post erotica, but I don’t do so on porn sites. I may talk about sex, but I don’t do so on escort sites. Nowhere on any of my profiles do I talk about looking for new play or sex partners. Know why? Because I’m not. If that is what you are looking for—Awesome! Go you! I wish you the best of luck.—but the internet has fabulous search options for you to find that. And none of them will lead you to me.
And, even if I were a porn star or an escort or DTF, Random People Clicking Through for Easy Hook-Ups and Uninvited Photo-Trading, that still wouldn’t give anyone the right to treat me—or anyone, really—like some kind of PornBot here for their convenience. Sending me unsolicited pictures of your dick does not make me more inclined to send you a naked photo back. You telling me that you think I’m sexy doesn’t obligate me to dirty chat with you. And, when I decline your invite to have a threesome with you and your wife while you’re laid-over at MSP airport, please understand the answer will not change if you offer me money. I know it’s the internet and that creates a certain amount of isolated distance between the surfer and the online person they’re interacting with but, take it from one of those online persons, we’re people too.
We exist outside of your screen.
We have day-jobs and families and friends. We eat balanced (and not-so-balanced) breakfasts and brush our teeth twice a day (most of the time). We have fat days and lazy days and crazy schedules. We have likes and dislikes. Boundaries and last straws. And, when people treat us like a series of words and pixels that don’t deserve basic, human respect, yeah, we don’t like it any more than anyone else in the world does.
You can buy my books—and, lord knows, I would never say no to a donation—but I, personally, am not for sale.
And, again, I feel like most of the people I interact with on here and other social media understand this. I get far more messages from people who love my stories. Or from people who love my blogs. Or from people who love my photos. And I love all of that. Honestly, nothing makes my day more than that kind of feedback. And I’ve had some really great on-going correspondences with a lot of great people through doing this; some of whom I’ve been talking with from the start of this crazy journey. I can’t even tell you how much that marvels and amazes me.
And I do my best to show that. I’ve received and done story requests before. I’ve answered fan questions before. I try to respond to every comment. I do my best to be as interactive as I can be. Because, if you took the time to check out what I do and reach out to me about it, I want to—I am thrilled to—reach back.
But, if I don’t have something posted that you want—like videos or fully nude photos or my phone number or my home address—by all means, you can ask me about it. But don’t assume it’s something you’ve got coming to you. Like it’s something that I owe you. Because, chances are, I’ve got reasons for why I don’t post those things. And that’s not only my choice, it’s also non-negotiable. Please, don’t argue with me about it; there isn’t an argument out there that will make the things I decide to keep private yours to do with as you please.
Like I said, I understand that I’ve chosen to share this side of myself—my kinks, my desires, my sexuality—with the world, but that doesn’t make it any less mine, much less make it any more yours. In the same way you wouldn’t ask a video game vlogger to send you their gaming system or a chef who blogs to send you the food they make or a cosplayer to send you their costume, what makes it okay to ask someone who blogs about sex for sex, in any form? And, if you are going to go for it, please—please—before you make any other assumption about the kind of person I am, could you assume that I’m a person first and not like something you wishlisted on Amazon?
So thank you for the compliment I will assume you meant it as, but please understand that it’s not as flattering or as effective as you think it is. If you want to have sex with me—or anyone anywhere—be it cyber or IRL, then endeavor to be someone someone would want to have sex with. Be friendly. Be polite. Be interesting. Be the kind of person you would want to interact with. It may not, even after all the effort, get you laid but, I guarantee you, it’ll not only have increased your odds of getting lucky, it’ll have made you a better person.