The kink party

It was the anniversary of my friend’s girlfriend coming out. Instructions were to come in a “kinky” costume, and I did. I wore a bra, shorts, and some bondage tape. It was a fun night, and now the photos are on facebook.

This night over dinner my roommates and I debated whether we should take them down or not. We all hope for professional careers one day and so after a night of drinking, kinky costumes and games that involve removing clothing and, for some, lap-dances (for what is 2am games of Truth or Dare for if not to express repressed sexuality?), what rings very strongly in our minds are stories of people like Ashley Payne. Ashley Payne was fired for having pictures of her drinking on facebook. Also victims of such invasions of their rights outside work are Ellen Simonetti, and Carlie beck. A quick googling will find you many more examples.

It was sadly recognised that S, the man among us, probably won’t get a huge amount of trouble for having gone to a uni party in drag. Boys will be boys, after all! But Me, J and E, will probably face a day when we have to scrub our facebooks and photobuckets and livejournals, because as women, our private life is treated as everyone else’s fucking business. And if I go to a party looking “trashy” as some people would term it, then it’s perfectly reasonable to judge there must be something wrong with me. I am a DAMN GOOD student, and the knowlegde that this is coming is disturbing.

And of course, as much of a shit place as E and J find themselves in, I have more pictures online. They are more explicit and they were exchanged for money. I have pictures of me holding panties stained with menstrual blood, and pictures of me naked with my legs in the air. My face isn’t in any of these pictures, but my email address connects the account to me.

To everyone who just thought, “that’s dumb”, at me using my personal email for the panty selling business, fuck you. I do not have to give in to the patriarchal pressure to keep anything sexual seperate from my “normal” life. I didn’t want the hassle of setting up and regularly checking a fake account. I don’t see why I should. I’m taking a risk with my future, but it’s MY future I’m risking. I want to be a psychologist. I will be damn fucking good at it, mark my words. And that should be the only thing that matters for the entirity of my career.

Naive? No. I know this could bite me in the ass, like J’s underwear-only lapdancing pictures and E’s corset. But if it’s going to bite me, so be it. Because I do not want to act in fear of what judgemental assholes are going to take from me.

I will go out alone at night. I will wear short skirts and low cut tops. I will walk with confidence. I will tell you to go fuck yourself when you tell me to smile and I will scream at men who assault me in clubs. I will do everything I can to not live afraid.

That isn’t true of me right now. I’m terrified, like we all are. But damn it, I shouldn’t be, and I’m going to make this my battle cry. I will not let you make me afraid.

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I made $35 and a bondage bra

It’s a sweaty purple tank top. It doesn’t fit me well enough for me to be comfortable wearing it anywhere I want to look good, so I decide to get rid of it. I wear it during sweat-inducing activities for a couple of days, and in bed. Take some pictures, put it up on the site and overnight someone selected the $35 “Buy it now” price I had set.

I’m relieved, because my financial situation is currently fucked. I have work lined up in July, but for the last few weeks of uni I n,eed to concentrate on my exams (and I doubt I’d be able to find anything anyway – I couldn’t for the rest of the year). My rent is paid up, but my food budget is £2.50 a day and I’m sick of rice and lentils. This money is welcome. It’s what stops me borrowing from my parents or my boyfriend, its what stops me over-drawing my bank account. And its what stops me getting scurvy from never having fresh food. I have enough options (boyfriend and parents) that this is still technically a “choice” for me, but not by much. But then, working in Starbucks wouldn’t be a choice either in this circumstance, and I’m finding that selling to fetishists gives me far better working conditions.

I’m going to a fetish party on Saturday, with “kink” themed costumes mandatory. I’m going as “bondage” – I will wrap myself up in bondage tape and a japanese rope tie (a cheap crap one which I shouldn’t have bought; at least it will be used for something). I’m hoping to sell sets of HQ pictures from it. Previously I’ve got $25 for 15 pictures.

The pictures freak me out because I’m not comfortable with my body. I have pudgy bits and body hair and stretch marks. But, $25 and I don’t have to look at them more than once. In a way this whole thing is increasing my confidence. I doubt a month ago I would have been willing to go to a party in nothing but a bondage tape bra and knickers. I don’t know if this is a good development or not. Am I gaining confidence or just a desire for people to pay attention to my body?

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Today, I peed my pants for money

My housemates are out for the evening, so I nip down stairs with a camera in one hand and a pair of lace cotton knickers in the other. I put the panties on, sit on the toilet, and aim the camera. I pee.

I’m hoping to make about $30 out of this.

On the 9th of May I joined an online “erotic” auction site. I got hit with a water and electric bill I couldn’t handle, and was still financially reeling from the £360 repair fees for my laptop. Work is scarce, especially work which doesn’t conflict with my uni schedule. I reasoned that I already owned panties, a camera, and my body. It couldn’t hurt to try.

Today is the 7th of June, nearly a month since this first began and the auction site tells me I have made $210, or £145. I’ve seen girls make more than that in a single auction, but I’m still trying to build up an audience. I feel like I’ve done well though. It’s keeping me in fresh fruit.

I started this blog to keep track of the developments in my endevours, and to relay things I see on the site, and for commentary on its mental effect on me, and the people I come in contact with. I am a feminist. I am now (granted, in its safest and mildest form) a sex worker. I am have white privelege, I am able-bodied but mentally ill, I am middle class, and I benefit from being in a heterosexual relationship (though I am queer).

I hope I can be insightful enough to write about my experiences with all of these things in mind. This blog will hopefully be, first and foremost, a feminist – or womanist – blog documenting my online sales. Everyone is welcome, all thoughts are appreciated.

The auction for my pee pants ends in two days. I’ll let you know what I make.

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