Long Story Short:
I’m a tall, lonely, girl that’s already seen it all on the northeast coast of Massachusetts. I live a blessed silly life, with silly problems, but I’m grateful for every moment. I’m not sure how much time I have left on this earth, but I’d like to enjoy all that remains. I’ve had every job you can think of for a girl my age.
Sometimes I think my life is a never-ending routine of cooking, cleaning the kitchen, and caring for my two cats. I live alone in an illegal attic space, yet in a house of legal Mexicans. I’m hoping to move sometime in 2024 if Chaturbate allows me to. God is good.
Long Story Long:
Once upon a time, I was a 19-year-old burnt out waitress on Flirt4free.com, livestreaming from a guest bedroom at my “boyfriend’s” mom’s house, using a college gifted laptop and a basic webcam.
Lilly Lovegood was the name, inspired by the fictional character ‘Luna Lovegood” from the world of Harry Potter.
Looking back, I’m not sure why I didn’t pick a name more “adult,” like Lucy, or Lola. I was lacking perspective.
I didn’t last one month, before quitting, anyway. I chose to explore the strip club instead, after my 20th birthday. I had no idea how to orgasm, how to finish a hand job, and zero desire for sex so not much of a virtual “sexshow” to be had.
I was the local “overnight” diner waitress at the time, and I only knew I needed out of that lifestyle. There is nothing glamourous about the graveyard shift at a 24-hour eatery.
‘The Girls Next Door‘ reruns on late night television, and the movie Burlesque when I was 18, fueled my desire for glamour and sexy energy beyond my grasp of it.
My roots thou are very on point for hosting my own adult chatroom for work in the future. I was just missing the technical aspect of it all.
Let’s go back in time, and expand here:
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Being December born, I was always youngest of my classmates, yet eldest of my siblings. I didn’t speak until five thou, and I needed a speech therapist up thru middle school to learn how to talk. Now my vocabulary is excellent but every once in a while, I trip up on pronouncing some language, when speaking too fast.
I’ve been using a computer, thanks to my father, ever since I can remember. My father had custody of me primarily after 5th grade, as I told my elementary school teacher that my mother hit my three little sisters and I was scared for them. It was a dear diary exercise where secrets where encouraged.
DCF separated me from mother, but she got away with her crimes and kept custody of all my little sisters. At the time I was 10, and they were 7,1, and just a few months old.
I’ve always found peace sitting at a computer thou. An escape from the chaos. A world where there was logic, and a calming grounding to be had.
My innocent computer days with ‘Reader Rabbit’ and Disney Channel online games took a turn by the end of middle school. I was bullied back then for being different grades 5 thru 7. Tall, skinny, and didn’t fit in.
Yet somehow, I was voted and won “Class Clown” in 8th grade, thou. A yearbook superlative label given to me by my peers as a “we are laughing with you, not at you” sentiment.
So, in my loner time, I built a Hilary Duff fan site (hdgalaxy.com back then) when I was nearly twelve. She was the first music I ever connected with when she started singing, after her ‘Lizzie Mcguire’ years. She was everything I wanted to become.
I wasn’t allowed sleepovers, but I was allowed a computer next to my bed. Designing fan collages, studying html layouts, copy pasting coding, moving beyond template builder, it was all my safe haven. Passion for graphic design, and an eye for detail came naturally.
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The few friends I did have in middle school all used “AIM” (AOL Instant Messenger) or Myspace to socialize with their time online… I, however, wasn’t allowed to have access to this. There was a parent blocker of some sort for Myspace, and my dad only trusted Yahoo for emailing and/or data information.
Having access to ‘Yahoo Games,’ I started playing ‘Yahoo Pool’ after watching my father play real life pool with his friends. He was a manager/permittee at a veteran club, and I witnessed many adults bonding/drinking while playing real life pool, so I guess online pool was my way of “growing up.”
A hobby to give my eyes a rest from coding, or celebrity gossip related webpages. Yahoo ‘pool rooms’ had chatroom features with strangers and being banned/forbidden from AIM this was my next best option.
I was excited to chat “like a cool girl.” How thrilling? Yet, I found myself being ‘kicked’ out of game rooms after answering “ASL?” too honest.
‘Age, Sex, Location’ was the first thing a pool chatroom stranger ever wanted to ask. I started upping my age to 15, then 17, then 19, before I found myself “allowed” to play and chat.
This was where Yahoo Pool suddenly wasn’t about friendly games. I was being asked ‘what I liked in the bedroom’, or ‘what I was wearing.’ I had no idea how to answer these questions, but I liked the chatting opportunity.
Hosting my own adult chat room one day I had not the slightest clue I’d be doing, but I do recall enjoying my time instant messaging strangers as a pre-teen/teenager. I don’t think I ever got to any “crazy level” with it all, but it made me feel good to be engaged with.
I quit secret online chatting thou, and all website hobbies in high school, by the end of my freshman year.
I was 15, and a sophomore when I had my first date. I was 16 and in a relationship with “my first love” junior year. Donny. He was lead actor in “drama club,” and I was just a set/stage design tech hand.
I wasn’t confident enough to be seen on stage. I didn’t want to be, just yet. Donny thrived in the spotlight, thou.
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I had my first kiss at 16… then gave my first blowjob the same year. It was Donny’s 17th birthday the summer going into senior year when I attempted to lose my virginity.
It didn’t work thou. My lady parts wouldn’t budge/open. Of course, we didn’t have any lube, but the condom should have been slippery enough, right?
I said I “loved” this boy, but my body somehow refused to let me explore sex. There was no working our way inside me, it was like a brick wall, I recall. I guess I was too young, looking back now, honestly.
We both gave up confused, and I tried to swallow his nut shortly thereafter instead, but I gagged. I spit it back out immediately and told him, “He was gross.”
TBH I actually always found his essence gross. It wasn’t real love. We were just two awkward teens bored and hormonal. I actually remember borrowing a hoodie to be ‘cute’ while dating, but his scent in the fabric made me want to hurl walking to the bus stop one day. I guess we weren’t soulmates afterall, LOL.
Regardless, I was broken up with the first day of senior year, and Donny immediately moved on with an older girl who had her driver’s license. She was shorter than me. (Being 5′ 12″ what girl wasn’t shorter than me?)
I took this heart break a bit too personally of course… I didn’t want to eat, I didn’t want to be on the computer, I had zero ambition for life. (I blame the TV show Survivor for glamorizing not eating) but I had no close friends to lean on.
It was a long miserable senior school year, and looking back, I wish I had learned healthy behavior from somewhere, gotten help, and learned habits to pull myself out of the funk. Sisters all too young, and distant, to understand or help me see my own value. A “mother” that was batshit crazy.
Fast forward to graduation, I was finally allowed MY driver’s license. Dad bought me a Chevy Cavalier as a graduation gift, but in exchange he told me I needed to have a job first, and be ready to pay my own car insurance, and cell phone.
So, I walked to the nearest grocery store with a learner’s permit, and was immediately hired! I was just a store clerk/cashier, but happy/grateful about it. I was 17, and “ready” to grow up, so I thought.
I crushed on an older boy who was “head cashier,” and he worked two jobs as a part time EMT. He was often late to work, yet excused, and always snacking. He was skinny, and taller than me. Perfect crush material.
I wanted to impress him, so I got a 2nd job in the early mornings baking and kettling bagels. College classes were not of my interest, and I needed more freedom.
I tried being a Dunkin’ barista first, but I was fired almost immediately. Baking was a better fit for me while half asleep. This is when I also realized I would never be a bartender.
Emerson, the EMT, knew I liked him, and he kissed me in the break room one day when I was having a bad day. I was dizzy from not eating, and he said, “he knew how to make me feel better.” It felt like some kind of romance movie moment for me, but I later learned it was fake for him.
I was dumb obsessed with this boy. I was still mentally in high school with a big crush, and I wanted this ‘man.’ He was only a few years older than me, but not 21. Rumor had it he was drinking and having sex at house parties with a couple other girls in the grocery store.
I wasn’t “his type,” clearly, but I didn’t care though; I just wanted my turn. Lust, not love. I was too immature to figure out the difference thou.
I turned 18 that December, and immediately made a plan for having my own apartment.
I hated my college classes, and I didn’t make any friends commuting home every day. I didn’t have a future mapped out, and seeking some type of “heartbreak justice,” was all that mattered to me.
So, I became roommates with an older girl who worked the customer service booth, Trisha. She was in a committed relationship with a man in prison, and she said she too needed her own place, so he could be allowed to see her after serving time in a halfway house.
I was open about wanting sex with Emerson the EMT, and she encouraged it. Trisha, in her late twenties, thrived on workplace drama and took way too many Facebook selfies. She was a toxic girl, but still willing to help me help her, despite our bit of an age difference.
Trisha and I didn’t live similar lifestyles, but it felt no different than being assigned a random college roommate. I was ready for “a new life.” Freedom to explore sex and love awaited.
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I however had my childhood pet rabbit, Oliver, get injured outside in my dad’s garden, a couple weeks before I left home. Lease was signed. I had already written a check for 1st month worth of security, while Trisha paid the first month’s rent.
The emergency vet bill was just about the same cost of all my ‘savings’. The rabbit died at an out of state emergency vet hospital, even thou I spent all I could to save his life. Bunny death was a plot twist, and I panicked immediately.
My younger sister was prepared to take care of the bunny if he survived, she at 15 and finally got her turn to move in and live with dad full-time. (Our other sisters had different fathers.)
Her and I got along okay, but I was not about to share my bedroom with my sibling when I was a freshman in college just trying to have sex like a “cool girl”.
I was too scared to go to the strip club for money, having only just turnt 18, so I went to craigslist for fast help. I saw an ad for “adult modeling,” and this is the part where I fucked up more than ever imagined.
‘American Idol’ was casting… so was “America’s Next Top Model,” but I lacked the vision and support system. Nobody in my life was there to encourage fairytale dreams, and “special talent.” All I cared about was Emerson instead…
The craigslist man met me in the parking lot, at the local grocery store plaza, to talk to me about “the modeling gig.” He quickly said sex on video would have to be involved in order to get the amount of quick money I was looking for to outweigh the vet bill.
I hadn’t even ever watched a porno yet, but I had watched plenty of dramatic daytime soap opera “love making” scenes on “The Young and the Restless”. What was the difference, really?
Trigger Warning: I was stupid.
He said they would use condoms, and that “nobody would find the video.” He said, “it was for a company that only sold outside of the US, looking for tall/unique/amateur girls like me.” It was all to be “DVD only, and no internet sales“. I somehow believed and trusted him.
I had heard Kim Kardashian had a “sex tape,” so I justified that this was a “cool girl” thing to do. I was convinced the experience would “teach me how to have sex” for Emerson, open my hole, and give me my apartment security/freedom. A double “win-win.” I was game for the trade.
There was a boy in the deli department who smoked a lot of cannabis… and I needed a secret accomplice. I was a little scared, and needed someone to know where I was going in case, I didn’t come home that night.
Deli boy, Matty, was a year younger than me, but he liked me for me. (I actually went to his senior prom as a college freshman that spring.) We both had a class clown type of connection/energy.
Matty also knew I was crazy for Emerson, and this weed favor wasn’t the first time I wanted his help.
Shortly after we first met, I actually asked Matty to give me a hickey on my neck to get Emerson’s attention. (Which worked, thank you, since this was a bit prior to that breakroom kiss.)
Matty wanted to do more than fake neck kiss, but he respected that I only wanted Emerson.
I told Matty “I needed to borrow his smoking pipe and weed for a casting audition,” and he complied with few questions.
The night of the “sex tape” gig, I drove alone to a city hotel after sunset, and smoked in the parking garage with his supplies, and nearly zero weed experience. I had smoked with Matty and another coworker ONCE, and this was my first time smoking alone.
I assumed it was like alcohol. I was wrong.
After I got ‘high’, two men met me in the garage, and walked me inside. After helping me create a fake backstory, sign papers, and telling me what to say on camera, it was time to “do the deed.”
The camera guy was the one who met me at my workplace. His friend was the stunt-cock, and I changed my mind three seconds after filming, but it was too late. The “sex tape” experience turned out to be “rape tape,” and the whole thing hurt.
I was in pain, but the drugs making everything worse was my own fault. Halfway through I almost tapped out, the guys offered me alcohol to help finish the scene, but I refused it, knowing I had to drive home soon.
The feeling of “make it stop, when will this be over?” stuck with my mind and body for YEARS. This sex work experience was the biggest mistake of my whole life to date. I now hated the thought. How could I be so stupid??
What was worse? I couldn’t tell anybody, not even Matty, that the two men didn’t have the money we agreed on. They said my performance wasn’t “a good one” and that I was worth $400 because of limitations and my imperfections… even thou we had agreed on $700 the day he first met with me.
It was protected sex, but I was broken.
I was lied to. I was used, and “it was all my fault, because I signed up for it.” I couldn’t tell anybody either, because I was embarrassed. I was given no copy of any paperwork, and that was it.
I did, however, promise myself from that moment on, that I would never sell my holes again with a stranger, on or off camera, no matter what, the rest of my life.
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When Emerson had finally come over for “real sex“, shortly after this trauma, it was the second worse moment of my life. He was done after two quick pumps inside me, and I was mentally destroyed.
Emerson made sex with me a “45 second” experience, and I threw away my virginity to a stranger on camera with force and pain for what felt like hours… all to have him not give an actual damn about me?! Excuse me??
Emerson had zero interest to spend the night, have a deep talk, date, or go out after work. I was just a quick young fuck, and my heart was shattered.
We had regular car sex in his tinted windows “cool guy” car for a few months thou. Always with a condom too. I attempted to replace the trauma tape memory with his touch, hoping for better experiences each time, but the whole thing was gross and stupid. All toxic.
The grocery store went bankrupt that late spring, a job fair and store union deal guaranteed everyone a new job elsewhere to start early summer. Matty found a girlfriend, and we lost touch after his prom/graduation.
I never saw Emerson again, but eventually I got a phone call and voicemail many months after the fact. He apologized for our whole “relationship,” and was clearing his conscience I guess for a new relationship. I cherished the closure, even though he broke my heart. He’s now married, a decade later.
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I was transferred down the shoreline, an hour away from my hometown, to start over. The new grocery store was only 25/30 minutes away from my college campus, so it seemed reasonable to accept the job.
Driving was the only thing I had confidence in from the very beginning, because driving gave me stereo freedom and singing opportunities every day.
I had been so deeply psychologically scarred, I wanted to be new person. Someone different. Far away was fitting for me. I had four music CDs in my car. Four albums that I knew every word/lyric.
Recovery by Eminem, Lovestrong by Christina Perri, Back to Basics by Christina Aguilera, and Speak Now by Taylor Swift.
Taylor Swift was still young in her overall music career, but with her roots in country, I found comfort singing along with a southern twang, the commute from work to home was an hour almost daily.
Starting work in the new grocery store, I made a commitment to talk with an accent, and decided to pretend to be from Louisiana. Singing with an accent, couldn’t be much different than speaking with one.
Actress perhaps I was. I know this sounds mental. I had already gone mental. I just wanted to be likable. I wanted to be different. I wanted to like life instead of hating it. I wanted fun.
I really did have family down south, too, in my defense. My dad’s brother was in Louisiana, and the summer before starting my senior year in high school I went down there for nearly a full week.
It was my first plane ride. My dad was the black sheep of the family, and growing up his brothers rarely visit us. My uncle and aunt were wealthy, and that short lived one week of summer vacation was pure happiness.
They both worked from home and lived dream lives. I guess I wanted to hold on to their presence in my life. Hope that my life could be good, nice, and fun like theirs one day. I had never seen life like theirs.
Having been to Louisiana two years prior to this new beginning, what was the difference between being from there, and/or an hour away from home?
My imagination was all I had. It was summer before my sophomore year of college, and I had nothing else going for me. Life felt empty, and I wanted nobody’s life around me. No inspiration for better living anywhere.
My father married when I was in high school, and this summer I also had been informed by my new step siblings that ‘my porno video” was on the internet. My secret was exposed.
It had only been maybe 6 months since shooting it. “GirlsDoPorn” fucked my life AGAIN.
Someone on my stepmother’s side of the family had watched it with their wife and recognized me. My stepmother’s kids were all grown, and older than me, and they all had seen it. Now the family thought I was slut. They assumed I was doing “all porn” now.
I was too scared to ask for the rape tape link. Instead, I begged everyone to stay quiet about it, and I cut away communication with family; I ran away from it. I’m not sure anyone believed me that it was a onetime thing. Wasn’t the pain of it obvious thou?!
GirlsDoPorn company lied to me, it wasn’t a “DVD company”, and it was a .com members-only website portal, that had all their videos leaked to bigger pornsites for profit and advertisement. That’s how porn works. I was naive. Young, and dumb.
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When I was transferred to the pizza department of this new grocery store, thanks to my bagel experience, it was all a “new world.” Long story short, I ended up getting fired by the wintertime for eating pizza at closing time instead of throwing it away as directed. What a fucked up new world.
My crazy roommate, Trisha, was pregnant, my one-year lease back in my hometown was just about up, and baking bagels at 5am was miserable.
Closing the pizza shop at night, and going to classes in the afternoons, I was burnt out. Screw that low-grade pizza. I needed out.
Craigslist had tons of serving ads… I used my pizza and bagel resume to get a job at a 24-hour diner, serving tables for overnights. I had food experience, and customer service experience with the prior cashiering.
The lady that interviewed me, told me, as long as “I didn’t cry easy”, they would give me a chance to be trained as a server. Management adored my innocence and enthusiasm, among other things.
Hours were 5pm to 4am Friday-Sunday. 5pm-9pm during the weekdays. I never cried at the diner, and I was too high to -thanks to my new sudden “boyfriend.”
Mr. boyfriend was a stock clerk that took interest in me, before leaving the pizza department life behind. We were both 18 going on 19, and he was taller than me.
He was goofy looking, dorky, but he smoked cannabis, and made it his whole personality. He was kind to me, and total opposite energy as Emerson.
I pushed him away at first, but then changed my mind. I needed his affection, and drugs.
He was a college dropout, and I quit college at the same time as quitting bagel baking. I was done living a life I hated. Quitting school after taking high school way too seriously, felt good. I took my first bong rip with this dude, and the next day I stopped going to class. Am I a basic bitch?
“Boyfriend” reminded me of Matty, and I took comfort being immature with him. Having innocent fun. More reality escaping with lack of ambition… we were just a couple of kids mentally. We’ll call him ‘Peter Pan’ because he/(we) didn’t want to grow up.
Peter Pan lived at home, by the ocean, and I was just a valley girl… a 6ft tall valley girl who wanted a taste of his freedom. He was my source for cannabis. Cannabis was the only coping mechanism I had to embrace my new life.
I ended up moving in with him, and his mother, when my apartment lease was up. His father was a Broadway lighting designer, and never home because of constant world travel. His mother a sex therapist.
The first time I had ever went to her home to introduce myself, she told me her son was in the shower upstairs, and “towels were in the linen closest if I wanted to join him.”
Despite the odd red flag of open sexuality, this woman adored me and the fake accent.
The accent game continued as a waitress for tips and went to the first strip club I ever walked into at 20 years old as “Lilly Lovegood,” before dropping the southern belle act at 21.
Going back to 18 and 19 years old thou, I knew quickly the “relationship” I was in wasn’t healthy. It was all a facade. I was never naturally attracted to this man, same as Donny. There was no attraction spark physically. I settled in exchange for comfort.
Our ‘cannabis freedom’ was the only glue holding things together. ‘Peter Pan’ told me he was a virgin when we first met, which was believable, as he was incredibly awkward. This felt empowering to me.
However, his dick had a banana shaped curve to his belly button and was ugly to me. He was uncut, and I now can’t recall any brief sex we ever had at the start of our “relationship.” His package was nothing at all like my high school sweetheart, or Emerson, and I wanted nothing to do with sex with it.
I knew the only way to leave this facade eventually was to have money… which I had none of.
Back to craigslist I went, this time I found a promising CruiseLine’s advertisement for being a deck hand or steward/maid/server.
It was a live-in position 12 weeks at time, and the money was too good to be true. I just needed a clean record, clean drug test, and waitress experience.
I had only one childhood friend left from high school that still talked to me on occasion, and I asked her to pee for me, so I could have this chance a new life. We went to our local Dunkin Donuts, and I smuggled her piss in a mini m&m tube, inside a testing office.
I burnt my stomach with it, as we used a cup of hot tea water from Dunkin to keep it “at passing temperature”. LOL
That friendship was thrown away, soon after thou, as she was angry with me for getting fired two weeks into the position. I was the weakest link on the cruise ship. The hours were 6am to 7pm with one daily break between 2 and 4pm.
It was hell being so young, and inexperienced with life. Most girl employees shared one space at the top of the boat, with bunkbeds and shower curtain “dividers” for privacy. (Boys at the bottom of the ship.)
It was a 7-day rotating cruise path, and when it was time to make a staff cut due to a smaller weekly guest sign up, I was voted off the ship. Kinda like the TV show “Survivor”. I was the odd one out.
American Cruiselines, however, uses your first paycheck for plane fare, and work clothes funding. The company makes you sign paperwork that legally protects them from all lawsuits before the start date.
When accepting the job offer you sign and agree that their company is responsible for getting you to the boat, but not home from the boat.
With no direct deposits pending, Peter Pan’s mom used her credit card to get me a three-day Greyhound bus ticket back home. A street stranger who helped me find the local bus station, heard my story, and gifted me a pack of cigarettes since I pretended to smoke. I sold every cigarette as a loosey to real smokers for fast food money.
I found out years after the fact, my actual mother asked my grandmother (her mom) for money to “help get me home,” but she kept the cash, and told me to kick rocks. She had no money trying to raise my little sisters with a Walmart paycheck.
She teased I should have stayed in school, before hanging up on me. My father had no means to help either but wished me luck a whole lot nicer. He is a good man.
PeterP’s mom was/is my “fairy godmother” truly thou. She still supports me to this day, a whole decade later, post-breaking-up with her son.
Anyway: the stupid overnight diner let me have my job back immediately, but I was teased for the failed venture.
Management made it clear that I had to earn being liked again, as I had left not so nicely in the middle of a serving shift. A dramatic exit. A “scene”, because I thought I was about to make big bucks in Florida water. Oops.
This was when I knew stripping was all that was left for me eventually. How else would I earn better money than the diner?
FlirtForFree.com was a random ad I found at that time, back then, but this was the same year Chaturbate had just launched. Wish I knew then, what I know now.
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Returning from the cruise ship thou, it was time for my first “family vacation.” A small family lake house for a few days in upstate NY. The mother, PeterP and I, all funded on his dad’s dime. A reunion roleplay even though I knew I still didn’t have real feelings for this boy.
- I told ‘Peter Pan’ the first night of that vacation, I had a secret, that I wanted to end my life, and I had no hope for anything. I was ready to unalive myself.
I was the family “slut” that hated sex. I was hopeless, broke, and scared about finding a safe strip club for new work life. Webcamming with no sex drive- or knowledge how to masturbate -was already a joke.
We however made vows to love one another no matter what, “forever”, and never choose suicide. It was a pact that felt like marriage. I said, “I love you,” but I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mirror this man’s likes and dislikes. We weren’t the same person. there was never any soul yearning for more.
No long-term future to envision. It was just a bunch of immature fluff. All selfish. All an illusion. The worst karma in the world is to lie about love I later found out, once real star-crossed fate came along.
- The 2nd night of summer vacation, PeterP said he had a secret of his own he needed to say. He wanted to let me know he was “just a virgin with girls,” and that his high school boyfriend was hitting on him while I was away on the cruiseship. They had actually messed around in high school before we met.
Now I was stuck with a closeted, “bisexual,” boyfriend that I already promised to “love forever.” Was this “instant karma,” for lying about love?
His mother knew all about it too, hence pushing for our relationship from the very beginning. She believed in polyamory and told me “It was normal to want to explore.”
Meanwhile, I was uncomfortable with even ‘just kissing’ him at this point. Physical attraction was way beyond done. The attraction wasn’t even there in the first place… I was using him, just as much as he was using me. Just different greed.
My failed attempt with basement bedroom webcamming was now really over and having feelings of disgust towards sex got me nowhere online. I was trying to reclaim my sexual energy, but I was lost with no known feelings of what “being horny” felt like. No vibrators. No good sex experience.
That winter I turned 20, and I made my strip club debut and gave up with internet entertainment. I also bleached my hair platinum blonde, seeking change desperately.
I quickly used club dancing as an excuse for being “too tired” to ever “want to fuck”. Stage work on cement grounding really was rough on my body, since I never did pole tricks. I was also too young to drink.
I had limited VIP fantasy to offer being sexually shut off, so lap dances were aggressive.
I bought PeterP a fleshlight, and asked him to use that instead of me. Sometime shortly after this, he asked me to allow his bestie-boyfriend to be sexual with him, since we weren’t ever intimate… and so I did in secret.
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Fast forward to a year and a half later, being 21, I had my wisdom teeth removed by a special oral surgeon, and I needed change… I needed good sense ‘knocked into me,’ I felt. After surgery, I was ready to “do better” for myself. Afterall, why do they call them wisdom teeth?
In the summer, the strip club is slow, and I lost motivation to even want to dance, feeling stagnant in a dead-end relationship at a young age. Money wasn’t “out of this world,” considering I was sexually broken, and stupid.
No pole talent, no prostitution. Firm boundaries. My personality, and small chest, was barely getting me by. I dyed my hair red, for change again, because I was not having more “fun” blonde.
I felt like I was going to go the rest of my life sad. Sad and never having sex again. Never wanting sex isn’t natural; I was dead inside.
With no intimacy, PeterPan was a friendship I started to resent. A platonic friendship turning sour as we talked in baby voices, smoked weed, and did nothing for our future, let alone the greater good of mankind.
I was disgusted with what I let my life become. I was distant from my truest independent self, and God.
After the surgery in July, I couldn’t even smoke while healing, so it was time to find a new job as the strip club was boring sober. I went on the job hunt for August, but I had zero desire to return to waitressing.
One of PeterP’s friends worked at the local movie theater, and I had asked to get a job there the year prior, but his friend was against the idea for no good reason at the time.
The movie theater really needed help thou, and I guess a year of time is a long time to insist about a silly job, so I was referred and hired the end of the month. I started my new beginning after Labor Day weekend finally.
Corduroy, the manager of the theater, knew I was a dancer, but still interviewed me properly. The movie sized “Ted” cardboard cutout in his office said everything I needed to know about this man. He was the good sense. He unknowingly saved my life.
Corduroy didn’t sweep me off my feet, but he taught me I could stand on my own. This instant attraction was different than anything I ever knew previously. We were star crossed.
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Corduroy, also known as C.J., was imaginative and had a speaking voice like no other I ever heard before. He was different than the hundreds of males I had interacted with at the strip bars. Maybe thousands.
He was a poker player in his spare time and his intelligence sparked my curiosity right away. His grace and maturity were so refreshing. So inspiring. He was mysterious, and work rumors had it he was coming out of some type of “crazy girl” relationship.
His dark eyes reminded me of Emerson, back then, but as I grew older, my eyes in the mirror became his eyes in my own reflection. I reckon that’s why I recognized his eyes from the very start. Eyes like my own.
I couldn’t give him a proper blowjob on our first encounter, because the oral surgeon had “shaved a piece of my jawbone out” due to impacted sideways wisdom teeth ordeal, but to read more about that, and C.J. in depth, it’s on the diary collective page, and here.
I can remember almost all our sexual experiences thou while I was 21, on the brink of 22, because they were all firsts for me. None of it was quick car sex like Emerson. It was real sex, and a process, positions and dialogue, and a chemistry between us that drove me wild. His voice echoed in my mind.
I had a broken pussy however, I was never wet enough in the moment, and my scarred muscle memory of sex took years to heal… I wish I had been honest about my experience, instead of pretending to be a “well-seasoned play toy playmate.”
My feelings for this man were beyond the sex right away. He was a tech professional, internet coding genius, and a sense of humor that was darker and complicated. I knew early on; I never wanted another day without him. However, love isn’t enough when lies are involved.
Corduroy moved back to his Pennsylvania hometown a month after I turned 22, our fun was short lived, and I was devastated. Shot thru the heart.
A month after that, I finally broke free of my fake life and found a city girl roommate off craigslist.
I needed to grieve losing this man in private. I needed to honor every glimmer of hope for better life he instilled in me and be my own person! No more lies. No more selfish living.
“Take me with you-” I begged and pleaded, in my mind, but C.J. being older told me, “I was too young to be uprooted.“
He had not the slightest clue that I was screaming for him to stay in my life. He thought we were just casual sex, even though my feelings were so far beyond that, yet indescribable. He just didn’t know/understand how I felt, surely.
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After I found myself alone living with an alcoholic stranger, and her Pitbull, I eventually penned Corduroy an 8-page love letter that year, when I conjured my deep feelings into words, only to drop it off in a unactive, city, USPS dropbox. Devil’s work, perhaps??
C.J never received it, and I never gave him something special to believe in. He had girls in Pennsylvania to reconnect with, so Facebook implied. My grief turned into substance abuse. I was hired at a lobster house that spring, and drinking was heavily encouraged there.
Alcohol and ‘happy pills’ became a dancing lifestyle, during, and after the lobster house two years later.
Patterns of self-destructive behavior. No proof of my potential anywhere.
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Long story long, I wasn’t upfront about my feelings, or my past, with Corduroy. I wish he is soon realizing the deep inevitability of our true soul connection, but if I don’t make him happy or inspire him beyond sex, he deserves better than all this drama.
It is 10 years last September, since I first loved him, a real love, and it’s irrelevant. I’m well past the years of “karmic payback” for the wrongs I’ve done with Peter Pan.
The Pennsylvania love connection continues to be a catalyst for raw emotional growth and spiritual transformation.
Here I am, lesson after lesson, 10 years later trying to just be me. (Just be Mae)
C.J. showed me, freedom, grace, and sexual pleasures beyond my wildest dreams. His soul deep down, as Corduroy, is mirror is my own. I hate that the trust for long term partnership has been lost with my lack of truth, and delayed maturity.
You cannot shame yourself into change thou, you can only love yourself into evolution.
My early, mid, and late twenties were wasted potential, and I may never forgive myself for that, but I’ve cried for a decade now. That’s 3,000 days thrown away.
I’ve found faith and healing recently yes, but my grace is a very fine line when I tremble at the thought of C.J. talking about life goals with another girl.
We don’t have any pictures together, and he exists only in my memories. I would do anything to meet again “for the first time,” and connect beyond physical touch, but I better wrap up this biography, huh?
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I quit the toxic strip club lifestyle in December 2018, around the same time I started watching Elevation Church sermons on YouTube. I found hope, and new odd jobs 2019-2023.
I was the queen of odd jobs during my dancing years prior, for the record. I needed W2s for yearly tax return security since dancing money was always off the record.
After the movie theater and lobster house years> I was in a pet store, doggy daycare, trampoline park, an orchard, a barnyard, a vegan kitchen, then a bouncy house amusement center. Jack of all trades, but none sticking. I was always quitting after disrespect…
A work from home craigslist ad changed my life September of 2018, allowing me to quit the club dancing for good that December. Merry Christmas to me.
I was working from home finally for a mobile auto mechanic. I started this blog knowing one day I’d have my story out here, but I abandoned my writing and went offline when I didn’t have the funds to invest into Chaturbate streaming equipment.
Shortly thereafter I started work as a full-time Instacart personal shopper, two years later a DoorDash delivery driver, but once again stuck living day by day in order to afford living alone in a rural small town… no room for creative goals of any kind. Work was a ‘seven days a week’ hustle.
All a distraction my life became. In between goals and surviving should be fun and living, but I always took every day too seriously. I was labeled a “try-hard” in Instacart support groups via Reddit.
Cannabis edible candies became legal the summer of 2019. They were all I had to “spice up life”, and I became attached to them. It was better than pills or hard drugs; I justified it.
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Meanwhile in 2019, 22 girls sued GirlsDoPorn, and I was given no notice about anything. I had no idea.
In late November of 2022, last year, the FBI finally sent me a letter, asking me to come forward and testify if I identified as a “victim in model fraud,” between 2010-2019. The letter didn’t have any names attached to it, only the vague, huge, timeframe. So I ignored it.
Thought maybe it was some kind of scam. The years in question was 10-12 years ago, and I didn’t do the math. There was no indication what this was related too. All written with privacy in mind, I guess.
December 23rd 2022, the night before Christmas Eve, I received an “update letter” in the mail from the Justice Department saying Michael Pratt, the founder of GirlsDoPorn had been arrested after being on the run since 2019. Link below:
Founder of porn-empire accused of sex-trafficking arrested in Spain – National | Globalnews.ca
I suddenly realized this was very real mail, and then going online I find out that 22 Jane Doe girls split $13 million dollars after years of delayed trial, award, and payment. Merry Christmas to them. Links below:
GirlsDoPorn victims win rights to their videos – BBC News
If you read the details on the lawsuit, and/or justice.gov case summary, my experience fits right in there. I wasn’t sex trafficked, but some girls involved describe having the shoots be painful, their families/friends finding the porn, and being slut shamed, and feeling suicidal thereafter.
Girls being lied too and paid less on the spot. Girls being offered alcohol. No contract copies of anything. That was all my experience too, and too real to read. I was in shock.
Where was my letter to join the lawsuit back in 2019? I called the number on the letter, now curious, just to be told that the charge counts were already added up, and I was “too-late” to be part of anything.
Too late. Story of my life?
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Last December, during this lawsuit revelation, I was FINALLY trying to get started on Chaturbate for the third time since 2019. Best Buy approved me a $2K Mastercard credit card, yet my new Nikon Z30 kept overheating while plugged in. More roadblocks. More “almost.”
I sat with anger and frustration all of January, with my past of skeletons brought up in my face secretly. I couldn’t process any more lost dreams. I almost quit everything again.
February 2023, last year, I redirected the anger, and focused on getting in the best shape of my life as my own “justice.” This was very short lived.
March 3rd, I developed a tattoo infection from ink gone wrong, combined with the weight training stress. It was a cover up tattoo behind my ear, directly on my lymphatic system. The planet Jupiter.
My immune system froze, and I couldn’t swallow without pain for 5 weeks. My tattoo artist didn’t take a responsibility for too much ink in a concentrated place. More patterns of wasted time, low vibrational energy, and failure. More delayed success.
I actually shattered glass in my kitchen with my voice, screaming for help to God on March 12th. That was a first, and peek of my pain. I’ve never seen such a thing in real life, I thought that was a myth. It was time to give up, or heal my broken immune system.
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On the bright side, I’ve stayed clean and sober from Xanax, Trazadone, and other hard drugs since 2020. I don’t drink alcohol for the health factor of it, even thou I fantasize about it.
If I had love in my life, I would wish to enjoy ‘blue moon champagne’ with a partner on holidays or birthdays only.
I currently enjoy cannabis only once or twice a week and going days in-between highs is more productive/balanced. I only prefer to smoke with intention, and only alone.
I had my last adult candy Christmas of 2022, and then April 20th, 2023.
After some messy thinking and communication with my soulmate I decided to stay away from all ingestible weed moving forward. I have outgrown this type of high, and my spirit no longer enjoys it. I can’t turn back time to undo my mistakes, but I can sure as hell prevent anymore wasted time.
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April 2023, I FINALLY started Chaturbate streaming consistently with new video equipment with easy “pay in four” loan payments. Reddit girls in a help group suggested ‘Lumina 4K webcam’. I will forever be grateful.
I’m over a decade late to showing up for myself, but I’m finally focused on spicy livestreaming as much as I can be. If west coast girls can win lawsuit money 12 years after trauma, I too can go back, and earn my own way for future freedom/happiness.
I was shortly a lifeguard the summer of 2021, and in an Amazon warehouse the summer of 2022 to supplement Instacart, but the burn out was real.
I truly believe being my authentic healed self, I am capable of earning my own paycheck with spicy remote work.
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On a final note, thanks to the federal level of serious charges/crimes that GirlsDoPorn was involved with, my rape tape, from 18 years old, has been wiped off the internet along with the whole series of GirlsDoPorn from 2010-2019.
That alone feels like my own justice for true healing and starting over with “online sex work.” No strangers, no forced encounters.
Just Mae. Just Me.
All healed from all past trauma drama. At peace at last. My roots and heart encourage me to keep trying on Chaturbate.
Perhaps one day my soulmate will give me the chance to laugh with him, share a life with him, hold his hands while I choose his cock over air -while live on Chaturbate.
‘My bleeding heart will go on‘, I suppose. (?)
– M. K.