An Open Letter to My Long-Lost Soulmate (and Exxxotica Expo Recap)
Forever ago, during my movie theater interview, you told me your favorite color is purple (but maybe that was a flirtatious lie because my shirt was purple that day), and your birthday has been the passcode to my RobinHood portfolio for years… you like ambient music, and homegrown peppers of all varieties. If you really do like purple I imagine you meant the hues of darker clouds in a pretty pink/orange sunset.
I wish I knew more outside of your dominant intelligent charm, but I can remember almost everything you’ve ever said to me. I can remember almost every first time between us.
My “first love” in high school wasn’t real. My first sexual crush at my first job was young dumb obsession, and shoreline boy was an absolute joke. When I met you at 21, I was mentally a few years behind that, and so I’ll never shake off how you blew my absolute mind time and time again. We were real. It was all real.
I’ll never change my mind from so young. You were unlike anything I’d ever known, and I’m so sorry I couldn’t say that when I needed to all those years ago…
November 11th, 2023:
It’s been one week since the NJ Exxxotica expo. I never asked if I could visit you today, because I worried, I would be sick, after exposure to so many people in Jersey. I would never risk your health.
I’ve been on a new vitamin routine since November 1st thou, and I’m so grateful to not be sick.
Streaming at the Chaturbate booth from Exxxotica, last week, was a total income failure for myself, but it was nice to see how this community serves others. Every streamer was allowed a ‘plus one’ in attendance, and to watch some girls have their partners’ on the other side of the cameras/ring lights was wholesome.
Within the Chaturbate circle: Margot Diamond and her off-camera partner excited me the most. What a gem and joy they are together. The smiles. The laughs. The bond. We sat together during the broadcaster appreciation dinner on the last evening of the event.
It was nice to meet with others at the small table and enjoy fun conversation. I went to my first Exxxotica expo as ‘Mae Kelly,’ and went home as ‘Mae Brulée.‘ Margot’s husband captured my candid appreciation for the steakhouse dessert, and it was a happy moment.
I had said, before the video clip, “if my pussy taste like anything it should be crème brulée.” Before leaving the restaurant later, a fellow broadcaster, DirtyDrizzy, said to me, “I forgot your name, but now its miss crème brulée pussy.” We laughed, and the sexy energy was felt.
My heart was full, reflecting, the whole drive home.
Before this wonderful dining experience: on the last day of Exxxotica, before streaming, I was also able to meet with mainstream star lovers: Blake Blossom and Dan Damage.
It was late morning, right before the public doors opened. The clocks were set back an hour, and I was so excited. (Sunday was the only day of three where I got premier parking, close to the building, with no “B Lot” miles to walk.)
It should be no surprise that I like real couples. Having our happy sparks just a memory, it’s nice to see real couples love on one another genuinely. Porn with passion.
We exchanged some information after pictures, and Blake told me if I’m ever in Florida “don’t be shy.”
It was wildly exciting to talk about playing together, and perhaps in 2024 that could happen live on Chaturbate. Blake and Dan were both so encouraging. They livestream together on CamSoda time to time. Their personal OnlyFans collection I can only imagine.
After speaking with them I had a natural high. A rush of endorphins, I guess. It was so nice to see them so happy together. Both of them hugged me with genuine strength. It felt like a “see you later” hug vs. a goodbye.
Chicago in April, perhaps I’ll reach out to them, but in all reality their mainstream credits go far beyond my amateur experience.
Instead of livestreaming early that Sunday, like I was supposed to, I walked a little further into the expo. I found the kink lingerie we texted about last month. You asked for a fishnet bodysuit for our next/last time together, so that you could rip fabric to expose my holes, while you ponder my anal virginity.
I found anal lube suppositories online, a week or two before the expo, the are designed to be inserted before anal plugs. It feels/looks nice, and it’s a clear liquid that drips out of my ass hot, when I take my big plug out.
I was going to try to anal train in the NJ hotel, live on Chaturbate, as a way to make back the $634 two-night stay luxury hotel bill… September’s big fish promised me some time together in private cam shows.
I only paid that because the same Residence Inn is in your hometown. A number of years ago we attempted to plaster/mold your cock there. A cock mold you wanted me to anal train with eventually. I wanted your presence felt in my mind here. I am crazy, sir. But not the dangerous kind. Just the stupid kind.
I thought I was going to sing in NJ, staying at this special hotel… I wanted to have special overdue song covers uploaded to YouTube, while missing you. Little did I know there was going to be a loud obnoxious bathroom fan that didn’t turn off. The front desk told me it was automatic as they were 6 floors large, and I was on the very top.
When singing wasn’t happening- anal training was my next best option to honor you. However, I experimented with healthy portable snacks for traveling… kind of like how we “experimented” with cloning your cock.
I knew the food would be garbage at the expo, and my heath was my top priority.
I was roped into buying $25 worth of spiced pumpkin seeds at the farmers market on Halloween, two weeks ago. They are packed with zinc, 4grams of sugar, and free samples. I thought I was being responsible, and I was gifted a free tote bag that was travel friendly.
Boss lady didn’t warn me not to eat the whole bag as a meal. Pumpkin seed shell fragments tore my asshole for a few hours on Saturday night. Literally. It hurt like a bitch.
Anal training wasn’t happening with a sore asshole.
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It hurts me more thou, that it’s been ONE YEAR since I drove to Pennsylvania with my stomach full of butterflies, to see you, sir.
November 11th, 2022, I went to your house this time, and we fucked on the floor. I rubbed your back in your bed afterwards, and time felt frozen. Your room was peaceful, and I was so grateful to be there, before it was time to say goodnight and leave.
You told me you, that night, you had a bit of OCD, and I silently processed that. I wish I laughed with you, if I had told you that I haven’t touched a grocery store freezer/fridge door handle since 2020. I open every cold glass door from the top. I also don’t touch doorknobs or gas pumps. My last name should be QuickVac with how often I feel the need to clean up stray cat hair.
You were kind of hungover the next morning thou, and I felt bad I didn’t bring you breakfast when leaving my hotel. I had your cock your breakfast, and you tasted great as always, but I was sad your energy felt drained. I’m sorry.
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November 14th, 2023:
‘Snapchat memories’ app feature wants me to know three years ago today I was In a Pennsylvania hotel getting my face slapped hard. I had told myself you must have read my last blog post about getting myself slapped up a number of years go by the Amsterdam French photographer that looked like you. You wanted to top his performance, and you did.
OR maybe you left a handprint on my face because you were so angry that we didn’t talk about my “Splenda daddy” as it happened in real time back then. You were punishing me for keeping my mouth shut too long while we enjoyed the rough sex our bodies needed.
November 19th, 2023:
‘Snapchat memories’ is letting me know four years ago today I was listening to Mac Miller in the hotel hours after we had just briefly reconnected. I was sobbing with my head in “your pillow” and wishing you had spent the night with me. Our sleepover privileges were revoked this year, and it aches my chest now to think about my fault, and why.
December 1st, 2023:
Gmail lets me know I have been a YouTube Premium member for two years. I signed up at the Pennsylvania hotel, December 1st 2021, while waiting for you to see me, waiting eagerly to hear your voice, feel your hands, and stuff my throat.
I fought that morning to see you thou, we hadn’t confirmed our plans the night before. You were lowkey expressing exhaustion for our communication this year, disappointed with me.
April 17th, 2022:
Easter Sunday. My favorite sex to date. We had a couch, and sunset light. You walked me on my knees and ordered me off/on the bed. It was magical, and your voice commands that day gave me chills for months when I reflected about it… but our time was cut a bit short on holiday. I was alone by sunset, watching the orange light fade to dusk.
“You can’t capture the magic twice,” I heard somewhere on TikTok, early spring, so I didn’t push you for an Easter 2023 playdate, but I wish I had…
I had told myself I didn’t deserve your attention until I had more camgirl success to tell of. I was only finally getting started last April. I wanted more to show for, so we could discuss camming together finally. I wanted to be taken seriously by you sir, but how could I with only 1,000 CB followers and no money saved yet?
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Last February, 2023, I was at my peek of new strength training. I was at the gym 5 days a week. I was building an ass convinced that 2023 was the year I needed to give you all of me. Let you wreck me anyway you want, because I belong with you.
I figured a fatter ass, and more muscle would make anal hurt less. Your best submissive would like anal, and not be scared, right?
I took sexy pictures for Chaturbate on Superbowl Sunday, at a Galentine’s event, and I arranged another shoot later that month. Those are the two photosets on my Chaturbate page/ bio layout. My plumper ass was already ready for anal. Consistent supervised weightlifting was giving me quick results.
You can’t weight train without motivation thou, so I went p0rn seeking to find inspiration of how I was going to let you take me. Twitter p0rn is free, so at night while gym sore, I would browse/scroll before bed. I didn’t touch myself to it for the record.
I just only let my subconscious watch it and desire you. In hopes to meet you in my dreams. In my dreams we don’t fuck either, we just talk and you hug me, and touch my face, and I try not to cry myself awake accidently, because I need you.
I write this confession out while the tears fall down my face, with my hand palms stinging, and my pussy also stinging inches deep inside me at the same time… I’d rather my pussy ache thou, vs. my chest sternum area.
Anyways, one February night last year, I found a cock that looked exactly like yours. It was Mary Moody introducing a new collab partner.
Last March, right around your birthday, she posted a longer trailer via p0rnhub link getting railed by “The Flesh Mechanic.” TheFleshMechanic is a Canadian OnlyFans guy with the perfect cock. He started as just a stunt cock for Canada OF girls, before he started his own subscription catalogue.
He’s always posting fresh test results, and his dirty talk is quite lovely. With a cock that looks just like yours, and a dominant tone of spicy talk, this discovery was wild to me.
When I see Blake Blossom and Dan Damage perform together it feel so real, the way she looks at him, and how happy she is with all his heavy girth… it’s the same kind of chemistry that Mary Moody and Flesh Mechanic have. Just perfect.
I slid into the Mechanic’s DMs, a week after your birthday, in March. I had to ask him if Mary Moody was special to him somehow. Or if he’s reminded of her when he’s with other girls.
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SIDENOTE: Shortly after the Ohio train derailment last February, I sent you a stupid low-vibrational paragraph text. I was worried since Pennsylvania land was affected. This was two months in a row of bad communication thou.
(January 2023, I lost my mind at a paint and puff event after mixing hybrids of cannabis. I sent you a lengthy text that made no sense while having a melt-down. The bottom of my About Mae page explains and links to articles related to the major upset I was suppressing.
When I received stupid mail from the FBI regarding my crim1nal sex tape at 18, that was the same night I was learning how to make holiday chocolate clusters with Stacy for the first time.* I knew I needed to wait to tell you in person about the lawsuit, but it made everything else not make any sense. I’m sorry.
Now weeks later I was with her again, and that was the last night I ever hung out with her. She lowkey was a terrible friend, and she didn’t want to see me pursue anything special in life including you. Our movie theater days were long gone, her and I.)
In February, with inheritance money, I booked (and cancelled) a video portrait shoot with an Instagram videographer… I wanted a high-quality professional music-video moment in an adult gaming arcade to reach you thru art.
(Blowing money on 12 weeks of having a personal trainer was the start of irresponsible spending I admit. I got a mole and two skin tags surgically removed off my jaw/neck as well, the day the check cleared from the lawyer. It was literally the first thing I did with money, as they were my biggest facial insecurities. My stitches scar was finally fading, and I was ready to showcase myself.)
Stacy however, days before my arcade moment, coldly texted me that someone was shot in an arcade in your hometown… She added a “lol” to the end of the text, sarcastically asking/mocking me if that was a sign to stay away from you… WTF b1tch? Someone died and she laughed to make a sick point? She will never see me again after that evil. I don’t care if we had 10 years of “friendship history.” She went out of her way to upset me. It worked too as I felt strange about the shooting coincidence. Video never happened.
I wanted to text you in early March on your birthday, but after no response from previous texts I felt like you didn’t want to hear from me. I convinced myself that you were with other girls. Local girls that weren’t complicated.
I got a tattoo that day instead, a tradition I started a few years back, honoring myself while deeply reflecting on how to do better. This ink however went too deep as a cover up job. The planet Jupiter, behind my ear was directly on top of my body’s lymphatic system. My throat felt like strep for 3 weeks while the tattoo was infected.
The IG videographer, instead of refunding me, helped me make a video in his girlfriend’s kitchen around St. Patrick’s Day, but I was still sick. Footage was trash. The rest of my gym credits, also nonrefundable even with a doctor’s note, expired. Expensive trash. I lost all my muscle building progress fast. It was tragic to me how that all unfolded.
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Back to the DMs from a self-made porn star, instead of telling me that “Mary was special but sometimes you just can’t be with a person when your lives are too different” (like I naively imagined he might say), Mr. Mechanic sided with Stacy. He said you’ll never want me, and sex is just sex. Mary Moody was just a playmate and nothing more…
It was delusional to correlate their sex with our connection. I look back at it now and ask myself how could I be so immature?
Knocked down seven times, get up eight thou, right? I screamed in my kitchen hours after that DM, and I shattered a glass beverage inside my refrigerator. It was a health tonic of green spirulina lemonade from Whole Foods. I guess being on the top, it froze being too cold.
When the glass cracked, and burst into pieces, green liquid went EVERYWHERE. I had never seen/cleaned such a sight…
Knocked down eight times, get up nine.
Looking back on it now, I see it was all in divine timing. As outline in my previous blog post April 1st was the start of the rest of my life. I gave my all into Chaturbate starting then, and I knew I could one day brush it off as April Fool’s joke if it all went south.
Spoiler Alert: It didn’t go south and I’m here to stay.
I recovered from the ink infection, and I won’t be altering anymore tattoos on my body.
Your initials are on my side, on my nightingale tattoo. I was going to cover it up with a forest, and deer, but that would of been a waste of ink. I’m your songbird for life, even if we can’t be together in this lifetime.
Birds chirp at dawn to let other birds know they have made it through the dark night. I wish you could hear me chirp every morning for you. I’m here, and I made it thru all the nights. I’m right here, and I’ll always be here for you.
Christina Perri sings, “I have died everyday waiting for you ♩ ♪” (- A Thousand Years)
-and I have. I’ll never just forget about you. Impossible when I see your eyes in the mirror.
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Epilogue:
It’s currently February, going on March, 2024, and my mistakes from last April and June remain to be written about in detail. Its only words I can get myself to say in person. A private apology for how I fumbled a camping opportunity, and then preceded to have zero consideration when I let the devil meddle in my aspiring Chaturbate goals.
In July, you texted and said it was best I didn’t come see you, and that while this isn’t a “forever goodbye,” yet, it’s still a possibility that my past is unforgivable.
I’ll have you know, and the public record, I’ve never done anything unforgivable. I’ve never had evil intentions. I never sold my body in the club, or to a ‘splenda daddy‘, or random stranger, after being 18 and stupid with GirlsDoPorn trouble. I’ve been loyal to the ghost of you, and I would prove this in any capacity if you ever asked me to.
I know my past mindsets have seemed questionable at times, I understand a “track record,” is important for real life partners, but I ask for forgiveness. Young and dumb I once was.
Some would call it a conflict of interest to pursue Chaturbate porn income, and feel connected with God at the same time; seeking God’s word for courage and wisdom, while contributing to what some could call a problem. But it’s innocent. This life is my life -not theirs. It’s just remote work. A new age privilege.
I don’t want to do anything else while I map out a better, safer, future. I owe this right to myself. A personal justice.
Thank You for being part of it all while you could. Our star alignment will forever be the best thing that ever happened to me, sir.
Even if God knows I can’t be “your forever” I still hope to hear your voice soon. Proper closure, please, before you send me off with peace and a new purpose.
*name change for privacy sake. I wish Stacy the best.
