Worked Up So Sexual


hop2I remember using the term civilian quite loosely and at dinners among the other porno folk. Now, it feels like a sort of mythical word, as if I only used it myself in order to describe the other in my writings.

It’s akin to spouses and partners who are bonded by someone of significance. Mobster wives, the significant others of serial killers, or husbands to women who’ve died in a war. There’s a psychological mindset one has to develop when being bonded to something so seemingly radical, a sort of offset of society that requires tending to, a retarded type of lifestyle. And there’s an identity issue in terms of connecting with others, and making a sub-community out of their partners’ lives.

That could describe the (un)lucky bastards who date or are married to adult entertainers.

Although, I don’t know if there is a specific sub-community that is able to bond civilians in this way; in my minds, they would just be fans, wouldn’t they? Fans of the people they love and fuck, and who fuck other people for a living. And, civilians are involved in the porn industry on many different levels anyway. There are civilians of shame and civilians of fame. There are civilians who are voyeurs and civilians who want in on the action. There are civilians who are scared they’re not great lovers. There are some that can hardly love a person like that at all. But, they’re there anyway.

Many of the men I dated prior to starting my career could hardly cope with a woman who would do something like that. Some of them believed it wasn’t worth mentioning, or that it should be kept secret, like a fetish you wouldnt dare tell anyone. They wanted to make it their own private thing, an eroticized slice of the life we share together. One guy would watch the movies we made while on the phone with me. Now, my feelings change about those videos. What if they were to surface…? It’s a type of miscalculated exposure , and so freaky. Something I did a year ago for fun is suddenly a new dish of entertainment. I’m infamous now for something I did in the dark, not for money, and with someone most wouldn’t find attractive (except that his cock is big… yay for me, right?) I’m already sort of infamous in my own right for the shit I was paid to do….these home videos are different…they’re like these bastard love children I don’t remember giving birth to (but I do… I just don’t want to remember).

In any event, if it were to happen, then whatever. I would have to own up to them as another performance. It’s like when they interview artists and find never before seen footage of them at a small concert, or childhood performances that reveal an artist in the making… hahaha. But, that idea of privacy is something that was both taken from me and surrendered by me instantaneously. My sex life will always be a show… or at least the parts I wanted to share (if these sex tapes were not to surface).

It is for these very reasons why I overlooked the first kiss, or the intimacy in a shared laugh with my clothes on. Because I was obviously a sexual person, the sex was just as important as getting to know someone, By the second date I would know where to find my date’s birthmark, make them laugh with my tongue, and skip wearing underwear altogether. When I started therapy, and gave sex work an indefinite recess, I carefully removed a stubborn scab from a wound wanting to heal itself. An epiphany shook me, and eventually I realized what I needed was far different from what I wanted.

So what is the first kiss like? Does anybody know anymore? Or do people just hug now? Should I invite the person in for coffee after the third date, and should I do it expecting sex?

I need to take a shower and clean up. I have way too many clothes now and they seem to have noplace to go.

—–“I see you work at night
Are you sexually amused?
What’s it like to have a room of guys
Encircle you?
How she moves and how she walks
They all patiently await
While the heat from in their pockets
Could burn marks into their legs.
Without your needs and your support,
She’d have a job the same as ours –
Nothing daring;
Would she miss a job that’s sexual?

In every city
There are dozens of these clubs
Where men can go.
Some people need a little challenge to their
Fantasies at home.
There’s a little tiny number
On a fold of matches
The ink drips from a little dancer’s pen
Everybody wants that fold of matches
To reinflate their confidence
Hey, it is a job, it pays a lot,
Is it disservicing someone?
And is it good to get these men
Worked up so sexual?

Older dancers gag at what
New talent seems to mean.
Smaller tits and younger limbs can cause
A fit of rivalry.
But it is a job, it pays a lot.
Is it disservicing someone?
And is it good to get these men worked up so sex- so sexual?” — The Faint Worked Up so Sexual

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