And yet, a few seconds later, I’m picking the phone up and tapping on the creator’s profile so I can read more about them.
El, they/them, Soft Dom Switch, Pan, Poly, Aro, Spicy AF.
“Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the holy donkey,” I groan and my stomach flips again, but this time with nausea. That’s just entirely too many references to sex in one bio.
I scroll down their videos and see some of the titles. “Songs I Like to Duck To.” “What is a Pleasure Dom?” “Why I Prioritize Partners’ Pleasure.” “How to Start With Peach Play.”
“Fucking hell, give it a rest, will ya?” I say into the several small moving images of their face, which is still very pretty, but now it just annoys me.
I groan and put my phone down again. I close my eyes and roll over, seeking a cooler spot on the pillow. That already feels like enough Internet for one day and it’s only just gone eight o’clock in the morning. Shit, eight o’clock and I don’t have any plans until lunch when I will check out and head over to Jake’s place.
Sure I could check out earlier, but I don’t want to cart my bag all over the city aimlessly, and I don’t want to leave my luggagehere to then have to loop back and get it. Maybe I could go for a walk before I check out, see some of London, but as if to silence that line of thought an angry wind howls against the window, accompanied by the rattle of rain.
“And they say it rains too much in Dublin,” I moan.
I sigh and get out of bed, picking up the hotel robe off the chair near the bed. I put it on over my satin pyjamas and then pad over to the cabinet where the coffee machine is. I yawn as the machine whirrs into life and then I roll my neck, stretching out my shoulders that are always a little bit too tight. As I often do, I think about doing one of the countless stretching routines I’ve saved on TikTok but never looked at again, but as I just as often do, I say a big mental “Nah” in my head, pick up my coffee and make my way back to bed.
With nothing else to do and absolutely no desire to go back on TikTok after seeing that topless Pan-Aro-Poly-Dom-Switch and no doubt getting more tags in their video, I reach for my laptop and open my emails.
Like they normally are, half of the emails I deal with are spam or irrelevant and I delete them instantly. The other half are a mix of brands reaching out to work together, emails from fans who have somehow got my address, and continuing correspondence about existing partnerships and collaborations. I put the fan emails in a folder that I go through every now and then when I’m in the right mood to send messages back, which is increasingly infrequent these days, and it doesn’t take long to reply to the emails with existing partners.
I then start sifting through the new brand outreach emails and archive most of them as not ones that speak to me. Until, that is, I open an email from an underwear brand called SAFE.
Sure look, I’ve been approached by underwear brands before and I’m not stupid enough to pretend I don’t know why. I know I’ve got a body people like to see in underwear, and I actuallyquite like how I look in a bra and knickers on a good day, but that doesn’t mean I want to actually do it in public. In fact, the thought of it makes the contents of my stomach curdle. But this email is very different. First, there are the opening three lines.
Dear Maeve,
We hope this email finds you well. We’re writing after absorbing all of your recent content about asexuality. We have learned a lot and wanted to thank you for sharing your experience and knowledge.
I know better than most how brand outreach reps are told to blow hot air up the skirts of the influencers they’re trying to secure partnerships with and I’ve heard it all, from how ‘amazing’ my eyes are to how ‘inspirational’ my dull as dishwater GRWM videos are. In other words, I’ve heard all that bullshit before, but this… this doesn’t feel like a load of bollocks. This is… interesting.
I read on. They’re a non-profit social enterprise that pour all their profits into providing period products to people who can’t afford them across the globe, including developed nations like the USA and UK. They’ve attached some images of their underwear, which I open. I’d describe it as classic basics with cotton briefs in a range of plain colours, and bralette-style bras that very much look like they prioritize comfort and support over anything else. I’m impressed when I see a handful of disabled people among the models of all genders, sizes and colours.
I go back to the email and read again what it is they want from me. Essentially, they’re looking for me to model their products in an upcoming campaign, for me to share the results of that campaign as well as accompanying content about it on my social channels, and they’d also like me to deliver a presentation at a conference they’re sponsoring in Las Vegas in November.XXXCon is the name of the event and I’ve never heard of it. I do a quick search and my jaw drops as Google tells me what XXXCon is.
“One of the USA’s largest conferences for the adult entertainment industry,” I read out loud. “XXXCon is a convention predominantly for online sex workers, adult content creators and influencers, XXXCon hosts keynote speeches, panels and trade fairs for all those working in the adult entertainment industry and connected markets…”
“I don’t fucking think so,” I add after clicking back to the email. But as I type I read their requests again.
They want me to deliver a keynote speech to kick off a day of knowledge-sharing panels.
We feel your voice is one that needs to be heard. Asexuality is too often ignored, misunderstood and stigmatized, even within our own queer communities, and we want to support you in doing something about that. We’d love to hear your thoughts on how we can best do that.
Ignored. Misunderstood. Stigmatised.Those are words that immediately speak to me. Because it’s true. That’s exactly how I’ve felt on my journey to accepting my asexuality and then sharing it with the world.
I type out a quick reply before I think about it anymore.
Thanks for your email. I’d be happy to discuss this more with you. Let me know a good time for a chat. Thanks.
After finishing most of the remaining emails, I open my calendar and look at the week ahead. It looks… busy. As italways does. I will be ending the week in Paris, working over the weekend for a parfumerie who want me to make my own signature scent to then flog online. I sigh at that. I can’t remember the last time I was in Dublin for a weekend. I need to do something about that.
After blocking out a couple of the only available days I have left this month so I have some possible times to meet up with Arabella, maybe pop in on Ma and Da too, I close my laptop. The coffee has done little to wake me up and I find myself sinking back onto the soft pillows, exhausted all over again.
Exhausted and aware once again of how alone I am in this huge, plush but ultimately empty hotel bed.
And I don’t know why I do it, but I pick up my phone, go back to TikTok and watch more of @ElBaby’s videos.
Chapter Five
