Post photos taken last night to MyFans
Post censored photos to social media
Publish a video from drafts
Confirm coffee time with Britney
It’s a lot. A long list. A never-ending list, truth be told. And these are the things I can do only from my phone. It doesn’t include the hours of editing I need to do to turn it footage into videos and trailers and sneak peeks for my MyFans page and social media. It doesn’t include the many times I go Live on social media answering fans’ questions. It doesn’t include the hours of content creation I have to do each week just to keep the algorithms favoring me, old fans engaging with me, and new subscribers finding me. It doesn’t include the private request videos I do. It doesn’t include the essence of the actual work I do, namely having sex and masturbating on camera.
And that’s not mentioning the work that goes on behind the scenes. The daily gym visits to keep my body not only looking a certain way that my fans like, but also keeping it healthy and physically able to do the work. The chatting with other sex workers to share information about content creators who may be causing problems or not getting tested or treating their partners with the respect and care they deserve. The traveling to and from collaborations, which often includes journeys interstate. The deleting of abusive, racist, and queerphobic messages that sneak into my inboxes nearly every single day despite countless keyword filters.
But it’s all worth it. It’s all completely worth it because I earn the kind of money I once dreamed of. The kind of money that covers the best health insurance I could find for my whole family. The kind of money that means my mother can do the work she enjoys, not overwork herself into the ground juggling three or four jobs like she used to. The kind of money that means we can fix our house when it needs it. The kind of money that keeps our fridge fully stocked, all the time, which was something that wasn’t always true when I was growing up. The kind of money that can provide whatever care my sister needs, whenever she needs it.
I’m halfway through answering direct messages from my MyFans subscribers when an incoming message pops up on the screen. It’s from Harley, one of my regular collaborators and, until about four months ago, one of my long-term partners.
The name rings a bell, but I have to switch apps to Twitter to find a profile and refresh my memory.
He’s tall, sculpted, and has tan skin. He has dark eyes, short curly hair, and a very long brown dick, which curves slightly up.
Fuck, yes, I’m down for that.
I text back.
Harley replies in less than a minute.
I roll my eyes but also huff out a soft laugh. It doesn’t take much to get my horny little Harley worked up. I miss that about her. I miss her bronze-colored skin and her tight curls she dyes different colors depending on her mood. I miss her small breasts, her tight round ass, and slim hips, even though I get to play with them all fairly regularly. What I don’t miss is the moods she would often slip into unpredictably, or how she swore that washing dishes or cleaning bathrooms were against her religion. Such a typical Libra moon.
Before I go back to my DMs, I type another text.
Miko is her partner, also my ex-partner. We were a trio for a few years but I separated from our open poly relationship about four months ago after I saw our petty arguments threatening what was a valuable friendship and profitable working relationship. Miko is second-generation Polish American, short and stocky with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Like Harley, he’s trans and also a sex worker. It’s how we all met.
I groan.
That’s unusual. Harley always called the shots, which, I admit, was also possibly something I wasn’t very good at accepting. Or rather, my Taurus rising was less than accommodating to it.
I frown, wondering briefly why Miko made that decision. A typical Sagittarius sun and Capricorn moon, he’s one of the mostlevel-headed people I know, and has always been much better at dealing with Harley’s lack of desire to do domestic chores than I ever was.
I ask her. I joke about them being on-again, off-again but really I know how much they love each other.
Someone else would think that getting the majority of their lower body waxed would be a hell of a day, but I know there was no sarcasm in Harley’s text, my little pain addict.
And I do. Being with Harley and Miko had been a good time. We were all happily polyamorous and didn’t have to work too hard to navigate the challenges that came up with that, even when I specifically said I didn’t want to move into their place. I made it clear I’d never want to live with them, or any other partner, and they, in turn, never saw that as strange. They gave me the space I needed to be alone when I needed it – because I do like to be alone – and they understood perfectly that Jessica was my number one priority. It had also been incredibly convenient for filming content too.
But I broke up with them for a reason. They were intense. Miko claimed to be a switch but he fought me for dominance in the bedroom a little too often, although he never could deal with Harley’s bratty moods as well as I could. He just often didn’t have the energy, but that only made her act up more. I wonder ifthat’s where this latest break had come from. Has he simply run out of energy for her bratty comments?
