October 7, 2023
This post is NSFW.
I’m now officially credited in a professionally-produced porn film. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. A friend texts some vague details and asks if I want to check it out, and next thing I know I’m filling out a 2257 adult model release form in an alley-entrance venue buzzing with curious characters.
I felt confident in the company of my friend, but unsure what I’d gotten myself into. I’d been curious about getting into porn before, having worked on the business side of the industry for a brief time. But showing your face is different—there may be future consequences. To hell with it. I was exhilarated. Everyone has seen porn. How many can say they’ve been part of it? It was an honor, really, to have this opportunity, and I surely wasn’t going to let it slip by. But it was especially an honor because the star was a famous trans actress—and trans porn is what clued me into the existence of trans people at a very young age.
Growing up, trans people were far more taboo than they are now. Despite the political scapegoating, I’ve seen so much positive progress in my lifetime surrounding transgender identities. And it fucking rocks. I wish I could have started my transition earlier, but it’s still a sweet time to be in the midst of it. It’s a bona fide renaissance.
Back to growing up… trans representation in media like movies was fucking terrible. Trans people were always portrayed as conniving and undesirable. There were some saving graces I discovered later, like the 90s television series Twin Peaks by David Lynch, where Detective Cooper sticks up for his colleague Denise. But the primary place where trans people were, er, appreciated, was porn. Porn overflowing with disparaging slurs abused by cisgender people to make a buck off fetishization. But I didn’t know any better, and it didn’t just turn me on, it turned me all the way up.
…
I felt guilty or dirty in a bad way for enjoying trans sex on screen. Looking back, it’s easy to see that these feelings stemmed from the cultural taboo—and also internally feeling bad for the objectification. And not objectification in a sexy, consensual way, but one that defames an entire vector of identity that has so, so, so much more dimension.
I now know that I was jealous—internally screamingly jealous—of those beautiful people in those photos and videos. As I write this, it’s the night after the night of the filming. A bit earlier, I looked up the actress from the shoot and tapped on one of her videos and had a revelation. A flood of warmth kicked in during the plot buildup of the porn, and dulled a bit during the more frictional frames. I found myself scrubbing ahead to the dialogue, wanting so desperately to know what happens next. I cared about the characters. And I felt what they were feeling before any on-screen stimulation even began. Can thank the proper hormones for this—the mystified feminine libido that recently decided to blossom within me. Oh god it’s amazing.
We’re back at the shoot. After grabbing a drink and mingling around, the florescent setup lights overhead cut off. The gloriously quirky cast converged outside for the first scene. We were told to stand in front of the lights and cameras, obviously, but some oddly didn’t and so I stepped up and made myself seen in the crowd. It was public-humiliation themed. There was main interplay between a sub and her dom, and the rest of us were to participate however we felt appropriate—inappropriate?—at any given time. I was sheepish but did try to get in a few slaps, etc. I scribbled a word on her body, which was actually quite difficult thanks to a combination of fluids lacquering her skin. Took a few selfies, as encouraged by the director. And more. Sensory overload.
Some were pros, others there for the very first time, like myself. I made a connection with someone who’d had their own production studio for a while and was considering getting back into it all. I met someone who gave me a wallop of an ego boost, saying I should be the one front and center, getting all the group love. I was simply amazed every second I was on set. I kept trying to imagine how it would be edited and what the final product would look like, stitching together the pieces in my mind. Thinking how fucking stupid I looked being a combination of bewildered, turned on, fulfilled, enlightened, concentrated, and careful not to get my nice leather jacket stained with lube.
…
This film will end up tossed atop an infinite pile of online smut, existing within a very specific, likely not often sought niche. Good for my more traditional career, maybe. But it’s different. The actress preambled the performance with a monologue on her efforts to change the tune of trans porn by reclaiming agency within it. She spoke of eradicating slurs and letting trans actors take on roles they were traditionally barred from. The next part gets a bit bitsy—I’m going to talk about girl dick.
Traditionally, as I understand it from my cursory knowledge of the porn industry, trans women were always expected to top, or penetrate other people using their penises. I wager it has something to do with fetishists harboring internalized homophobia and wanting to be dominated by women, albeit with dicks. “It’s not gay, bro.” But gock, shenis, whatever you call it, doesn’t function that way, for me at least. Nor for many of my girlfriends. Sparing you too much detail on my genitals, my parts simply work more like I imagine a vulva to work. It’s like a, uh… floppy clit. I could go on about the magic therein, but perhaps not on my website where anyone may lovingly attend. Though I would like to document it, especially for trans posterity. Maybe later. Just gotta preface with something like: “Mom and dad, I love you, but get far the fuck away from these words.”
It was empowering to witness a trans woman treated wholly as a woman in porn. It’s what I wish I had while coming of age—maybe I would have recognized myself sooner. It makes me question chasers, too… take a long look in the mirror.
…
What a ride. A night to remember. I’d definitely do it again, but there’s nothing like the first time doing anything, really. It’s pure elation. And if you were there with me, or you happen to come across this piece of pornographic art, you might not sense any of this through my anxious expressions and back-of-the-pack reticence, but my mind was abuzz and still is. I wasn’t the star, I wasn’t getting railed, but I didn’t need to be. I got to step into the looking glass of my childhood imagination and be on the other side. To live vicariously through someone confidently expressing herself with raw, unwavering vulnerability. How fucking cool.
I know who I am now. I feel alive. I want and feel wanted. Tarnished guilt buffs off with every swish of blush. Old shame wicks right off my swan feathers. My senses have breached the limits of vividity. And whatever the result of my participation brings, bring it. There is no time to do anything but that which makes you exuberant. Find your inner glow, and radiate.
NSFW
October 1, 2023
This is a follow up to my previous post, Patina. My writing can get a bit boggy and I wanted to know whether what I banged out at 1am last night was coherent, so I asked ChatGPT to evaluate. Here’s what it had to say.
This essay reflects on the fleeting nature of achievements and accolades in life and explores the concept of self-appreciation and motivation. The author begins by contemplating the diminishing value of past accolades and questions whether the pride associated with achievements diminishes over time. The essay delves into the idea of not resting on one’s laurels and ponders the appropriate duration for basking in one’s accomplishments, drawing a distinction between different types of achievements.
The author contemplates the significance of validation in the creative process and questions the motivation behind one’s work. Legacy, validation, and external acknowledgment are all explored, raising existential questions about the purpose of human endeavors. The essay touches on the superficiality of curated online personas and the potential disappointment when reality contradicts the image presented online.
A personal reflection is woven into the essay when the author discusses their experience with hormonal changes and how it has made them more attuned to their own fragility. This reflection on physical vulnerability is metaphorically extended to the concept of emotional and creative vulnerability, suggesting that being open to damage allows for personal growth and a deeper connection with the world.
The essay challenges the conventional value of awards and job titles, suggesting that the proliferation of accolades has diluted their significance. The author expresses a preference for decentralization, hinting at a shift away from traditional structures of recognition and meaning.
The essay concludes with a statement of self-affirmation, emphasizing the importance of feeling accomplished for one’s own sake, regardless of external validation. The author finds fulfillment in self-expression and the act of creating, suggesting that genuine self-satisfaction is a powerful motivator.
Overall, the essay is a contemplative piece that delves into existential questions about achievement, motivation, and self-worth. It combines personal reflection with broader societal observations, inviting readers to consider their own values and motivations in the face of societal expectations and external recognition.
October 1, 2023
Deciding what to post from the archives tonight, I came across a list of accolades earned between 2006 and 2010. They meant something to me at some point, but now they’re entirely meaningless—infinitesimal blips on the timeline of my life. It’s easy to brush them off because adults will puff kids up for anything—it’s positive reinforcement. But it got me wondering if the pride in all things earned fades with time, no matter the effort or exclusivity of the achievement.
Perhaps it’s best not to rest on your laurels. But what’s the appropriate window of time in which to bask in your own glory? I suppose it scales with the nature of the accomplishment. Running your first half marathon is not the same as winning a Pulitzer. Surely there are analyses on emotions felt after winning the highest awards in one’s field. I’d be interested to know the decay of the probable positive emotions. Unless those who win such awards are so far advanced in their fields that the acknowledgment of their influence and contribution is simply an expected byproduct of what’s already been done, published, and put out into the world. Besides, the folks who earn such things are very likely not striving for any particular form of acknowledgement… the work should be rooted in pure passion. Or maybe not.
What are you striving for? Or if not striving, what would be a welcome and pleasant response to your toils? And would it matter in the end? Is validation necessary for motivation to create and a requisite for mental health—a justification that what one is doing is right, or on the right track? To what end should someone work? Does legacy matter, or is it a line item to be eroded by the sands of time? Maybe a stacked resume on a cleanly-designed site is just plain cool. It sparks jealously within niche groups. Or briefly perks the attention of some small gang of people who find themselves mindlessly perusing the lives of others through curated presentations. What are people with fancy, cherry-picked histories like over lunch? Would you want to earnestly lunch with them again?
Who would you want to have lunch with, if it could be anyone? I know there are some I’d never want to meet personally for fear of breaking down the facade of their fiction. Because sometimes the real world is disappointing. Like these now-laughable tick-boxes of a prime student…
2006 to 2007
- Lancaster Elks Lodge #134 1st Place Poetry Contest Winner
- AAA School Safety Patrol Award
- Superior Achievement in Mathematics
- Good Character Team Award
2007 to 2008
- Academic Excellence in English
- Academic Excellence in Social Studies
- Excellence in Reading
- Outstanding Achievement in Science
- Student Council Service Award
- Lancaster County Office of Aging Essay Contest Winner
2008 to 2009
- 1st Honor Roll (All 3 Trimesters)
- Outstanding Social Studies Award
- 1st Place MTMS Poetry Award
- Nominated to National Junior Leaders Conference
- Student of the Month (October)
2009 to 2010
- 8th Grade Class President (Student Council Award)
- Excellence in Social Studies Award
- Excellence in English
- Overall Academic Excellence Award
- 1st Honor Roll (All 4 Marking Periods)
- Middle School Songfest Participation Award
- MTMA Music Award
- Student of the Month (December)
Most of these were earned by doing the bare necessity asked of any student—basically, do your work and give one fourth of a shit about it. Not sure these line items were worth the relative stress of bushwhacking through the tedium of grade school worksheets and blandly-structured essay briefs. Though, to be completely honest, I’m not sure my current work briefs are any more developed (that is a joke… grounded in truth, as they often are).
I’ve bored you by this point. You want to know something? Estrogen has made my skin extraordinarily soft. So soft that some twenty minutes ago, I cut my own thigh with my recently-trimmed left thumbnail. An insignificant amount of blood came out. Now I understand why the women I’ve been close to have by and large accumulated mysterious bruises (don’t read into this).
I feel strong in my delicacy. And maybe that’s just it—fragility is strength. The susceptibility to damage is what gives us the impetus to break boundaries because we’re accustomed to alteration. In the case of my mildly-sliced upper knee, I am reminded that I am at the mercy of my environment, and that sensitivity gives me permission to integrate with the world around me. Whereas as a man, I was shielded by a literal thicker skin and was somewhat ignorant to any effect my actions, both intentional and not, would have on my body, and thus my being. In other words, I’d not had the same integrated channel of feedback I have now and could not experiment with living with the same gleeful abandon I can now. Or maybe I’m just finally happy to be me. And have heightened senses to boot.
Awards? Fuck ’em. They’re vehicles for envy and gatekeep creativity and marginalized voices. Or maybe don’t fuck ’em. Little ego boosts can be fantastic distractions if you buy into them, especially if your compassion game is strong and you alight from the achievements of those you admire.
There are endless articles about how job titles have lost all meaning. There are too many awards out there. There’s so much of everything, really… it’s an enthralling bore. And the highest honors are all antiquated anyway. One might posture: “How else should people organize themselves and assign meaning?” Personally, I like where we’re headed with decentralization, whatever that means. There’s something there—even if it’s only good on paper, like some might say about, I don’t know, communism (ooh, such a spicy word) (I don’t have well-developed thoughts on that topic and would rather not explore it further at this time).
This all potentially loops back around to the concept of pride and how self-appreciation might motivate one to continue to do what may not result in logical compensation but fundamentally necessary self-expression. When you feel good about what you do, you do it more. Feel good, do good. And that’s why I’m here with you today, on this page. The only thing I’m getting out of it is another line in my Archive, and that makes me feel accomplished. I earn my own award for most posts on my website every time a new post appears. And yes, Academic Excellence in English and multiple poetry medals helped along the way.
It takes the gall of an 8th Grade Class President to nuke your nature-given testosterone in exchange for silky, slice-prone skin. If only he could see me now!
April Littrell