April Littrell
Ropes and dreams
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.