I talk about nitty gritty topics that are taboo, kinky, and slutty. So, it’s not a monumental discovery that my personal life mirrors my professional persona. I’m just a little bit more naked, on camera, and feeling myself.
Writing about kinks comes with its perks. I get free sex toys, free lube, and I get to play with all of it. It also comes with temptations.
After researching an article about what the life of a financial dominatrix, I began to heavily research this tempting and attractive way of making money. As the writing lifestyle goes, my paychecks are irregular and sporadic. Things get desperate and hustling comes in handy. Once I read a few articles online on how to be a financial dominatrix, I ventured on to Twitter hashtags. If you’re interested, search as follows: #cashcow, #findom, #humanATM
After some deep investigating, I decided, someone who already leans towards a more dominating personal sex life, wanted to be financial dominatrix.
Kinkly describes a findom as, “a fetish that involves being humiliated or demeaned by a financial dominatrix (also referred to as fin-dom), in exchange for money or gifts. It does not necessarily involve sex. It is said to have stemmed from the observations and eventual practice of Miss Marx, a professional dominatrix, who saw how some men get an instant hard-on when handing a woman money. She exploited this reaction, and eventually began a cult fetish.”
I enjoyed the anonymity of being a findom. My identity wasn’t revealed, my family would never know. You humiliate men, demand money, and they get off on watching you empty their bank accounts. My plane ticket to New Orleans was purchased, my rent was paid for one month, and little presents from Amazon were delivered to my door. However, after a few months, I realized I craved more, more, more. It wasn’t necessarily greed, but more of a temptation to be in control. Somehow, the subs were still controlling me via the internet. Scams, fakes, and a lot of broke men trying to get off on a quick selfie infiltrated my inbox. I decided I was bored with it and definitely not dedicated enough to weed through the clumps of men who pervade the world wide web.
Then I started watching Hot Girls Wanted: Turned On (not to be confused with the movie)
I remember pausing my Netflix after episode Take Me Private with Alice. I was hooked—line and sinker—by the flexibility, empowerment, and overall exhilaration of the cam girls experiences. I immediately closed my tab and opened up another, typing in “Cam websites” in Google. My new endeavor was beginning and it was going to be hot.
As with many kinks or fetishes that I’m involved in, I begin with “research,” and that research typically results in to a significant area of intrigue (like when I sold my underwear to strangers). At this point, I’m talking about sex every day of my life. I’m also having sex almost every day of my life. For me, being on camera, in the comfort of my home while making money in between writing projects, seems natural. My moral compass isn’t seem skewed. I’m not, and still don’t, contemplate the idea that my body could possibly be permanently on the internet. My words are already etched into platforms, publications, and websites. I’m here clothed or naked and I’m here to stay.
I’m also not naive, either. I probed, I watched PornHub, I lurked other girls on CamSoda and Chaturbate to be able to understand the interweavings of the very interesting world of camming.
I don’t have a persona for the camera. I don’t dress up. On most days I’m still in my pajamas, coffee in hand, and no makeup on my face. I disclose that I’m a writer and I spend most of my time educating my viewers on sex positions, lube, and safe sex. It doesn’t necessarily seem irresistible but I found that many of the men on the website are looking for honesty and candidness. When someone types out,”What’s your favorite position?”—which they inevitably will ask—I know that they want me to giggle and say, “Doggy style.” However, breaking up that fantasy dream is a duty of mine. I laugh and say, “Honestly, missionary.”
My professional life is spent educating people on sex and sexual health—why not utilize this knowledge in an erotic setting? As a feminist, I’m also not interested in conceding to a misogynistic environment or any type of harsh language. My “room” is a safe space for me and for all 200 of my viewers.
Being on camera has expanded my sexuality, my understanding of my body, and improved my self esteem by a landslide. Ah, you may think, “It’s all of the male attention.” But instead, it’s the attention that I allow for myself. For someone like me, who spends most of her time talking about her body and what goes in and what comes out, I feel that I have a solid comprehension on what shakes my tree or scratches my itch.
But to my surprise, camming heightened this perspective.
For example, in a private session, I stare at my own reflection on my computer screen. I am literally getting off to my own image—my own body and all of my true self. I see myself from angles that I never see. That’s me, I think as I find a new song to sing along to and chat about my newest article that I’m researching with a man who lives in Germany. He’s nice, he tips me, he just wants someone to talk to. He requests that I put on jeans. He types, I talk.
Eventually, I do perform sexual acts. I realize that certain angles help me to achieve a faster orgasm. I text my partner to log on and watch me. I text my partner about what’s going on in the room. I gush about my partner to my viewers. I realize anal play is still not in my personal vocabulary. I decline when someone requests that I put yogurt on my face. I make $200.
Being seated on my bed, behind a camera, is safe. If someone is aggressive, though this is rare, I decline or report them. There is no upfront confrontation—they don’t exist in my reality—only online.
Only a handful of times has it seemed like work. It’s more-so a moment for me to connect to my body. Truly finding pleasure in camming for myself is the most important aspect for my personal connection to these men, these strangers, on the internet.
This wasn’t necessarily my “ah-ha” moment of clarity concerning my self-esteem or my body. But it was more of an addition on to my sexual self-discovery, even if the whole world was watching.
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