March 3rd, 2000

The question I get most often - "Wow! How can _I_ get a job like that?!"

Luck. Pure dumb luck.

Jane and Jim honored me with legitimizing what has been a lifelong obsession. Smut. Porno. Sleaze. Dirty movies. Filthy pictures. French postcards. Glossy mags, drop-a-quarter loop & jerk booths, topless playing cards, nudist mags, treasured memories of down-blouse glances of certain teachers, and on and on. Hidden under the mattress for years, thrown away by the box full just before a marriage [that didn't last nearly long enough to merit the loss of the smut], all those things we've been taught to be ashamed of. Now I get paid good cash money to look at smut and it's an official Good Thing. The day Jim and Jane handed me my first paycheck and said, "Congratulations! You are now a professional pornographer!"... I can't tell you how big my smile was! Life is good.

Now that doesn't mean that immersing myself in tits and cocks and spurts and screams and suchlike can't be work, and it definitely can get boring. To a certain degree I have to impose the same sort of self discipline on myself that anyone working most any job has to.

When I see the dozenth incarnation of one of those cookie-cutter sites that people buy into, all the same ads in the same places, the same hidden buttons, the same old pictures; well, I do pass on fairly quickly with a grimace and a quickened step on the keyboard, and there are so many of those junkie Times Square sites out there it can be disheartening.

The fun is in finding the small amateur thingie where somebody is putting their heart, soul, and checkbook on the line to put forward their own passion. The marvelous thing about the net is that these people can find each other, the only 17 people into using chunky peanut butter as lube in the entire world, they can hook up and exchange recipes and Polaroids, and I get to help facilitate their networking. It feels good.


This is my initial entry into the realm of online journals. I've done similar off and on for decades, in different formats. A handwritten journal while at a military academy decades ago, in the form of letters never sent, to an old roommate. Years later and a couple leaps of technology, I worked my way through a late-in-life college time by writing letters of my daily experiences addressed to an old friend, but just keeping them on my hard drive and sending email every month or so. When I graduated she brought me a 3" volume of the printouts.

Over the past ten years I've gone through more changes and evolution than at any prior time in a full life. I've dealt with my lifelong bi closet, found and embraced my spiritual sluthood, both vanilla and leather. Those close to me both blood family and professional life are fairly familiar with at least the broad stroke outlines of my life. Gradually working myself into a life of sex-positive activism, it feels more and more right to be doing this with my life. My work with Janes Guide, my work with the Wet Spot, with the National Leather Association... it's all worthy work and it's time for me to do it.

I know that I'm lucky and gifted by the Goddess in the life I've come to live. I am involved in multiple projects both cyber and RL that are furthering the cause of sexual positive activism. My sex life, in all of it's many colors and textures, continues to grow and throb.

The impetus to publish this diary comes from several places. Several friends who are in associated activities are doing similar, and I've become a junkie reading them all. I find myself often writing up after-action reports/gloatings for various mailing lists I'm on. I was chatting with Jane the other day after a party and we were reflecting on how lucky we are in our sexual smorgasbord, and how people in less enlightened neighborhoods [Iraq, Afghanistan, and Utah all come to mind] would enjoy reading about it.

Boy, you talk about mixed and churning emotions. I've already begun clearing with all of my play partners under what circumstances I may mention them or our shared activity. What do I describe, what do I paraphrase, what do I delete. Many of the groups I attend have a confidentiality rule and I plan on observing those agreements. Do I write about my frequent self abuse? Do I talk about the personal pains of being an aging slut [middle age can be cruel]. Some of the activities I participate in are fairly edgy stuff, and I don't want to encourage others to do things that are simply unsafe for the inexperienced. Odds are these and many variations of these questions will continue, and my answers and iron-clad-never-to-change resolutions will mutate in time. It's gonna be an adventure.

Bottom line? Life is good. Y'all lemme know how I do.

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