by Furry Girl

04.11.15

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The first sex work I did was a solo porn shoot for a big "naughty teen" company based out of Los Angeles.  That photo is from my very first shoot, taken in a park in LA that I've since recognized in many movies and TV shows as a generic "wooded area".  (We worked fast, because the photographer would have gotten fined if he'd been caught shooting there without a permit.)  I've seen the park several times in Star Trek: The Next Generation, and it always makes me laugh to see it.  "Hey, look at Picard and Riker on the alien world/holodeck where I first dropped my panties for cash!"  I've never really written about my first experience in porn because it's embarrassing, tacky, kinda gross, and not very interesting.  And besides, memoir-y shit isn't really my thing.

That first day of porning was in 2002, when I was freshly 18 years old, and at a time that I would have been a senior in high school had I not dropped out years earlier.  (High school porn star!)  I'd started exploring the idea of working in the jiz bizz when I was 17, browsing "amateur teen girls" web site for casting calls, trying to get a handle on how much money I could make in the sex industry.  Porn seemed like a good balance - far safer seeming than prostitution, but still paying a hell of a lot more than the jobs I was qualified for.  I wouldn't say that I was "financially coerced" - that term is silly and obtuse, but feminists love it because they thrive on denying agency to other women.  I made a choice for a job I found far less repellant than the idea of community college or waiting tables.  I was comfortable with my body, ballsy, exhibitionistic, and "sex-positive" before I'd been aware there was a label for it.  I was going to find a way to have a cool job in the sex industry, make money, and have lots of free time.

I'd spent my last two "high school" years bouncing around the west coast after my violent nutball mother kicked me out when I was 15.  There were great times, like when I cobbled the money together to rent a rustic cabin on a river in the middle of nowhere for a couple of months.  And then there were times when I just stayed up all night, wandering around and cold because I had no place to go, listening to music on a Sony Discman CD player.  Everything worked out in the end, I learned a lot about the world and read a ton of books, and the one time I ever felt in real danger while hitchiking, the guy was too drunk to chase me after I fled from his car.  I accepted at a young age that we are totally alone in the universe and can't depend on other people.  That the sort of radical self-accountability I felt was both terrifying and liberating.  It's because of my teenage background that I always found "naughty teen" websites to be especially absurd in their portrayals of "teen life."

After emailing various companies, and getting some rejections, I found a company that wanted to hire me for the day.  Much to my happiness, I learned that hairy pussy is actually appealing to some porn consumers, so I wouldn't even have to shave.  Bonus!  The rate was $750 for 20 photo shoots, which was all done in an insanely long day where I looked exhausted and pissed off by the end.  I've always hated it when someone recognizes me from that web site, because the photos aren't very good.  "Hey, aren't you ____ from _____!?"  I'd get it occasionally from cam customers and web site fans, since the hairy pussy market is small enough that you might actually be able to remember the models.

As a photographer, I shoot many more photos than I need, whether I'm shooting myself or other people.  Then I delete the ones that aren't good.  I think that's how basically every photographer operates.  My first porn photographer - a balding, profusely sweaty, middle aged white dude whose photo should have been in the dictionary under "creepy pervert" - shot only the minimum number of photos required by his boss for a publishable photo set.  He'd count to 80 or 100 (or whatever it was) and then we'd stop and set up for a different shoot.  Oh, how embarrassing it was to see some of the things that made it online.  I didn't even save the worst ones because I was ashamed of how bad I looked, but here's one example:

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There were so many unflattering photos: of me blinking, looking tired, looking angry, or mouth agape oddly because I was in the middle of speaking.  By the time we got to the following set on his balcony, I hadn't eaten in 8 or 9 hours, and I just wanted to leave so badly.  Isn't that the face of a teen who desperately wants your cock?  Look how horny and excited she is!

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That's why I describe my first foray into porn as an "anti-sexual" experience.  I wasn't oppressed or molested or anything exciting, but it was just so tedious to go through the poses the photographer requested, all while he kept asking me, "Why aren't you wet yet?  Are you wet now?"  Yes, so wet.  So horny.  The photographer reminded me every so often that "most" of the girls he photographed got so excited being naked that they just had to give him a blowjob.  Yeah fucking right, weirdo, I thought to myself.

One thing that embarrasses me to this day is the fucking panties the photographer required me to wear.  I'd brought a bag of my own clothing, but he declared almost all of it to not be what a teen girl wears, so in most of the shoots, I'm wearing these hideous floral granny panties.  I was also wearing one of the gross photographer's shirts in several photo sets, because yeah - a large men's polo shirt and granny panties is totally a normal outfit you'd expect of an 18-year-old.  It still creeps me out that he saved the ugly panties from each shoot as his trophy from each model.  I wish I'd gone and caught scabies before the shoot.

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He tried to talk me down to $600 at the end of the day even though we agreed to $750, but I held firm, and he acted like I was the one being rude.  I googled the photographer just now, and it looks like he's still employed by the same porn site, still taking the same old photos of bored young women.  [Update: in looking for an email from someone else, I found this message from my photographer from 2011: "furry girl, you want another shoot? can get you $1000-$1200 for 2 short easy days you still hairy etc.."  Wow, what a deal!  I could make less than I did the first time!  I like how he considered having a sweaty dude pester me to get wet while trying to get me to suck his dick as a "short easy day".  I never replied to his email.]

My first day as a sex worker was long, boring, and fairly uneventful.  I realized, though, that this was not what I wanted to do for a living.  Maybe I would have gone into mainstream porn if I'd had a better first experience, rather than being in some weird dude's ugly apartment all day hoping he didn't try to stick a finger inside me.  I started researching how to build your own porn site, and decided to go that route.  I taught myself everything.  It worked out pretty well for me, and I don't regret it.  I built a rad little business that sustained me for over a decade.  I'm proud of what I accomplished in the porn industry.

Yesterday, I concluded my porn career.  I didn't even plan for it to be the last time, so there was no big blow-out sale on my pussy.  After I stopped updating my porn site regularly so I could focus on building my second career, I'd pop in and do some cam shows when I had the time and needed the extra money.  But, as time went on, and I logged in less frequently, so disappeared my regulars, and therefore, my reliable income.  (My websites are staying online for now, since there's no sense in not receiving a trickle of residual income.)  I'm currently between jobs for a month before things really kick in with my awesome new career and consume my life (in a good way), and I planned to spend a bunch of time camming.  Things had been going slowly, and I wasn't making much money.  On my final night on cam, I had one guy gush about how he was excited to see me, tell me how much he loved my web site, and he thanked me for blazing trails for unshaved porn.  There were half a dozen forgettable striptease sessions, and one with some pushy prick who signed off, "FUCK YOU!" because I wouldn't comply with his requests.  Fairly uneventful, just like my first time.  I meant to log in again tonight, but I just couldn't do it.  I don't want to spend my last couple of weeks of free time entertaining other people for barely more than minimum wage.  I want to read some books, binge watch some TV, ride my bike around and enjoy the springtime weather, and do basically anything that's not sitting at my desk being flirty and cute for spare change.  I sat down and wrote this blog post instead, and now I'm going to go enjoy some wine and Netflix with my cat.

 

Don't worry, internet, I'll be your naughty cheerleader (in the world's ugliest panties) forever.

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