The Identity of Tits

and my mad scramble for sex

When I was twenty, an older guy I was dating asked if I wanted kids. I said no. He laughed, and told me to wait till I was thirty, the age where all the women he knew suddenly got kid-ravenous.

This freaked me out, and from then on I prepared for the desire for kids to hit me. I gently tried to orient my life such that when the kid-spell fell upon me, I’d be ready to say yes - financially, romantically, practically. When I turned thirty, I was emotionally prepared. I’d watched this day coming with stoic resignation from ten years away. My now-shriveling ovaries placed this stressor on the table and I was beefed up and ready.

But what I wasn’t prepared for, what nobody ever told me would hit, was the sudden panicky urge to have a lot more sex. Since I’ve turned 30 I’ve been like, holy shit, I need to bang way more people.

This kirbyfication of my vagina is definitely a reaction to seeing the future wrinkly me staring me down from the future corridor; I’ve got maybe 5 years left of feeling peak hot, and another 5-10 years of scrambling-hot after that. The feeling of being hot and sexually desired is awesome. And the thought that maybe I’d just coast through into oldtown without having properly banged enough people who love my body got really scary. I imagined being an old woman on my deathbed, her life flashing before her eyes. And her life gets to the age of thirty - what would she want? What would I want for me, that memory? I often use this mental exercise to calibrate on decisions in my life, and in this case the urge is clear - dying, old lady me wishes she’d used being hot to its full pleasure possible - she should have fucked more.

And not just fuck more, but also be more sexual. The whole fun of it is feeling desired, and so, go and be desired!

Putting another stage into this whole rocket was the fact that I only recently became okay with being sexually selfish. I learned to stop trying to compromise or contort my preferences to make other people happy, to deceive myself about what I enjoyed so I wouldn’t have to sacrifice sexual relationships. I learned to express specific preferences in bed, to elevate kink preference in my relationship priorities (for example, weighting it higher in my date-me surveys, or putting it explicitly in dating profiles). Actually having sex with compatibly-kinked people unlocked a whole new ravenous beast for me. I knew people could be compatible in theory, but it took actually going through it to convince my body that sometimes, other people’s selfish desires actually matched mine. Incredible. A whole new world.

This newfound urge to be unabashedly sexual is great - it’s an authentic expression of self - but authentically expressing this gets weird on public platforms.

Cause, I do research and podcasts and interviews, I run around tryin to get my clothes ironed out enough so that people invite me to fancy parties, I wonder what will get me to be taken seriously and ask around about optimizing prestige. I wanna be one of those people with british accents elbowing around in a suit and talking about vacation homes.

What doesn’t help me getting taken seriously is being sexy, or at least being visibly interested in being viewed as sexy. Often when people ask why I’m popular, others respond, “tits.” And maybe this is partially true, but it immediately kicks the legs out from under the serious stuff I’ve done, frames me as someone who people only are pretending to respect. Which like, fair. I probably would have way fewer followers if not tits. But maybe I would have more respect if not tits?

It also threatens the reputations of those who do respect me, because now they’re vulnerable to being accused as manipulated by or secretly just into tits. I’ve had multiple people tell me they were hesitant to be associated with me publicly when I post sexy photos to my timeline, because it might draw scrutiny on themselves, would turn them into the kind of person who follows whores or whatever.

I’m a bit fascinated, though, by the idea I could staple the cheap win of tits onto a real win. I like the idea of seeing if I can get people to take me seriously while presenting as someone people should not take seriously.

Tits also functions a bit as war - it’s a sexual marketplace threat to other women who aren’t titsing as hard as I am, and might end up damaging prospects for female friendship. It’s often polite to refrain from titsing; you’re like “I’m not gonna gravity field everyone’s genitals at me so we can all pretend we’re sexless creatures hard enough to make it through this tax filing/funeral/violin lesson, you’re welcome.”

I’m also afraid of it making people judging me as “desperate for attention”. I am actively seeking attention, but I’m afraid that people will view it negatively instead of with celebration. Sexual attention is great! I love sexual attention. I also support other people seeking sexual attention, and giving sexual attention. But there’s some miasma of ‘visibly wanting attention is bad’ that makes my shoulders want to hunch and my hoodie want to grow a size. It takes some active effort to fight it!

Anyway what I’m trying to say is, I turned 30, I suddenly wanted to bang more people and be sexier, and then I wanted to post sexy photos onto my twitter, and then some abstract social voice was like “no that would be a bad idea” and then I was like “but why not?” This feels like one of those topics where I suspect everyone else must have a really clear, simple view on this, and I got myself worked up into a confused ball.

Whatever the rules around this are, they seem to be deeply socially ingrained. Before I ever considered this directly, I kept making moves around presentation that felt right. I’ve gone out and back into sex work a few times over the last decade, and each time I automatically titrated my sexual presentation to the public. When I started Onlyfans, I switched out my sexy face-bare-shoulders twitter profile photo to a black and white drawing I did on 400ug of lsd. I stopped Onlyfans, and am now having an urge to make my twitter more sexy. It’s like I had only a certain amount of sex appeal to spend, and I could either do it on my twitter vibe or on the abstract knowledge that I was doing sex work.

But this isn’t consistent - when I quit camming in 2017 or so, instead of getting the urge to sexify my presentation, I ended up shooting in the other direction and getting an overwhelming urge to wear baggy clothes. My guess is this was because at the time I was actually quite ashamed of being a sexual creature, and as long as my sex was tied to work, I had some plausible deniability about it - but as soon as I became a respectable job person then I had no excuse, and I had to signal really hard that that wasn’t the true me.

But I’m not (that) ashamed anymore, and I’m not a public sex worker anymore. I have no more plausible deniability about presenting sexily. I just straight up want to. I’m gonna die one day, but before I die I’m going to age, and I don’t want to spend that time wishing I’d taken more advantage of my god-given waist-hip ratio.

(also, here’s a form to apply for casual sex with me)