Fancy Boys Club

OnlyFans or: How I learned to stop worrying and wear a mask while selling pictures of my vagina for money 

30 seems as good an age as any to write an in depth expose about the more salacious corners of my life , and the COVID-19 pandemic of the year Where Nothing Good Happened For Anyone, (2020) seemed as good a time as any to try sex-work. I thought a lot about where to start this story- did it all stem from when I got fingered for the first time in a movie theatre by my first boyfriend at the tender age of 14 while watching Napoleon Dynamite? Or should I start just 4 years in the past, the day after The Election-you know the one-where I woke up in tears because overnight, America had somehow elected an orange repugnant narcissist with zero governing experience over an actually qualified but historically polarizing female candidate? Or, I could start with the humid July day in the midst of that UNPRECEDENTED Covid-summer where some teenager didn’t check his blind-spot and annihilated the right side of my 10-year-old Prius (gifted to me a year and a half prior by my Floridian-retirement-community-bound parents). You could say that all of these events had their part to play in what eventually led me to that digital blue lock.