Stories From the Archives: Chapter One: Started With a Camera

"I turned eighteen earlier than all of my friends. I got a camera for my birthday- a nice one. I had always been intersted in photography, and while I did use it to learn photography, and take all kinds of photos-I also used it to start a porn blog, on Tumblr. I don't have that account anymore, but I kinda wish that I did, it was, uh, an interesting time."

- A college neighbor, and friend,

It felt like a dare. The camera, sitting there, wanting more. I had all this pent up tension, curiosity. I'd stumbled apon some porn blogs many times, and lingered on them longer than I should've. I know its not a great thing- as a minor, ideally, legally, I shouldn't have been exposed to that, but with the internet age, its unavoidable. I never uploaded anything of my own, and although a part of me wanted to, I knew I shouldn't. But then there I was, 18, with a Nikon. A young body and a nice quality lense was all I needed. So I jumped. At first it was innocent, well-angled shots, showing enough to be sexy yet hiding enough to have an air of mystery. Then the comments started. People wanted more, more of my body, more of me. More, more, more. Most of the comments followed the same theme; hard, wet, ready, turned on, gasping, more, more, MORE.. So that is what I gave them.

Shadowy shots in dark rooms turned into clear, fully lit, full body ones. Then videos, and the videos turned into a following. They wanted more, they wanted me. They wanted me. Men, women, everyone. The creepier comments didn't phase me, I was admired. I was wanted.

The comments from women surprised me the most.

I imagined the thought of being with a woman, the parts of me doubled, reflected. Being able to desire those parts of me that had so often, oftentimes aggressively, been desired by men, but for me, for my desire, it felt more gentle, softer, more admiring. I came to terms with the idea that I was okay with the idea of loving women, being loved by them in returm. I knew I still loved men, but for the first time, I fully admitted to my desire to love both, love whomever I found myself loving, or wanting, no matter who they were.

I came out as bisexual my freshman year of college. I had thrown the term around in my head repeatedly for months, but never said it out loud until one night in my neighbor's dorm. It was during my first month of school, and she was the only friend I made on my hall. Some older friends of hers had snuck in alcohol, and we made a night of it. It didn't take long until the rum and cokes in mismatched cups led us to share bits of ourselves that we never would have sober. Our thoughts ran deep, the questions deeper. "Who do you see yourself becoming?" "What is something you hated about high school?" "What have you realized now that you are on your own and free?" I confessed that I was bi, and although I had never been with a girl, I wanted to. My friend looked at me, with an intensity I had not seen in her before, and said, "me, too". We hooked up that night, and a few times that year, then lost touch. I see her on campus sometimes, and we smile.

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