Sera Miles

I used to write the blog “Lipstick Explosion,” but took it down upon the birth of my daughter last January. Now that I’m back up on this blog,  my dear friend Radical Vixen asked if I’d be including my old blog posts somewhere. “You had,” she said, “some really great posts.” After I blushed, I decided I’d pull some of my stronger posts out and repost here occasionally, along with updates/addendums/new thoughts as is appropriate.

Below is a post I counted among the most difficult to write, and most important. More new comments from me at the end …

___Sept 2006___

Since I graduated with my MFA in May, I’ve been exercising and eating better, in an effort to shed “the grad school weight.” Working two or three jobs and taking a full load of classes for four years led to me eating crappy food late at night. Drinking two or three nights a week didn’t help either, so in this weight loss effort, I’ve occasionally cut out alcohol (which, by the way, I recommend. I think it has made the “cutting edge” difference for me.).

Clients often ask me to mail or email them pictures of me, and each time, I page through my photos and sigh–I know I look better now than I do in practically every photo, (at least, when I’m thumbing through, I think I do), and I usually go with an old stand-by. Every time I have an in-person session, which has been often this summer, I try to wear something that will hide the thigh-cellulite when I use the strap-on. Every time my boss calls for a photo session, I cringe, but put on a happy face–having “led” groups many times in my life, I try to stay positive and not let my body image issues affect my time at work. Every time I page through new photographs, I declare that I look fat in all of them. Having done this for five years, though, I know to wait a week and look at them again–and then I usually find a few that I like.

I, like so many women, have had body image issues as long as I can remember. Like so many women experience, my mother contributed to the state I find myself in now. She’d long been heavy, and when I was eleven, she declared that I had to drink diet coke. To this day, any “real” soda product tastes funny to me. I remember her limiting how many saltines I could have with a bowl of soup. Not long after that, I went through a period of anorexia, followed by seven years of bulimia. One of my “favorite” things to throw up was saltines–but I never ate more than two. Two saltines is 24 calories. I still remember that.

At 19 years old, I came out of the closet, and I stopped throwing up. By that time, too, I had a constant sore throat and a supportive network of friends. Even though I stopped sliding my fingers down my throat one to three times a day, I continued to obsess about my body. When I gained weight, I panicked and lost it, then gained it again. So, for eleven years, I’ve yo-yo’d. It feels good to be working out now, and to know that I have the time, the lifestyle and (lack of) schedule, to allow me to continue exercising. Lately, I can see slight muscles forming in my arms and calves and thighs, and for me, that’s an incredibly positive sign. In the past, I’ve slimmed down, but seeing my body transform into something new has contributed to a new way in which I perceive my body.

I think that many people assume that all sex workers have perfect bodies, or that we are ultimately confident in our bodies. Not true, obviously. Most of my sex worker friends panic before every photo shoot. Most of us barely eat all day, to avoid bloating. When I started in the biz, I was about 15 pounds away from a full “slim down” after a heavy period. I lost those 15 pounds within three months of my first job, and I was thrilled every time the people I worked with noticed it. Still, I knew my body was far from perfect. I was glad that I worked in fetish, where your actual interest in the fetish supercedes your looks. Sure, video producers want attractive people in their films, but as long as the actor/actress is “okay looking,” and truly into the fetish, the video producer tends to be pleased.

The first few times I saw clients in person, I worried about how they’d react to my body. Five months into the biz, I began apprenticing under a Mistress. She pushed me to let go of the anxiety. “They see,” she told me, “your collar, or your corset, or your breasts, or your feet … They want to see their fetish fantasy, not a model-thin woman.”

I repeated her words every time I partially undressed in front of a client. Kelly, for whom I made videos, told me to ensure that some of my pictures were not as flattering as others. “You never,” she said, “want someone to see you for a session and tell you that you looked better in your pictures.” I still repeat this admonition every time I look at new photos of myself.

Most BDSM/fetish sex workers have vastly different bodies. As I’ve talked with new women in the biz, and heard them panic before photos, I’ve told them of the admonitions I initially heard. But, that hasn’t consistently quieted the voice in my head, that insidious voice that parrots, “You’re fat; you’re fat; you’re fat.”

Fetish sex work doesn’t require large amounts of nudity if the sex worker doesn’t want to be naked. In the past few years, I’ve forced my logical mind to override my emotions and allow me to disrobe down to bra, panties, and stockings to use the strap-on. A few clients have requested nudity–politely–and I’ve obliged. I also offer switch and submissive sessions, and my dominant/switch clients expect–fairly, I think–a high degree of exposed skin.

Recently, I saw two clients in person. One had done many calls with me and seen many images of me. He declared, minutes after meeting me, “You’re even more beautiful in person.” I thought then of Kelly’s words, and realized their full import. All evening, this client repeated that he loved my body.

The other client came to me for his second-ever BDSM/fetish experience. I planned what I thought would be a great outfit–new red patent leather 1940s style heels, a leopard print cleavage baring top with a jewel-encrusted snake at the bodice, and black capri pants. Very retro. Then, an hour into the session, I realized that to do the strap-on, I either had to put the harness over my pants, which I hate doing, or I had to be in panties-only–without pantyhose to camouflage the cellulite. I forged forward, glad I was at least wearing black panties that covered my ass and pussy well. But, I ensured that I used the strap-on with him facing the mirror, me behind him. A year or so ago, I used the strap-on on a client as we were side by side with the mirror. When I glanced over and saw my stomach and thighs, I wanted to throw up (literally and figuratively). Ever since then, I’ve ensured I cannot see my bare thighs in the mirror, unless I am obsessing in front of my cheval mirror at home.

The client was thrilled with the session (the cutest thing he said was, “I love making Miss Sera happy!”), and he subsequently sent me an email. He thanked me for a great time, indicated he’d like to see me again, and he wrote, “You were smoking hot.” I was touched, of course, largely because very few clients take the time to write you a thoughtful note after a session. Then, I thought about myself in that playspace, obsessing over how to present my body, while the client, evidently, was enthralled.

Sex work brings its own host of body-obsession possibilities, but it also allows us the opportunity to unchain ourselves from those obsessive thoughts. I remind myself, when I’m in high-obsession periods, that I sell my expertise and time first, then my body, as in my holistic physical presence. A dominant client, for example, is much more concerned with whether or not I enjoy his spanking me, rather than with the amount of wrinkled flesh on my thighs.

Still, most of us want to be attractive. We draw the client toward us through photographs first.

This all begs a larger question, an elephant in the room–does pornography negatively affect women’s body images? Well, on straight/vanilla porn, I have little to say. I would hope that viewers realize that the women in vanilla porn have often had some form of surgery. They also have a career that expects them to spend time in the gym, eat well, and care for their skin. Their career–like mine–allows them the time to do all of these things, plus get haircuts and color, pedicures, and anything else we feel necessary.

The bottom line, for women in sex work, is that we make more per hour than many other professions allow. But, for us, to go to the salon or the gym is part-relaxation, part-work. My work allows me to see myself through the client’s eyes, when I can peel back the layer of hating my body and see what they see: an attractive girl, who looks like a real person, who is not only willing to indulge their fetish, but also interested in their fetish.

Sex work initially leads the worker to obsess about her body, to pinpoint every flaw. But I think that for those of us who stay with it, we get glimpses of how we are seen, versus how we have seen ourselves. And the more I look at myself through someone else’s eyes, the more I like that image in the mirror.

Addendum

In the two and a half years since I wrote that post, I’ve gained 70 pounds to have a baby and lost about 45 of it. I have struggled to accept my new body: the lines on my stomach; my nipples pointing downward; my curves covered in more layers of flesh.

I am no longer a full-time sex worker; though I do take an occasional call or session from a long-time client, I do not advertise. I have wanted to take new pictures, to show myself now for my New Mexico FetLifers promotions and for this blog, but I’ve had a hard time getting my groove up for said pictures. In part, it’s difficult to find time to primp head to toe for a photo session—with an infant crawling around. In part, I feel like I can see the new heft in my face, my neck, and I don’t want to see it on camera.

I wonder: if I went back to work full force, photos everywhere, would my clients not call because I’m 20+ pounds heavier?

I know the answer. No. Most of them would probably notice the weight gain. Most of them have wives or ex-wives or loved ones who’ve had children. So, most of them would note it and move on, with an inkling of the dramatic changes my body has undergone in the last two years. 10 months of pregnancy + 12 months of breastfeeding does not leave one charging out for a run every morning. It leaves one in desperate need of every available second of delicious sleep.

I feel I’m coming full circle in these comments, in that I am remembering that sex worker clients–at least in the parts of the business I know well–love me and adore me and respect me and want me because of what I bring to their mental anguish. Nice tits or shapely legs make for icing on the “top.”

I miss my round and succulent tits, untouched by becoming a food source. I miss the curve of my waist, the arch of my back and neck, without new rolls of flesh. But my clients? They miss me.

I’ve gotta tap into their thinking.