Now, no reason to get your panties in a wad about this. I’m not trying to start an argument; I just want to be able to explain how I got into this line of work, and part of that explanation requires understanding the basics of human biology, which, surprisingly, many people don’t.
Lesson time—women can identify as one hundred percent heterosexual, live a completely straight lifestyle, and still be aroused by another woman. It’s a fact. By arousal, I mean pupils dilate, pulse quickens, blood flow increases to the genitals. The female might not even recognize that these physical changes are happening, and I’m not talking about these things occurring when she’s kissed or caressed—I’m talking about when women are shown pictures of other attractive women, their bodies react.
Read the studies if you don’t believe me.
But, see, arousal is not the same as sexual orientation. Arousal is something that occurs on a physiological level. It’s natural. Base. Primal.
Sexual lifestyle is determined by things that are harder to measure and explain—cultural conditioning, emotional attachment, socio-economic factors, religious affiliation. That’s a much more controversial topic to delve into, and all I’m going to say on that matter is that the way I was raised has a lot to do with how I feel about sex.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
The point is if we’re going by physical arousal, research suggests that women are most certainly never completely straight. We’re turned on by varying degrees of both male and female sexual stimuli. And why wouldn’t we be? We’re wired to procreate, but we’re also wired to seek pleasure. There’s so much pleasure in the female form—their hips, their breasts, their lips. Women are soft and beautiful and sexy in ways that men just aren’t.
So if the studies show that women are aroused from viewing same-sex stimuli, then how much more aroused are they going to be if they have a physical encounter? Then the stimulus becomes more than just sight and sound. Now it’s also touch and scent and taste. Say what you will about the gender you would prefer to get it on with; if you were blindfolded, could you honestly tell the difference between a man stroking your hair and a woman? Both feel good. And feels good is feels good. What gets in the way of enjoying it is all mental.
I told you it was a long answer.
Maybe a better answer is the explanation of how I got started in this business. Short answer is, “I blame my parents.”
Long answer is, “No, I mean, I really blame my parents.”
From as early as I can remember, I was taught that bodies are beautiful and sex is natural. It was practically a daily prayer, one that my parents strove to reflect in their daily lives. Before I hit puberty, I was exposed to so many different variations of free love and nudist living that I had no chance of growing up to be a woman afraid of showing a little skin.
Let me be clear—it wasn’t like my parents were harmfully inappropriate. Sure they were lax about the amount of clothing they wore in my presence, but I wasn’t molested or forced to participate in sixties-style orgies. I was actually taught very firmly to respect bodies—others’ and mine. I was taught consent. I was exposed to people engaged in liberal lifestyles, and both my mother and father were very open about sex and the human form.
So when I was seventeen and approached by an erotic modeling agent, I figured, why not? Bodies are beautiful. Sex is natural. And erotic modeling sounded a whole hell of a lot better than any of the other job options I had. For those first shoots, I’d had to dodge the question of my age, but it brought in decent money, money that might have gone further if I hadn’t spent the entire summer after high school backpacking through Europe.
One day after I’d returned from my extended vacation and I was bemoaning the cost of a college education, my agent said, “You know, there’s more money in erotic pictures when they’re movies. And there’s more money in movies when you’re having sex.”
Again, I figured, why not?
I started with a couple of masturbation shoots, both of which went smoothly. Hell, I got a vibrator for my fourteenth birthday; I was already a pro at masturbation. Then I was offered my first girl-girl scene—a finger-fuck and *-lick. I was to be the receiver. Except for the heavy petting I’d done with Teresa Murray at her sixteenth birthday sleepover—we were young, we were curious—I’d never had any lesbian experience.
But Teresa had been pretty fun to make out with, and if she’d wanted to go down on me, I’d have let her. Feels good is feels good.