On choice, consent and being loved on my own terms…
Just beyond my laptop screen is an intricate paint by numbers picture of a flower, half finished in a completely different color scheme than what the numbers correspond to. I like to paint within the lines but the contrarian in me wants to choose which color. Choice is my love language. Let me pick. Give me freedom to please myself in my own manner. Choice lets me choose and consent allows for one of those choices to be no. At 46 my intuition, my love of self and my fetishes harmonize together to create the music that you’ll find me dancing to if you ever catch me home alone. It might also be Lizzo.
When I recently told my mother that I no longer wanted to be introduced by my birth name *****a, she inquired my reasons and among wanting to be more anonymous I stated, plain as day, “well I didn’t pick it.” End of argument. My choice and consent are the bottom line. To love me is to respect that.
I guess I should backtrack and explain that after nearly 20 years of mutual distance I have returned home to help care for my aging parents. Our distance predicated by my leaving The Christian Chuch® (notably Southern Baptist) for the choice to believe what I wanted, to decide for myself where my compass points, to fuck around with apostasy and figure it all out!
And I did, I still am and will attend to my continued heresy for as long as I can because leaving Christianity was a gateway to choice.
I divorced in late aughts, leaving Christianity along with my Christian marriage. It was probably the first time I realized I could believe whatever I wanted. I recall the early days of my nascent personal theology when I worked in a bookstore and my coworkers and I would brainstorm what religion I should adhere to now.
All the pictures my parents have up at their (now also my) home are of my wedding or earlier. There are no pictures from the last 20 years of my life. They stopped understanding me at that point and it’s easier to love someone on your own terms.
As a 40 something sex worker and fetish clip creator, I’m so much more than just an unrepentant apostate. I am an idol, a false god, according to Christianity. There are people who worship me as a deity, a Goddess, and spend thousands of dollars to please me. Becoming my own god has been really good for my bottom line. Loving me is my business.
If you ever wish to please Me, give Me choice. Nothing gives Me more choice than money. A generous tip on any of My sites speaks volumes to the singular appreciation of Me. It means the sender wishes for Me to ultimately decide what to buy, how to treat Myself to My favorite things or just stuff My bank account with even more! I will never trust a man who tells Me he loves Me if he’s never given Me My favorite perfume or played My favorite music. Don’t say you love Me if you don’t even know Me.