You know, as much as I disparage influencers as a vocation, it’s hard not to watch some of them being overtly sexual and think, man, I wonder what it’s like to live with no shame at all?
Like not in a bad way, but just in a fully away, I’m selling my body for money, and I’m fine with that because, it’s online so no one actually has to touch me, and I make a mint from it. In this economy, get yours, right?
I know I’m too much of an introvert for that (but a year in Finland taught me not to strip away the stigma of nudity – hard to worry about it when every party or function you go to, you end up naked in a sauna with half-a-dozen other people of varied ages, some of whom might be your best friends or the girl you’re super interested in, or a bunch of old geezers you just met).
Still, if I were young and attractive, why not? Especially as a woman. Own your shit, be comfortable in your skin, exploit those who think faces and bodies on the internet belong to them. They might get to ogle you from afar, but you’re the one with the Lambo and the regular trips to cool places, all over the world.
I mean, I’d like something a bit less obviously transactional, but the shame-free part? That’s all right.
Target: 1200 words
Written: 1316 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson
Comics: Fathom: Dawn Of War - Beginnings 1, Fathom 0.5, Michael Turner's Aspen 1-2
Music: Electric Larryland, Butthole Surfers (terrible live, by the way, at least when they came to Sheridan they were)