Day Zero
The house is quiet. There is a hum of static in the air. My little one breathes deeply, occasionally suckling on my tit in her milk-drunken slumber.
My partner’s at work and I just made an Only Fans account.
Maybe it was the last argument we had, about how to raise our kid; or maybe the way he was unsupportive of my decisions on teaching yoga; or maybe it was when he flung my art out of a two-storey window; or maybe it all began in the second trimester when he kicked me out of the house in the middle of the night.
Whatever it was, I’m done now.
I make him sound bad. He’s not the worst, he’s just a typical pig-headed man and most importantly, I am no longer in love with him. Not to say that I don’t love him for who he is, for all his greater qualities:- he is, simply, just not for me.
But we have a fucking baby together and I’m broke as shit.
My friend suggested Only Fans and it took me approximately five seconds to come around to the idea.
I needed something where I could be with the baby and work remotely.
And god dammit, have you tried getting a remote job these days? The rigmarole makes me want to blast my brains out. Not to mention the inertia of the job itself.
Besides, it would never make me enough to escape and afford a place for just me and her. #thedream. I want money quickly.
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So, that’s my justification and origin story so far.
Only Fans wants to verify I am, in fact, a real human.
Passport, check. Government name, check. Pseudonym, check. New socials, check. Website, hey, why don’t we document this whole process and write a blog about it?
I just moved the living room around to make space for some amateur ass photos against the plain, white wall. When he gets back, my excuse is I want to practice my handstands and other inversions.
Sounds legit.
If you’ve made it this far through my post, thank you. I hope you consider subscribing to my stupid antics and join me for this adventure.
If you like my face, a link to my Only Fans will soon be available.
There, you will inevitably see more than just my face. And no, not just my arse but also my art.
I would be lying to say this hasn’t started a fire in my belly. I’m excited. The ideas and prospects of creating beautiful nude art, erotic art, tantric art, sensual art came flooding in. There is so much gold inside of me, so many images I have thought about creating, but this might be the platform and the drive I have always needed.
Plus, a little strip tease, naked workouts and sexy selfies are good for the soul too. (More on setting my boundaries in the future).
I didn’t sleep at all the night my friend uttered the words, Only Fans. I thought about all the partners that got in the way of my creativity before and who I am now. It has taken being a mother for me to move into a space where I don’t want to sacrifice my instincts. Or I can’t.
And this weirdly seems like a good idea.
Stay tuned to follow my next steps, updates on photoshoots and behind-the-scenes nonsense. Here is my Instagram in the meantime. I need to build a following here to get verified on Only Fans, so be a darl and I promise some stunning imagery is heading to your newsfeed.
Ciao, stay strong x
