I’ve never been waxed on my chest before, and it felt more meaningful than I thought it would. As he spread the gum across the hair, my ambivalence about the deed evaporated, and I immediately knew I had committed to something rash. I had just been saying how I intend to work on my posture, so that my chest meets the world before my head, and the implications of that go beyond the physical; moving forward heart-first seems right for me. And now, the skin stretched across my chest is angry and changed. Where once it was nestled in a patch of fur, the deep roots have left holes too big to heal easily.
In the shower, hot water streaming down my skin, I scrub my chest pink to keep the pores clear. I think more about who I’m trying to be for my fans. Sexy storyteller, smooth and athletic looking. Available as I can be, and eager to please. My work is in capturing the light bouncing off my outer-most, and so I’m dismayed by the red dots left from waxing. I want to glow evenly on camera, and it’s hard to accept that I need to take some time away from photo or video shoots to let my skin heal.
Past the skin, I feel my insides undulating, each breath a longer wave, lapped at by the lubdub further in. Between the heartbeats, I forget the superficial and remember more of who I am: Earth lover, wordsmith, story maker. Pornographer with depth. What stories can I tell on a weekly basis to the people helping me pay my bills? Will they be engaged by the stories I want to show on film?
As I sense deeper, I sprout with ideas about what to film in the coming weeks, mulling over words and their many meanings, seeds for what will ripen into something juicy. I’m going down, subterranean, and finding what Robert Macfarlane says in Underland, that “the darkness can be a medium of vision.” I’m warmed by the thought of you, reading this far, and looking to see what will come shining from these depths.
Looking forward to more!