The following post is by the lovely Katelan Foisy. Check out her website for her writing, paintings, and modeling.
“How many men would pay thousands of dollars to do to you, what I did today?” Mike asked me as we sipped wine from a bottle in the back yard of NYC punk rock history.
I’m not a prostitute, nor am I a porn star. That’s not exactly the truth; we’ve all done a little something for money, gifts, dinner, or a little bit of fame. I am however a naked model, an artist, writer, tarot reader, and a muse. I’ve come up with random schemes and ran with them. There was the topless tarot, the “Red Bettie” go-go dancing, and other random jobs that involved me taking off my clothes and collecting money.
I find no shame in sex work and never will. The people I have met through the industry have become some of my most cherished friends. They’ve taught me more about accepting my body and the wonders of photoshop than any other professional type out there.
Around the time I was go-go dancing I was living with a very toxic human being. For every step forward I took with modeling and dancing she brought me three steps back. Let’s for this story’s sake call her Annabelle Lee. Annabelle Lee wanted to be a model, and she had the looks for it too. She just didn’t have the confidence, so she spent her days taking mine. “You’re too big too be wearing that.” She’d say and then offer to go out and get ice cream. At my first go-go gig she laughed and made jokes in the corner while handing her phone number out to my contacts. I was destroyed.
Fast forward years later, ten pounds larger and I’m heading to a porn party. I’ve been nude modeling for two years, painting porn stars, and happily immersed in the community. I’m also completely terrified. All these gorgeous, glamorous, scantily clad, women on film will be there. I’m not trying to compete with them, just fit in. I text the guy I’m seeing but not sure if I’ll get a response, he’s in between being on tour and visiting family. It was just me and my body issues. I remembered Annabelle and all those times she knocked me down. Of course, I should have realized it then but she was dealing with her own issues.
Getting ready in the hotel room, my photographer snaps a few pictures. “You’ve really come into your own.” She says from behind the lens. As I pull up my fishnet thigh highs I start to feel more confident.
We get to the party and I’m taken upstairs to be interviewed. Gorgeous porn stars lounge on the couch as I speak into the recorder. Afterwards I’m taken downstairs and told to wait for Ron, yes, Ron Jeremy.
Ron is fascinating. The moment he enters a room people flock to him. He signs them, gropes them, and takes pictures. His wranglers move him away from the crowd and over to me. Ron is a business man through and through. In the midst of flash bulbs blinding us he whispers, “Do you have a boyfriend here?”
“No.”
“Then let’s give them what they want.”
He grabbed me around the waist and kissed me propping me up afterward to pose for photographs. The masses started to crowd and once again Ron is enveloped in a sea of young women exposing their chests. I’m asked if I can now become the wrangler and get him away from the crowd. I’m wearing a tight black skirt and shirt. I’m not wearing any underwear. I shimmy into the crowd and place Ron’s hand on my ass. “Follow me.” I whisper, while bloggers and journalist yell out “She’s from Queens too.” And with Ron’s hand placed firmly on my ass we make our way to the dance floor. “You’ve got a great ass,” he says. “The best in the business.” I laugh and smile, all the years of Annabelle’s words just melt away. I realize how crucial the sex industry has been to my positive body image, and not just by this one comment. The journalists, photographers, porn stars, and directors are all swooning over me. I’m in my element.
Back in the garden drinking wine with Mike I think of all this as we plan for our own shoot, his poetry on my body. We’ve spent all day with me naked and him on top of me. Pen to flesh. “How many men would pay thousands of dollars to do to you, what I did today?” He says. “Maybe a few.” I say, taking another sip.
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