After a much more thorough round of research, I found a local, queer-centric adult film company to apply for and – after a more in-depth application process, I was waiting to hear back from them. While I had no interest in making gay male content for them, Sarah liked that their founders were a non-binary lesbian and a trans woman and when she’d looked up their website she’d vibed with the content pretty well.

  In the meantime, however, I spent most of my time working on Sarah’s personal account, taking a few more clothed pictures to entice people to buy the lewd ones I’d released and getting ready for my first video.

  The release of my pictures had gone okay; while I’d gotten a few buyers, I didn’t really have a unique draw, nor did I have the money to make a conventional social media influencer presence for Sarah with travel and fashion pictures, which was the most recommended strategy for attracting customers I’d seen.

  I was hoping that if I could get a spot in a prominent adult film, it might attract more attention to my backlog of solo content.

  Of course, that meant I had to actually make that backlog, something that was complicated by my other responsibilities, like cleaning the apartment or…

  Why is Madeline calling?

  I answered the call, “Hello?”

  “Hey there brother,” she said, inflecting ‘brother’ with a strange cowboy accent I’d never heard her use – not that I was surprised.

  She got straight to business, as she usually did. “You’ve been living here a while, right? What’re some good pces to take a dy on a date? Like not just dinner but I wanna take her shopping and on a walk in the park and–”

  “I have no idea what lesbians do on dates!” I protested, “Why didn’t you ask Luna?” My best friend somehow tolerated my little sister better than I did – probably because they had a lot in common, including being better than me at everything.

  “Cuz she’s busy working, duh,” she sassed, “Now c’mon, I know you’re holding out on me.”

  I huffed a sigh. “There’s that one garden with the flowers, I think I saw a post from a lesbian on social media saying it was a good date spot…”

  “The one garden with the flowers, got it – let me write that down.”

  “It’s on G and 32nd,” I mumbled, “And there’s a cute sandwich shop owned by a pair of married women a few blocks to the west…”

  “Thanks bro!” And she hung up.

  I sighed again, and moved on to my cleaning, disparate thoughts swirling in my head.

  It frustrated me that Madeline saw me the way she did – that she went to me to ask where to take another woman on a date. What did that say about me? Did I follow too many sapphic influencers, given that I was a gay man? Was I somehow fetishising gay women? It was just because my best friend and little sister were lesbians, right?

  And I was also frustrated by the way Luna saw me, how my attraction to Sarah – as misconstrued as it was – was framed as a Thing, a revetion about my identity, rather than just a passing interest. It felt to me that by commenting on it to her, by identifying and belling it, I’d created the expectation for something to come of it. And if it ended up being inconsequential, if the interest passed and I wanted to never speak about it again, that would somehow be embarrassing.

  And stly, of course, I hated how my mom saw me – or at least how I thought she must see me: incompetent, useless, and zy. I’d dropped out of college after two years, not spending long enough there to learn anything, but wasting plenty of money anyways – and what did I have to show for it? A string of low-paying jobs, none held longer than six months.

  I supposed that was part of the fun of being Sarah: she wasn’t beholden to the same expectations that I was. If she did something weird, stupid, or perverted, she couldn’t be thenceforth belled a weirdo or an idiot or a pervert, because she wasn’t real.

  On the other hand, she was held to different expectations because she was a woman, and I didn’t know how to handle those. I hadn’t meaningfully addressed the expectation for her to wear makeup and pretty clothes, at least not beyond completely ignoring it in favour of convenience, but I had grappled with the presumption that she was supposed to be prudish and sex-averse because she was a woman – and I loved subverting that. There was a sick joy that I – that Sarah took from being openly sexual, from unashamedly sharing her body and its physical pleasures with complete strangers.

  But it wasn’t that simple; there was a paradox hidden deep within that joy.

  Because if Sarah was a real person, or at least a convincing simucrum of a real person, she would feel shame if her friends and family knew what she was doing for money. She would cringe and blush and do everything in her power to make sure that her mom and her roommate had no knowledge of what she was doing, because for as open and free as she liked to feel – for as much as she liked to show off, that was all for strangers; she wasn't comfortable being seen.

  I huffed a sigh, rinsing off the mop head in the kitchen sink before wringing it out and putting it up to dry, finally done with my cleaning for the day. I wiped sweat off my brow and, although I wanted to take a shower, I needed to film Sarah first – and she’d be getting sweaty anyways.

  Thankfully, I could style my hair and make myself look presentable with shapeshifting, meaning once I got my equipment set up, including a small, pink dildo I’d ordered online, I could get right into it.

  I y back on the bed with the white sheet covering my naked body, sighing at the ceiling, before leaning up and beginning my performance.

  “Hey, everyone, I’m Sarah, and this is I– my first video,” I said, stumbling over my words.

  Shoot, should I retry and cut that out, or would it seem inauthentic to have every line delivered perfectly?

  I shrugged and continued, using one hand to support my weight and the other to hold the sheet up to my chest, letting little peeks of my bare skin show as I shifted in pce. “Today I’m going to be using a new dildo I bought – it’s my first time using one that vibrates, so hopefully that’s something I enjoy – and hopefully you enjoy me enjoying you enjoying me.” I tilted my head, trying to make sense of what I’d said.

  Whenever I’m in this body it’s so hard to act composed – I keep getting distracted, made even worse by how intense everything feels – if life is like this for trans people all of the time, I can’t imagine how hard that is.

  I began by touching my chest from behind the sheet, more skin being uncovered as my hands moved around. Soon, I was completely exposed and worked up, with my new toy lined up between my legs.

  Its tip kissed my folds and I gasped, ughing, “It’s really cold – I didn’t expect that.” I let out a long whine as I pushed it in, rexing my internal muscles as they strained and stretched.

  Doubts began swirling in my head. Was I being insincere with my commentary and the noises I was making? I definitely wouldn’t be so loud and outspoken if I wasn’t filming myself, but it wasn’t like I was pretending to enjoy something I wasn’t, right?

  Another push on the dildo unduted my body, the motion starting from my hips and travelling up through my torso to my neck, which tilted my head back for a moan.

  Was that real? Or am I pying up my reactions in the hopes that it’d make me money?

  The pink phallus slid out of me and pressed back in once more before I was ready to turn on the vibrations. I twitched as they started, my face going sck and my eyes darting anywhere other than the camera – being on video felt so different than taking photos, where I had a level of detachment. An image of me was just that – a likeness, a picture – whereas a video held enough of the essence of me to be called me – my voice, my mannerisms, every little twitch and moan there for people to pore over.

  I shoved the vibrator deeper inside me, humming as it hit a new spot, the pleasant buzz driving away my silly thoughts.

  Who cares about identity or expression? You’re a whore showing off your depravity to an audience – now moan!

  I moaned, spurred on by finally meeting my camera’s gaze.

  A loud thump answered me from across the apartment.

  I continued pleasuring myself, oblivious for a moment, and then it hit me that I hadn’t just heard Snuffles causing trouble – it’d been the front door closing.

  Panic washed over me, freezing my body for a moment before I threw myself off the bed, grabbing the tripod and throwing it behind where the bedroom door would open.

  My body morphed back to normal just as the door swung open.

  “Hey, Greg, what’s going– Oh!” Luna covered her eyes, turning away from my naked form, the wet splotch on the bed, and the pink toy next to it. “Sorry, I should’ve knocked – I’ll be out on the couch, sorry…” She scurried away.

  I closed the door. let out a long, relieved breath, and set about putting my camera away.

  That was close…