Being an OnlyFans creator also comes with its challenges. There are societal stigmas and judgments associated with this line of work, and I have faced criticism and negativity from some quarters. However, I have learned to overcome these challenges by staying true to myself, being proud of my work, and educating others about the platform and its diversity.
I haven’t always been an open book, spreading her legs and joy for the world to see, I was more of a closested freak. All my friends knew I was incredibly promiscuous and loved sex, but that stayed in my immediate group. Nowadays, I wear my heart on my sleeve, my sex life is plastered all over the internet and I’ve accepted that I’ve opened myself up to being judged for what I do.
VibeWIthMolly/VibeWithMommy shares her opinion on what women actually want and gives helpful tips on how to approach a first date as well as tips for physical intimacy, consent and how to seal the deal! In my dating life I have made quite a few men uncomfortable with my forwardness. I’ve had a guy make up an excuse and left the date after only 30 minutes of conversation. I admittedly knew we weren’t a match so I got pretty vulgar fairly quickly. What did I say? Fine I’ll tell ya. I told him one of my kinks was to get objectified and fucked like a fuckdoll from time to time. I think it freaked him out a bit…
One misstep, my boot slides out from underneath me and my face makes contact with the rock. I’m now draped over the beautiful rock face cliff like a little goldendoodle who just played for hours at the dog park. My floppy curly ears frazzled, ego floating in the cold river below and my fear a blazin’.
try counting the bruises on my back and butt. There are more than a hundred. I can’t stop staring at them in the mirror. I take close to 20 pictures of my backside and when I’m sitting relaxing on the couch I can’t help but look at the pictures over and over again. I feel proud. I feel normal. I feel mesmerized by the experience. I try to figure out what caused each bruise; what toy, what whip, what belt, or was it the vampire gloves?
He has me bent over the guardrail and he’s railing me from behind. I don’t know his name. Well, he told me his name but I forgot it seconds after he told me. The only thing I know about him is that he’s from Italy. He’s about 6’4, has dark hair and he’s attractive enough to be sleeping with after only an hour of drunk conversation. We’re on a two day ferry ride from Manila to Coron in the Philippines. The boat is huge. It holds hundreds of passengers and has plenty of bunk beds for all the passengers to sleep. I spent most of the boat ride drinking too much rum and chasing it down with cheap beer.
The waves. I can hear the faint sounds of waves crashing close by. I feel the early morning dawn on my skin. I start licking my lips and I can feel sand crunch between my teeth. There is something next to me. I can feel the warmth of someone next to me. My mouth is so dry. My head is pounding. I feel so disoriented.
I wanted to go back. I wanted to touch the grass where everything started to go to shit. That night when the air was so thick with fog, I could feel the dampness of the air in my lungs. That night I left myself there on the sun bleached grass that pricked my skin like little needles. The night I got lost forever.
Hello this is Officer.... that is all I hear.
My vision shrinks to the size of a pinhole. The sound that comes after sounds like a muffled horn. I can’t feel my body, time slows down; it’s almost as if time doesn’t exist. I'm standing on an empty highway, the air is thick with dew and fog, red and blue lights flashing in my peripheral. In front of me there are two mangled cars. I'm surrounded by police officers; I can't hear anything anyone’s saying. All I can feel is my heart thumping in my chest, filling my ears with such loud thuds it's almost nauseating. I feel condensation start to form on my palms from all the anxiety filling my chest.
I want to start off by saying that I can't stop crying. I did it. I'm 30 years old. I've had a baby, I've finally figured out why I've been using drugs and treating myself and others the way I have for the past 15 years, and I faced the moment in my life that changed everything. I had been refusing to think about, talk about or relive it since it happened.
This was the night I lost my childlike view of the world. This is the night I lost faith in others. This is what sparked my hatred for men. This is the night I first tried "alcohol" and this is the night I lost my virginity. This is where my mess all began. So if my mess is my message, then this is where my purpose lives.
You know what's fucked up? I think about this. I think about this situation everytime I’m sober and alone. When there is nowhere left for me to hide; I am here. I am pressed up against the chain link fence, bra exposed, jeans pulled down around my ankles and consciousness fading in and out. This is where I live when I’m alone. My mind takes me back to that day. My body follows and my sense of self starts to disappear.
