When I was growing up, a lot of my hopes and dreams were based in desirability. I wanted to be the girl who made something of herself despite the odds, to be looked upon by my former grade school classmates with envy, for my life to be the underdog fat girl turned boss bitch with a hot boyfriend and successful career storyline. Looking back I can see how problematic a lot of those thoughts were, but that was the idealisation that kept me going through the hard times in my life.
Being a fat girl throughout all of middle school and high school, I was particularly hung up on wanting to be desirable to boys my age. I had many crushes throughout my early years, some simple and fleeting, while others felt so deep that there were nights where I couldn’t possibly bear how much I liked someone from afar. I was never what a grade school boy would be interested in: overweight, weird, and unpopular in a time where individuality and uniqueness were far less celebrated than it is now. My crushes were never reciprocated, and I longed for the day that I would be wanted.
As someone who went through a significant glow up in recent years, I feel like my sex and dating life has taken a 180 from the days of being never asked out. I’m more desirable than I’ve ever been with my Instagram inbox being full of messages, people buying my porn and pledging to my Patreon every week, and being seen as a ‘sex symbol’ by everyone who knows me. This desirability has been amazing for my confidence, especially in the last year or so, turning me into maybe a bit more of a narcissist than I’d like to admit.
The one thing that I wasn’t really expecting, especially as someone who didn’t plan on having a career in the sex industry, was that my desirability is not only affected by my own general appearance and personality but because of my sexuality and job. Somewhere in the process of “becoming desirable”, and coming into my career and ownership of my body, I ended up becoming a fetish. I’ve come to realize that my sexual openness, kinkiness, and experimental interests are put on a pedestal that I’m chained to (and not in a good way). I once desired to be desired, and now that I am, I’m quickly seeing the downsides to this sexy stereotype I’ve ended up embodying.
It started with the surface level nonsense; the men on Tinder’s increasingly sexualized first messages and unrealistic expectations that I’m going to be down for the most adventurous sex upon meeting. “Sweet” or “nice” interactions with pursuers are hard to come by nowadays. I don’t get many messages that make me smile or blush, and anal is asked for immediately. As if people who love sex don’t deserve respect, or time to warm up to a person they’re about to engage in a high-skill sex act with.
Tinder messages are easy to delete and forget; the real problems I’ve noticed stem from my interpersonal relationships. Casual partners have assumptions that I’ll be okay hearing about their other sexcapades, playing sex therapist, or, even at times, being a unicorn for them and their other partner. I’m supposed to be the “cool sex-positive chick” who is assumed to be undeniably chill, with a consistent healthy lack of feelings and boundaries. I love bringing my partners into the world of kinky sex, and teaching them new BJ techniques; sex is a passion of mine that I want to share that with those I’m intimate with. But, I’m often fetishized for my tricks and toys and have been expected to be performing my stereotype with my partners. I’m a sexy version of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl, a bubbly, shallow TV trope who exists to teach men to be open to the world’s possibilities. I’m a great hot adventure; the sexy jaunt they tell their bachelor party buds before they get married to a more respectable person. Who would have thought, though, that’s not who I am at all times.
The pattern of attitudes that’s bothered me the most, is that I’m seen as disposable by partners and potential dates. As if my sexual flame is too hot to endure for a long period of time, I’m often slotted to one-night stands and casual relationships because of my enthusiasm for sex. It’s an assumption made by my partners that my wiles are too wild for serious connections. Looking back on every first date I’ve had in the past year, almost all of them assumed our relationship would be casual, even in times where we hadn’t discussed intentions before going in. That flat-chested feeling of disappointment that’s accompanied “I’m glad we’re both looking for something casual.” got old very quickly. Partners see my sexual freedom as an excuse to not regard me as a serious relationship contender, and I’m realizing that I’m not okay with that.
As I’m wanting to transition into more fulfilling connections, dwelling on the side-effects of my desirability has held a lot of space in my brain and heart recently. Does self-identifying as a slut and sex-positive person affect how my dates and partners act toward me? Of course. I can practically hear “No one wants a slut for a girlfriend.” from the voice in the back of my head in unison with a cis man typing in my comments section. Being too desirable is often lodged as a downfall in society, but I refuse to believe that’s my problem. My openness and kinkiness is looked at as desirable for casual fucks, but not relationships, and that’s a shitty double standard I’m going to have to fight for a while. I know wholesome love and longevity can co-exist with my career field and sexuality, I just need to find it for myself.
The Manic Sexy Dream Girl is desired widely, but not deeply. She’s the “cool sex-positive chick” who’s partner assumes would want a threesome them and another one of their fuck buddies. She’s the girl who’s partners crush on her while she fulfils their wildest fantasies in bed, but will never be loved because she’s too open to be considered for long-term partnership.
I am a Manic Sexy Dream Girl, and I think it’s about time I retire.