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My first real video shoot. I performed what I thought were all the obligatory porn shoot preparations: groomed bikini area, plucked eyebrows, cleaned vibrators, packed a duffle bag of clothes—a few short tight dresses, my zip-up leather dress, my vinyl miniskirt, my vinyl bustier, my lace bustier, some garter belts, some bras, some g-strings, my strappy heels, my thigh-high black vinyl boots, two vibrators (large pink and small white), some condoms, tube of lubricant, makeup, cotton balls, my short black bob wig, my pink silk robe, and two slips.  I was prepared for anything. I hoped.

Jeff was calling me at 3:30 to let me know the exact room number and when to arrive, so I paced around my room while I waited, stealing glances at myself in the mirror.  I still looked the same, but inside everything felt different.

I told Karen more about this whole sex project today.  I didn’t want to, but I didn’t want to lie about where I was going, and she asked what I had planned for the day.  There wasn’t anything wrong with what I was doing.  Not really.  Or there shouldn’t be, anyway.  So I told her the truth. It felt good to talk to someone about it who seemed, behind all the curiosity, to care about how I felt, but I still didn’t think I’d tell anyone else. Everyone else would have to wait until after a safe barrier of time and space lay between me and this sordid other world, when I was no longer a part of it but a survivor. If I told them now, they could try to get me to stop, and I didn’t want to stop.

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