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My First Porno: Or, How I Learned to Stop Trusting "Loveline" 

Wednesday, Feb 26 2014
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In the winter of 2009, I sat in my tiny bedroom in the Inner Richmond — a glorified laundry room with a linoleum floor and a futon mattress in the corner. I stared at my laptop screen. On it flashed the model application for The Crash Pad Series, an independent queer porn site based out of San Francisco. I recognized many of the models on the site — some from porn, most from dance parties in the Mission. The site was bright and friendly looking: soft lines with pink and white letters. Everyone looked like they were having such a good time — queers of all shapes and sizes having intimate, silly, and sometimes filthy sex while a voyeuristic camera captured it all.

I had discovered the site long before I moved to the Bay Area. It served as a beacon of hope as to what the sex-positive San Francisco dream could look like. I knew from an early age that I was different from my peers. I was fascinated by sexuality; I also liked girls, boys, and (especially) people who landed somewhere in the middle.

Starved for information, as a teenager I spent many nights huddled next to the radio, listening to the sex advice call-in show, Loveline, at the lowest volume possible (parents). Though the hosts were often jerks, it had been my first window into the world of sexuality and served as a crude source of sex education. So at the end of my senior year of college, when I began to consider the possibility of doing porn, I turned to Dr. Drew and Adam Carolla for advice. I honestly didn't know whom else I could ask.

I got on the air and told them my story: I was a queer college coed thinking of doing porn for the first time; should I go for it? The hosts first asked if I had been molested as a child. I told them I had not, but they didn't believe me. They asked why I was considering it, and I told them I was interested in sexual performance, and that I wanted to participate in the revolution of documenting real queers having real sex!

They didn't get it. They insisted my life would be ruined and I'd never be able to get a job again. Even though a part of me knew that this could be a possibility, getting a resounding "no" from them only sparked my rebellious spirit and fueled my curiosity about having sex on camera.

Less than a year later, I was finally taking the plunge. I typed in "Siouxsie Q" for my stage name on the Crash Pad site and uploaded some pictures of myself posing naked at Sutro Heights Park. I rolled the new name around in my mouth. I liked the wholesome way it sounded, and that it rhymed with "floozy." I clicked the pink "Submit" button at the bottom of the online application form and crossed my fingers.

A month later, I woke up to an e-mail confirming that I would be performing in my very first porn scene. I borrowed my roommate's car for the big day. I was still iffy on all the nuances of parking in San Francisco, so I said a little prayer as I abandoned the gold Subaru on a steep foggy street in Bernal Heights.

My stomach was in knots as I knocked on the door of the charming Victorian house that served as the famed "Crash Pad." The Crash Pad is different from mainstream porn sites. On many sites, performers' pay is often based on their gender and the sexual acts they are willing to do on camera. At the Crash Pad, every performer is paid the same rate and is encouraged to do whatever sex acts they negotiate with their scene partner. The set is always fully stocked with condoms, lube, and gloves. Performers are welcome, but not required, to use them during the scene.

I was signing paperwork when my co-star arrived. I had been casually dating Puck Goodfellow for months, so we already had a natural chemistry with each other that put me completely at ease.

Two hours later, I stepped back onto the sunny sidewalk of Bernal Heights and gazed out over the city where the fog was just beginning to simmer off the bay. I was sure that the sunny day and the lack of a parking ticket on my roommate's car was a sign I was doing the right thing.

Thank goodness I didn't listen to those jerks from Loveline.

About The Author

Siouxsie Q

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