I love people. I love connection. I love sex. And, maybe most importantly, I love asking questions. I believe we all have gifts, and mine is this: I want to know people deeply, intimately, down to the most granular details. What draws me in most are their desires.
In this culture, so many of us are cut off from our desires. They get buried beneath layers of “shoulds”, what we’re told we ought to want, how we ought to behave. Desire becomes obscured by shame, performance, and expectation. We end up mimicking what we think intimacy is supposed to look like. We fuck like porn stars because that’s what we’ve seen, rarely pausing to listen to the quiet voice of our own appetites.
Sexual satisfaction becomes a numbers game: how many lovers, how many orgasms, how closely we can mirror those glossy, pre-scripted ideals of masculine and feminine. Even after years of unlearning, I still catch myself chasing after desires that aren’t mine, motivated by someone else’s narrative, someone else’s pleasure, someone else’s expectations. I’m still peeling back those layers.
In my teens and twenties, I remember my lovers as people eager not to appear inexperienced, to be cool, to be “good in bed.” I remember the anxiety and fantasy that sat between us and real sensuality. But what I remember most is this: in most cases, I was the first person to ask what they liked in bed.
And no one had an answer.
Sure, we were young, but I was struck by how many had been sexually active without ever being asked (or asking themselves) what they actually wanted. What are you into? How do you like to be touched? What turns you on? These were brand new questions for many of my lovers. I got to witness the quiet unfolding that happens when someone is asked, for the first time, with gentleness and sincerity, to consider what they truly desire.
I love people. I love connection. I love sex. And, maybe most importantly, I love asking questions.
Even now, I find myself having these conversations with lovers in our thirties: people who’ve never been invited to get curious about their own turn-ons, let alone been met with someone else’s real interest in helping them explore those hidden, intimate landscapes.
Sex work, for me, is that offering.
I especially love my repeat clients, the ones who come not just for pleasure, but to deepen their relationship with themselves and to peel back the interference of other people’s wants. To slowly untangle from all the “shoulds” that have jammed up their connection to their own bodies, their own hungers.
What an intrusion, all that noise.
And what a gift, to help someone clear it away. Because the stakes of knowing and taking responsibility for your own desires are bigger than they seem. They're personal, yes. But they’re also deeply political.
In 1950, a group of researchers led by Theodor Adorno published a study called The Authoritarian Personality. Adorno, who had lived through the rise of the Nazi party and was ultimately forced to flee Germany for his safety, was trying to understand what made people vulnerable to fascism. The premise was simple but profound: our susceptibility to authoritarian ideas isn’t just about politics or intellect, it’s about personality. And personality, they argued, is shaped by desire.
Adorno believed that our core drives (our needs, longings, fears) play a huge role in how we respond to ideology. He saw personality not as fixed, but as a system always in flux, always shaped by the world around us: our communities, our economic realities, our culture. He suggested that a person’s ability to resist harmful ideology depends, in part, on their ability to recognize and take responsibility for the desires that live underneath their choices.
He called this the “mature personality”: someone who can name and organize the emotional currents inside them, rather than being unknowingly swept away by them.
That idea stood out to me because it describes what I’ve seen in my own work.
When I ask someone, “What gives you pleasure?”, I’m not just offering a better sexual experience, I’m interrupting an unconscious pattern of reaching, acting, performing that takes place without us ever really knowing why. I’m asking them to slow down and look inward. What do you actually want? What do you crave when no one’s watching?
Over and over, I’ve seen how powerful that invitation can be. When someone feels safe enough to name a desire, to bring it into the light, it no longer runs them from the shadows. It becomes something they can choose to pursue or not. But the point is: it can be met.
When someone feels safe enough to name a desire, to bring it into the light, it no longer runs them from the shadows.
Adorno’s study even devoted a full chapter to sexuality. Participants most prone to authoritarian thinking tended to view sex as a place of conquest or failure. They clung to rigid gender roles, moralized pleasure, and often split their love lives in two: one partner for emotional intimacy, another for impersonal physical relief. They weren't without desire, but their desires were shaped by shame, repression, and a fear of true connection.
By contrast, those with more democratic leanings tended to integrate affection and sensuality. They valued curiosity, mutual respect, and connection. Their desires weren’t dictated by convention, but explored in relationship with themselves and with others.
This matters. Not just because it's a fascinating psychological theory from the 1950s, but because we’re living in a moment where authoritarianism is once again taking root in the imaginations of those around us.
I’ve always believed that sex work is political. And when I ask a client, Do you want me to touch you like this? What are your fantasies? what I’m really asking is, Can you meet yourself here? Can you be responsible for what you want?
It might seem like a stretch to say Adorno wants us to fuck more curiously, but I don’t think it is.
Because when a person is witnessed in their desire, when they’ve been given space to know and articulate what moves them, they become harder to manipulate. Harder to shame. Harder to recruit into systems that depend on disconnection and denial.
So may we all fuck in such a way that fascism finds no fertile ground.
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