I’ve always known that I’m a sexual being. Though they’re fuzzy, I have many memories of sexual exploration with friends, as well as reading and thinking about sex as a child. I’ve also always liked the attention and having my photo photoshopped nude; I’ve had a strong sensual energy from an early age.
By the time I was a teenager though, I began to feel ashamed of my urges to explore my sexuality. The Catholic Church taught me that women should be “pure” and “modest” and hide their bodies and that any sexual encounters before marriage are mortal sins.
I remember videotaping myself one night at age 13, doing a dance I’d made up, wearing a swimsuit top that I pulled up high so you could see the bottoms of my small breasts peeking out. As I danced, I felt in touch with my body, I felt sexy, and when I watched myself afterward on the little video screen up in my room, I became more and more turned on and excited, but feelings of guilt quickly crept into my head, and I hastily deleted the video because I thought that if anyone ever saw it they would think I was a slut.
This tension between what I was constantly told to do and think and how I actually felt, acted, and thought, damaged my body image, my view of my own sexuality, and my overall self-esteem.
In High School I started having sex, rejecting the idea that I would be dammed to hell for it, but I had no access to sex education, damn the Indian schools, so I was pretty clueless. My Mom let me get on the pill after I complained about cramps, but I still constantly worried about getting pregnant or getting an STI. Looking back, I’m really lucky that neither of those things happened, since I didn’t even know how to properly use a condom (abstinence-only education at its finest).
The church’s scare tactics didn’t keep me from having sex, but the shame associated with sexuality seeped into my subconscious, and even though I wanted to love myself and my body, I struggled with the embarrassment I had been taught to feel, by both my religion and society in general.
Even though I was having sex, I could hardly look at myself up close, let alone name the important parts like my clit and g-spot. I looked at my vulva once with a compact mirror, and I was terrified by what I saw. I thought it was ugly. I didn’t like my natural smell and constantly feared that I had an STI, so I douched, which is actually horrible for your body. I didn’t know about the importance of communication in relationships, and I hadn’t even heard of the word “consent.” I thought rape was black and white and only encompassed physical force; I didn’t realize that feeling pressured to do things when you don’t want to isn’t healthy, safe, or consensual.
My true sexual revolution didn’t happen until I started working when I was 21. During the three years I worked there, I read and learned more about sex and met sex-positive women who I could talk to. I finally got to the point where I was truly proud of my body and my sexuality again.
While working there, I started modeling (sometimes nude), but at that point, I only showed the photos to my then-girlfriend and certain friends who I knew would appreciate them. I always wanted to start my blog because I loved talking about sex with people at work, imagining my favorite celebrities nude and turning those imaginations into reality using Photoshop and I wanted a bigger outlet for sexual discussion and exploration.
Since I already made loads of sexy and nude fake photos, I wondered if I should post some on my blog when I started it. I’d always wanted to share my images with a wider audience, but at the same time, I was also afraid to. My main fears had to do with family members seeing them or with the possibility of my real identity getting out and the repercussions or lost career opportunities that could come with that. The exhibitionist in me won though, and now I have decided to begin posting photos, showing the true power of qualitative photoshopped nudity.
I admire bloggers who had the courage to post fake nude images that showed everything, including their faces, boldly and with pride. I want to be like them, bold and courageous.
Posting nude photos as well as sex blogging, in general, is going to be an extremely liberating experience for me. Finally, I don’t feel like my talent as a photoshopper is something I need to hide. I’ve come a long way from my scared and ashamed 13-year-old self, and I’m extremely proud of that, especially considering I was raised to believe that nudity is obscene and sex is sinful.
I’m proud to say I now know where my g-spot is, how to ejaculate, how to communicate with a partner, how to explore taboo aspects of my sexuality, and how to accept other people’s sexuality without judgment. I’m proud to admit I still have a lot to learn. And I want to put all this energy into my nude edits, not just sleeping with some random girl I meet at the bar (in case you’re wondering, yes, I’m a lesbian/bisexual).
Sure, I like the attention I am about to get from having a sex blog and from posting nude images. I am a bit of an exhibitionist, and I find it thrilling when people tell me they’re attracted to me or that they get turned on reading my stories and looking at my edited photos. But that’s not the sole reason why I blog or post nude images (though even if it was, I don’t see that as a problem).
I blog about sex for a creative outlet, for exploration, and to facilitate open sexual discussion. I post nudes because I consider photography and the human body as art forms and because I enjoy picturizing other women naked. When I photoshop a person, I explore different aspects of my own personality. Sometimes I might be feeling dark, or shy, or weird, or sexy. I find myself in my edits. I choose to share them online because I want people to see the work I’m proud of.
I’m not naïve, and I know the risks of posting fake nude photos in a society that is still overwhelmingly sex-negative, sexist, and body-shaming. I have to deal with consequences, like my mother’s harsh words (yes, she knows and doesn’t approve) and society’s pressure and judgments.
I do worry that I might not be taken seriously as a writer because I post nude images. But I resist the idea that being sexually open about my fantasies and being intelligent are mutually exclusive or that they must inhabit separate spaces. I’m smart, I’m good at writing and photoshop editing, and I’m also passionate about expressing my sexuality. I know it would be “happy” for me to reveal my face, or to post nude images at all. My heart still races every time I edit a new image, but that’s part of why I do it. I want to experience the thrill of joy when I post a newly squeezed nude edit online and receive rave comments.
I hereby post fake nudes on my blog because they are beautiful and because I finally have the courage to do so. I post nudes because I feel they are mine to post, finally. After years of struggle and inner tension, I have reclaimed my body and my sexuality, finally. No one is pressuring me, I don’t do it to increase blog traffic or to gain followers; I share myself on my blog because I decide to.
My reasons for blogging and sharing nude photos are important to me. My sexual truth and fantasies are important to me. I’ve decided to explain it because I’m passionate about it, and so my readers can learn more about my background if they want to. But I didn’t write this piece because I think I need to justify what I do. I don’t need to explain why I share my sexuality or post photoshopped nude photos, but I do think it’s important to reflect on it.
My sexuality is mine to share with whomever I want to, in any form that I want to. It isn’t something society or religion or my family or any partner can control or define, it’s mine.
My body is mine. My sexuality is mine. My fantasies are mine.
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