I wrote the following essay for my colleague Jiz Lee’s open request for resources and stories about “Coming Out About Porn.” Jiz tells me they’ve received an epic amount of powerful personal accounts on the topic and have some exciting plans for them. In the meantime, here’s my contribution about the ways and reasons I’m not 100% out… about much of anything:
I work for a porn production company, but not as a performer. I’m never on set and I don’t even live in the same state as the rest of our production team. As a result, I have several privileges that performers in front of the lens do not.
For instance, I allow my given, legal name to be used in credits. I insist on it, actually.
A performer doesn’t adopt a stage name out of shame for what they do. Rather, a stage name is a necessary defense against society’s shaming of them, a shield not only against harassment, stalking, or loss of privacy but also the possibility of losing their job or custody of their children. Because these dangers don’t exist for me (at least not to the same degree) I use my real name out of respect for those who cannot, to show that I’m not ashamed of them or the work they do.
I also don’t shy from telling friends and strangers alike about who I work for and what I think about it. Google my name, and I’m on the first page. Those links will tell you plenty of details most people would expect me to hide. I don’t, because I refuse to perpetuate their stigmas.
And yet, I’m not open with my family about my “favorite clients in San Francisco.” But to be fair, I’m not open with them about much of anything.
I like to think I have a strong relationship with my parents. Still, there’s a long list of things they don’t know about me, which I’ve never lied about but deliberately avoided revealing. A list of what could be called lies by omission would include, in the order in which they occurred in my life:
- I’m mostly atheistic.
- My wife is Pagan.
- My wife is bisexual (or more accurately, pansexual).
- We’re poly, to a degree.
- I work for a porn company and consider it my most important and rewarding work.
- I no longer think of myself as straight.
- I now think of myself as “queer” and have developed some bisexual leanings.
Why do I allow these things to remain secret?
I actually don’t fear losing their love, which is an incredible privilege for a queer person to have. My parents are intelligent and loving people who would stick by me if I confessed to cold-blooded murder.
I do fear that the simple act of telling them will make these things bigger issues than I feel they are. They are simply a part of my day-to-day life, and with my friends and close associates they’re about as hard to talk about as what I prefer in my coffee. But to tell my parents, I would very specifically have to Come Out.
As if that weren’t difficult enough, I would also have to educate them on what I’m coming out as. I’m not just gay, straight or bi but “queer.” What does that mean? Why am I “mostly” atheistic? Poly “to a degree?” The truth is that I don’t share a common terminology with my folks, and it’s difficult enough explaining “Well, we don’t sleep with other people without each other, although she can with women if she wants, and we don’t really sleep with other men, except maybe if I’m into them too, which is really dependent on a lot of things, oh but we’re both into trans people going either direction, but we haven’t actually had any poly experience yet anyway so this is all kind of theoretical…” to people that know what “poly” even means.
The main challenge, though, is that I fear not how they’d react or treat me afterward, but what they would think and not tell me. My father especially is a religious man and, while not dogmatic, I know that what his Bible says is going to happen to me as a result of who I am would keep him up at night. He is and has always been a man who cares so deeply for others that the knowledge of their suffering and the fear of what might happen to them takes a heavy toll on him. When I really give it thought, I have to wonder if coming out to him would be a selfish action on my part. It may improve our relationship in my eyes, but it would introduce a new source of anxiety for a man who is barely coping with what he already has.
Then there is my mother-in-law. She knows about more of the above than my own parents do, and what she doesn’t know is mostly the result of it simply not coming up. But we have chosen not to tell her about my work for a different reason entirely. A true baby-boomer, she typifies many of her generation in that she is what was once considered radical but is now only moderately liberal. She is a feminist who considers promiscuity shameful, an opponent of rape culture who says skimpy outfits are “asking for trouble.” You can imagine her thoughts on pornography–that mythical, monolithic industry that may or may not engage in human trafficking depending on what they said on 60 Minutes last week.
Both my wife and I have pointed out there are many companies producing porn and that many of them are ethically-run, empowering, and yes, sometimes even run by women. Like with many things, she acknowledges this possibility for “good pornography,” the conversation ends, and she will have seemingly forgotten this contribution to the discussion the next time the topic arises. Still, if I ever come out to any family member about my involvement in porn, it will likely be her. I’m just uncertain there will be any positive result for the trouble.
If I’m honest, I also feel a bit of resentment about the idea I should have to come out about anything. It’s not like I ever talked about being straight and monogamous with them–why in the hell do I have to discuss being queer and poly? Why say “hey, I help produce porn” when I don’t tell them about the extruded plastics manufacture or the database programming language company I also do work for? But I’ve known ever since I became goth in middle school that the cost of being non-normative is the sudden requirement you explain why and how much, and that you do so on-demand. And I also know that these things make me happy… and that’s the kind of thing you’re supposed to share.
Possibly my family all already know and haven’t said anything. As I said, a quick Google search would reveal all. Occasionally a friend or new acquaintance does react negatively to learning about my work. That’s when I tell them about the email saved on my desktop.
Not long after I started working as web manager, I had an interaction with a customer that led to them telling me this: “This site means so, so much to me because it was the first place I saw other transmen who didn’t absolutely despise and hide their bodies.”
Since then, I’ve had other customers say similar things, even suggesting that seeing bodies like theirs celebrated instead of mocked or shunned helped them stave off suicide. Because of this, I am and will always be proud of what we do. I will never, ever feel shame for it, and I will share the message of that email as often as I must. Perhaps someday I’ll even share it with my family.
Until then, I live with the strange contradiction that I tell random people so much about me, but keep those same facts from those I love most.
