Just because I took my conjoined twin to the Anime Mommy Adult Exhibitionist Conference doesn’t mean it’s okay to hit on her
A cautionary tale
Whose pussy is this?
A man asks as my sister and I make our way across aisle 27F of The Las Vegas Conference Center. It’s the annual Anime Mommy Adult Exhibitionist Conference, the largest anime mommy adult exhibitionist conference in North America.
Pre-, peri-, and post-menopausal mommies of all body types serve only the freshest cunt passenger planes can fly. Everyone is wearing Chinese fast-fashion cosplay gear and little if anything else. Despite its name, the abundance of nudity, and the advertising materials featuring unattractive men having threesomes with various women, this is not about sex. The conference is a celebration of the human form, Chinese ingenuity, and the liberties afforded to women like me by freedom fighters such as Sarah Silverman, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, and Joan of Arc.
We don’t want to miss a second of the amputee ball so we keep up our pace as he repeats, “Whose pussy is this?”
As we turn the corner, I swallow him—his image–all of him immediately. He’s a gamer, not conventionally attractive but he looks employed. He covers his mouth to cough. No, wait. He’s blowing kisses at me. Never mind—he’s blowing them at my sister! I catch his eye and give him a no nonsense scowl meant to send one message and one message only: Just because I took my conjoined twin to The Anime Mommy Adult Exhibitionist Conference doesn’t mean it’s okay to hit on her.
But it turns out he doesn’t notice me at all, let alone my labia which sit in an ouvert chassis right next to hers. As her older sister (by 37 seconds) I’ve had to deal with this ever since we were legally allowed to begin camming, and going to industry conventions in under-policed port cities and tourist areas without guardians present. Unfortunately, this kind of behavior is completely uncalled for and completely common.
He can see our pussy is perfect. Her plum-colored labia kiss mine like two fruit roll-ups dried together on a hot summer day when your mom leaves you in the car with the window cracked, telling you it’s only going to be five minutes. A tasteful amount of bush befalls skin whose hue can best be described as BAND-AID the way all of Kanye West’s love interests are from different races but the same color. Unlike me, she is naïve and immature, with little to no sense of self-awareness.
But why shouldn’t she stay innocent?
I’ve been thinking about this since our clients asked if I could keep my head out of the frame during cam sessions. (Yes, the very first time we got tipped, it’s because I disappeared off-camera while she did the dirty work, but I make peace with it knowing I’m still part of the process.) Such questions rack my brain but hopefully not hers next door.
How can I make sure that men value her for more than her perfectly wrinkled fruit roll-up, while also instilling a sense of confidence that doesn’t rely on the male gaze? Without easy answers, we walk past the pudding octagon and the petting zoo. I feel complicit but don’t want to go back on parole. A queen must choose her battles.
I’m not a fan of rap
Which is why it bothers me that so much of my sister’s media consumption involves African Americans rapping about their pussies, a tactic that only steers people straight into the reactionary MAGAsphere. It’s also embarrassing when I try to call customer service and have to ask her to stop carrying on about our butthole while I try to reset the router.
I see the influence of City Girls and Megan Thee Stallion all over the “future is female” party who just ran an ethnically ambiguous karaoke prostitute for President. This brand of feminism is nothing like the serious and austere feminism of such luminaries as Hillary Clinton and Lena Dunham.
As an older sister, it’s equally challenging and rewarding to navigate these pitfalls with her literally by my side. But I remind my sister that guys ‘ain’t shit and we would die during childbirth anyway.
I get it. I understand my sister wants to serve cunt and I can only imagine how it feels to have men pay to masturbate to you from thousands of miles away. To have people want to know not only the pussy but the face that goes with it. And while we share a performance harness, we have separate Cash Apps and little recourse against people who verbally abuse us.
I’ve always considered myself to be exotic
If you like Eleanor Roosevelt, the works of Pablo Picasso, or any of the Almodóvar women, then I’m your gal. Since we’re living now and not in the ahistorical fiction I made up in which I wouldn’t have been smashed to death on a rock after birth, I understand why I get paid to disappear. Although, it does get difficult at times. In the end though, it’s a bit of a relief, being able to keep my AirPods in and let her do all the silver screen stuff.
But The Las Vegas Convention Center is not a cam farm. Watching gamers try to figure out whose pussy this is, is not appropriate, especially for people who haven’t even paid us (her) yet. I know the lecherousness and frugality of gamers, especially in the anime mommy adult exhibitionist community and I know how they can be. In fact, I have a crystal ball I keep next to our mattress/Vicodin and from what I can see, things will only get worse over time.
We catch up with pen pals
They’ve saved us a seat so we can watch the combat vets who still have their legs do the waltz. Despite obvious physical and psychological trauma, they look handsome in their little outfits with their inflatable waifus’ hands taped to their real combat shoulder sockets.
My sister looks at me and says, “I didn’t realize how much I needed that.”
I ask her if she saw the guy in the Mandalorian shirt eye-fuck her.
“The guy with the Fu Manchu?”
“That one!”
She looks down and sees one of our pasties is falling off, its tassel having gotten snagged on a merch stand, which means she’s not even concerned with him.
It’s just a fact: The male gaze will always be there
Horny, pining, gooning, interrupting our ability to walk around with our pussy out in a two-sizes too small vegan leather harness, a legacy sage older sisters such as myself must impart on our younger, more sexually desirable ones. True, not everyone with an atypical body type or medical malady can find their way into burlesque or niche fetish work but my only hope is that those who can, do so in a safe and welcoming environment.
A few weeks later, I ask her how she feels with Trump in the White House.
“How do you think it makes me feel,” she asks.
“Well do you think it will make you be more careful about putting your pussy out there with a known pussy-grabber in the White House?”
“Why should I have to be the one to change,” she asks as my mind wanders back to aisle 27F, the both of us walking away from the din of the crowd. Her leg. Then my leg. Then hers.
For more on Las Vegas…
I'm gonna marry you, bitch
This week I sat down with Kryptogal (Kate, if you like) to discuss the 1990’s party scene, drugs, alcohol, the 1999 film Go, and the film genre known as the teenybopper. Colloquially known as the Alan Dershowitz of Staceys, Kate is a Gen X lawyer by day and poaster by night, often evoking the sorts of dark truths Robert Greene would if he had a pussy. ~3 hours for paid subscribers.
I'll put another quarter in the What The Fuck Did I Just Read jar.
wish i got hit on at the Anime Mommy Adult Exhibitionist Conference 😔