It Happened to Me: I Was a Plus-Size Porn Star

At the ripe old age of 30, pornography came into my life and saved my soul. Or at least my self-esteem.

Sep 28, 2011 at 1:00pm | Leave a comment

You know how you go to IHOP and there are both tables and booths? The International House of Secrets doesn’t tell you this (I’ve got insider scoop because I’m a loyal customer, Rooty Tooty Fresh ‘N Fruity, forever!), but the booths are for slimmer people, the tables are for fatter people, and include really wide chairs.

No, really. Check it out next time you’re there. Unless you specifically request one or the other, they will look at you, then seat you accordingly.

So, do you want to know where I fall, according to the Pancake Body Police? At 225 lbs, depending on what I’m wearing, I’m sometimes seated at a booth, sometimes at a table. And I’m okay with that. Now.

At one time, though, a booth day would have made me stand up a little straighter and wink at the bus boy, while a table day would have caused me to go home and cry for hours. How did I get to this magical place, where a hostess in nurse’s shoes doesn’t have the power to decide how my day goes? Plus-Size Porn.

You see, at the ripe old age of 30, pornography came into my life and saved my soul. Or at least my self-esteem.

I spent my 29th year living in Florida and making my living as a phone sex actress. It paid well and taught me much about the darker, grittier side of sex (You’re not really “experienced” until you hear a stranger reach climax while describing how he wants to make love to your lifeless body, which he’s just strangled).

I did pretty well for a woman who’d never said the word “penis” out loud before her first day in that surprisingly corporate-looking call center, full of bored ladies in headsets.

One day, though, a fellow actress told me it was her last, because she’d found something better. She was going to perform a live sex show on the internet. I looked her up and down, a little too obviously. She explained that it was a fetish site, specializing in plus-size women and suggested I come with her.

I was suspicious, at first. The sexiness I had learned at that job was better heard, not seen. Besides, the people I had met who found fat women arousing were few and far between.

But, when my she told me that it paid half again as much as we were making jacking off people by phone, I was willing to find out what it was all about. Turned out it was pretty legit.

The website, which charged customers in five minute blocks of time, was owned by two men who were partners in both business and life. They rented a large warehouse in a dodgy part of town (where else!) that was divided into six small studios, each equipped with a twin size bed, a professional-looking camera (not unlike those you see being carried by news crews) which included a microphone, and a big monitor.

They explained: My job would be to go into one of the studios, lock the door, and do whatever I felt like. Most girls masturbated, but they never told people how to perform their shows. I would earn bonuses based on how long customers stayed in my room and higher bonuses if they choose to take me private.

Normally, a room would include as many customers as felt like watching, and I would see whatever they were typing on the monitor, making it more interactive. Being taken private meant that one customer had requested me to himself, so I’d pay more attention to him/her.

It was outrageously expensive to take a girl private, and enormously flattering. I was told to always bring my own sheet and any toys or accessories I wanted to use. There was absolutely no sharing of anything, they said, but they didn’t have to tell me twice.

The only twin size sheets I owned belonged to my two children, so I did most of my sexing on Buzz Lightyear or Hello Kitty. And toys? I owned exactly one and had never used it.

No matter, most of the requests I got were to stick normal, everyday household items into my vagina. It was as if these people wanted to imagine that this was happening in their own home. Yes, baby, I’m right here on YOUR Toy Story sheets, violating myself with YOUR water bottle.

I also had a lot of customers who wanted me to eat, while masturbating or masturbate with food. I guess tying in with the whole fat girl thing.

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Remember the episode of Seinfeld where George tries to figure out how to combine his two great loves: food and sex? Done. One of my most memorable experiences from that time was a man who requested that the next day I bring a jar of peanut butter. I did, and he took me private. He asked me to eat the peanut butter with my hands, then stick the jar inside me.

I panicked. That small jar was the circumference of a baby head and I don’t know if you’ve had one of those come out of there but I can tell you “sexy” is not a description that springs to mind. I tried, I really did, but I just couldn’t relax enough to get the JIF into my love canal.

There were also disappointed customers. Apparently, my size, while considered large by many, was too small for quite a few fetish connoisseurs. It felt weird to be, for the first time in my life, ridiculed for not being fat enough.

After six months of zucchini sex, banana sex, hot dog sex, pie sex (you just eat pie with your hands then smear pie all over your body in a sexy manner, NBD), countless marriage proposals, and a myriad of things up my booty, I grew weary.

I was working 3am to 9am and parenting all day while showing my naked body all night began to take its toll. I had a job offer in California, and I took it, leaving porn in the past.

These days, whenever I get down about looking more like the fat-suited Gwyneth Paltrow than the lithe one that Shallow Hal dreams of, I only have to think back to the time when people paid big money to lust after this body, and I stand up just a little straighter, and give the bus boy a wink.