Discover Top Posts Tagged with #deepthots

Union Station Chicago, 2026

Film captured by Me 🌞

#DEEPTHOTS: 29

I recently had the pleasure of leading my first non-institutional, self-run creative writing workshop. The freedom of that workshop reminded me of my first teaching opportunity in 2018. A lovely educator in San Antonio ran these free after-school homework tutorials for children at the library. Her name is Dr. Chawanna Chambers or Dr. Chae to those who grow to need and love her. She came to a NAACP meeting looking for volunteers, and I was looking to finish my service hours for the Honors College. I popped up and watched these schoolchildren absolutely light up around her. Parents were driving across town to work with her. She quickly ran out of seats in the library. At our last tutorial, she announced that her charter school was voted down by one point. She wasn’t opening her school despite years of work. She started to cry.

As we packed up to leave after the last tutorial, I chased her down to her car. “I really want to keep helping you. I don’t care if you just need someone to drive you around. I really like what you’re doing.” She thanked me and, notably, chuckled and said, “I’ll remember that.” Weeks went by, and I didn’t hear from her until she emailed me one day to come help her set up her new school. She wanted to offer me a teaching position. Despite being on track to be a Speech Pathologist with no interest in working with children, I took the opportunity.

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2026 marks the 29th year of my life. My last year in my 20s. The beginning of one of my many Saturn returns. And even more opportunities to be that bitch. If any of the past 28 years are indicative of what the future brings, I’m in for another hell of a ride.

My maturity comes with even more confidence in myself, feeling secure in myself even when I fail, and my need for radical change. I’m obviously still immature in many ways. I still throw a hissy fit when I’m hungry. I still judge others on their appearance when they say something wild to me in public. I fucking punched a man a few months ago. I’m petty as all fuck and I block bitches for putting pineapple on pizza. But I’m ready for what’s next. I have everything I need.

I’m at that point in your youth where everyone is waiting for the quarter-life crisis. Young people think 30 is old. Old people think 30 is young as hell. And I am just thankful to pop my pussy yet another day. I find myself staring at sunsets for longer. Savoring bites for longer. Taking way more selfies. Holding hands. Laugh. Stay up late. Talk to old strangers out in public. Cuss out whoever the fuck I need to cuss out. Share my stories. Sell a book. The crying, isolation, fear, darkness, and confusion still come. It hurts like hell. And stings like a bitch. But we find new directions to lick our wounds, recover numbers and social media handles in the rubble, and timidly ask for forgiveness and friendship. We die and we die and we die until we can finally live. Live to complain, live to be patient, live to teach, live to fuck around, and live long enough to find tf out.

I’m excited to have a future. I always wanted to be an adult as a kid. I loathe the beginnings of anything. I came out the womb ready to know everything already. I’ve hated youth because of the stereotypes it comes with. No one thinks you know yourself, or what you want - everyone thinks you have all this time to get your life right. And the youth just need to sit and wait for the middle-aged and elderly folks to finish theirs off. You are supposed to learn from everyone’s mistakes but can’t make your own. The world is crumbling but you can’t be upset about it. Yeah I think it’s time they passed the baton a bit.

I mean, we twenty-somethings really earned it. We work so hard to prove ourselves at work and in our families. We have to show respect, bite our tongue, learn the right way to do things, and wait for the riches to come through. Instead, the youth see through the propaganda. We want new ways of being. It’s time to start again.

29 is about endurance. Being stubborn enough to continue living despite the circumstances. Having a future is a privilege. Not everyone gets a future. With whatever I have left of mine, I plan to see, experience, touch, eat, share, cuss, show up, and dance. I want to take more pictures of my dog. Thousands of causes I want to scream to the heavens about. More friends, I hope to make. And endings that need to happen.

I’ve experienced many ends in life so far. Some quick, some long, some painless, and some never-ending. Oh, but how lucky we are to have the experience anyway. One thing I intend to keep throughout my continued youth is the delusion that my future will be better for me and for those around me. Every day is another day to exert your agency, make whatever choices you want, fuck up your own life. You also have the ability to remain hopeful, curious, and prioritize what is meaningful for you. Life has many reasons to live - find them on your own. I choose what I make for myself, what I make with and for others, and how I choose to support and uplift others, too. I am also going to support the downfall of some of you weirdos.

And that’s on growth.

#deepthots #black queer #lesbian

Bonnaroo 2023 on Disposable Film Camera

Taken by me

#deepthots #bonnaroo #music festival #black queer

What the FUCK is a Black Marxist?

During a conversation about literacy in my Composition I class this past week, my student Abby responded very poignantly to our reflection question for the day: What does literacy mean to you?

She said that literacy was ‘the freedom and privilege to write and create what you want.’

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I have a very strong love for oppressed people, for my people. I want to see them free and I want to see all oppressed people throughout the world free.

- Angela Davis, Vibrations for a New People, 1971

I first came across the community of Black Marxists in undergrad. The Democratic Socialists on campus wanted the NAACP to participate in a rally with them and some other activists on campus. They wanted us, a group of Black kids, to wear ski masks and bust down an administrative meeting with the President and demand he speak to us, or we wouldn’t leave. We had stated plainly that a group of Black kids in ski masks raiding a building doesn’t sound good for us but sounded really good for the majority white organization that would be using us as human shields so they can ‘see the Black people first.’ When we suggested calling a meeting beforehand for the public they called us scabs and phonies and decided to ditch the idea altogether. I guess it wasn’t that serious to them.

That experience led me to think - clearly, Black people have experienced this racist bullshit when organizing before? I had started with The Combahee River Collective Statement as a lot of queer Black girls that get into radical thought often do. I then moved on to Angela Davis and finally owned one of her books after someone left it in our English department book closet for grabs. I just recently finished scanning the entirety of that free book: If They Come In the Morning this past year.

I was deep into activist and organizing spaces, which often hosted read ins or book clubs around radical theory and organizing oppressed peoples. I met a wide range of socialists, democratic socialists, Marxists, communists, leftists, and liberals from diverse backgrounds and ethnicities. Read any of the literature by disabled, queer, indigenous, non-Western, and ‘othered’ politicians and activists that my student ID could allow me to get. I took every pamphlet, read every infographic, and asked every question I could think of. Like the Black radical academics that came before us, we all felt the weight and privilege of being able to go to school, think freely, and choose how we want to live our lives. It was important we know our ancestors, their practices, and their work, and we make new work from it. This was the same time I was learning about hoodoo, Sankofa, Santeria, West African Orishas, and reading queer Black people’s works of fiction and fantasy. The world they talked about is a part of my responsibility to build.

Breadcrumbs to Freedom

Black Marxism was popularized by a Black Trinidadian academic, playwright, novelist, and teacher, C.L.R. James in the 1940s after his move to England up until the 1980s. After denouncing Stalinism Leon Trotsky invited James to his home in Mexico City for more conversation. He started several organizations that were inspired by the Haitian revolution and revolutionaries who worked to free and lessen the obstacles marginalized peoples face in the world and spread the ideas of Marx and free radical thought as far and wide as possible. He wrote many plays, books, articles, and lectures about Black radical thought. When talking about intersectionality and the lens of freedom from Black women, queer, and trans people we have thinks like Angela Davis, Barbra Ransby, Assata Shakur, and Sami Schalk that write works that talk about communism, race, gender, ability, class, and more. This is where I really started enjoying hearing about the joy that Black marxists were finding in organizing for their people.

I want to see my people free.

Sooo, what do Black Marxists believe?

Black Marxists know that race and capitalism are one in the same. Capitalism creates systems that depend on genocide, violence, and exploitation to thrive. Systems like racism. Black Marxists remix the original teachings of Marx since they omit race and specifically Black people as revolutionary potential. Black Marxists reject the myth of a united working class and instead center Black agency and decolonization for its praxis. Overall, understanding how racism directly affects Black people is the key to freeing all oppressed peoples in the world. (I went through a few Substacks for this portion here is one main one.)

Sooo, what do Black Marxists do?

Black Marxists work to deconstruct the colonialized teachings passed down to their people through violence and slavery. They instead teach about African histories, non-colonized languages, food sustainability, racism, and situating Black histories into the heavily erased ones we are barely taught in school. This work is usually done through grassroots efforts, community organizations, schools, churches, and private organizers.

We work to free our people.

For me, that is working with queer and trans BIPOC survivors of sexual violence, Black children and their families, Black educators. How can I make these people’s lives better? Help them find housing? Help them eat? Or just be there for them?

Media (outside of the hyperlinks) that helped me understand Black Marxism:

C.L.R. James: https://youtu.be/qQFi9L-0SNU?si=U74GYm-rF-ztZhLS

Angela Davis: https://youtu.be/cGQCzP-dBvg?si=E7SBNbpSwHftn8p6

AfroMarxist Youtube Channel: https://www.youtube.com/@AfroMarxist

Audio Companion Piece on my Patreon:

https://patreon.com/taylorwaits?utm_medium=unknown&utm_source=join_link&utm_campaign=creatorshare_creator&utm_content=copyLink

#deepthots #culture #black marxist

Girl, what the fuck was that? #DEEPTHOTS

(Feb 6, 2025)

What in the FUCK was 2024?

I vividly remember the end of 2023. I was in the midst of a deep depression surrounding the decisions I’ve made in life. Before the end of 2023 (specifically the Summer of 23’)my wife and I had planned a move from Pittsburgh to Detroit. This was done for a few reasons. Mainly we had experienced far too much adolescence in Pittsburgh.

{Pittsburgh: The personification of ‘hate the place, love the people.’

- Taylor Waits}

In addition to the geographically specific trauma pushing us out, the gentrification our community was experiencing was the boot that kicked us out the door. In the five years I had lived in Pittsburgh I was thankful to have cultivated a large queer community, acquired a real big girl job, and had the opportunity to organize amazing events. And yet - it was time to go. On one condition: I couldn’t let my committee find out I left.

So by December 2023 my wife and I had been in Detroit for six months. I had quit my job before the move and hadn’t had any luck securing anything that matched what I made in Pittsburgh. My wife had just left their job so money was extremely tight. Not to mention I had previously promised my lil sis a trip too NYC and had already paid for the tickets.

We were also facing eviction. I had applied everywhere I was qualified to. To no avail. I was working full time as a DoorDasher (derogatory) when I got an interview to be a 10tth grade English teacher. On one hand I love highschool aged students and have dreams of opening my own high school for Black girls in the future. But in the other hand you have admin, parents, and teachers to deal with. But I wasn’t in a position to be stingy.

It’s a week before the trip and the week of THE interview. I dressed the part, I brought my lesson plans, and I was prepared for all the questions. The interview was swift. So swift that I totally misread the principals feelings about me. I took everything they said as sarcasm instead of sincerity. “I fucking blew it.” I cried and doordashed the rest of the day. Not one day later - hired! Not to mention the trip to NYC was fun but challenging. We were navigating with a teenager with no money. But she had fun. We all did. The new year was spent with friends watching the ball drop on TV.

New job, new start, and a Phd.

What the FUCK happened?

In short: My dreams were crushed and I was upset about it. While my new job brought us the money we needed to stay a float it was breaking my psyche going everyday. I still worked for my university as a graduate assistant. My planning periods and lunches were often filled with meetings from Pittsburgh or training. Just my luck, my dissertation chair had spent half of 2023 and a good portion of 2024 completely offline and of no help to me as my last semester approached. In all aspects oof my life I felt alone. And I had done it to myself.

I was hiding the fact that I moved away from my committee fearing that they (the white ones) would rat on me. I was hiding my depressive thoughts from my friends and my wife - everybody had enough going on. By the end of the school year I had a teaching gig lined up at a local university, a dissertation defense date, and a trip to Belize upcoming.

Now, the dream crushing part.

My career at the high school was full of busted balloons. My students and teachers I looked up to really loved my teaching methods. But basically everyone else was vehemently against anything I had to say. Not only as a teacher but as a student, I was failed. I found respite on reddit amongst teachers who had been in the field for one up to thirty years. All of us complaining about the stagnant pay, abysmal benefits, and the continuous responsibilities that piled on your desk.

It was nice to be affirmed by other queer and trans instructors who experienced bullying and hazing at their schools. They all encouraged me to apply for adjuncting positions and work with high school aged students in a different way. When I got my adjuncting gig they all congratulated me. It felt good not being alone for once.

Just as the school year was ending my funding stopped. I had expected to graduate in August since I was pushed a semester due to my chair’s absence. Not only was I staying in a program I didn’t like for an extra semester - now my Black ass has to pay for it. The week we flew to Belize we started a mutual aid campaign. We were behind because more than three checks had been unpaid by my past university for DJ gigs. $1350. That’s what they owed me. After months. I’ll be finishing the dissertation with no money, no resources, and an eviction notice. Lovely.

Well, that FUCKING happened.

After my wife and I work at a grocery store for a few months they land a job. I started teaching and kept my part time job in produce. We got a roommate. We battled (and still battle) more eviction notices. We scrape, we make due, we make community.

Thankfully our community had lead us out of every single notice and onwards to joy and freedom. For 2025 I’m back to filmmaking, scrip writing, organizing, creating, and thriving. I’m a Phd weilder now (thoughts on this coming within a memoir soon)and that’s weird. I’m really excited to write. And I’m happy where I am.

My new university is great. I started my production company, black. In this space I’ll be releasing my own projects but also those of other Black creatives needing a space to share their work.

I also have a new website - if you have made it to my tumblr you probably stopped there first. I’m planning some good shit.

And that’s what FUCKING happened.

2024 was the definition of a fever dream. I was tested as an instructor, a partner, a friend, and a business woman. Being 27 was not for the faint of heart. But I’m back for now.

You’re welcome!

#deepthots

My ongoing relationships with ethical consumerism

Dec 6, 2023

This past week I finished Assata Shakur’s autobiography. If you don’t know who she is, she’s a Black woman who was once on the FBI’s most wanted list for the murder of a New Jersey police officer, an armed robbery, bank robbery and kidnapping. None of which was ever proven she did. She spent years being assaulted, sexually harassed, humiliated, and discriminated against by law officials. She was forced into exile after finding asylum in Cuba after being wrongfully charged with murder and sentenced to life in prison. Talk about a revolutionary.

She breaks up the book into two perspectives - past and present. She talks about her life before she became a radical. How she perpetuated colorism, capitalism, white supremacy, and patriarchy in her own life before deciding to join the Black Liberation Army. How she could see the oppressive state of the world all around her but she was too comfortable where she was in life to change it. She got all types of jobs, worked under the table, ran away from home, damn near had several different lives before she even became a revolutionary. Everyone around her told her leading a life of a revolutionary was stupid, misguided, and selfish. But as she grew older and saw the continuous deaths of Black folks and Third World persons all over the world [].She spoke of her brothers and sisters in Palestine, South Africa, Argentina, Cuba, and others. As she flipped back and forth between past and present I began to visualize all the many connections colonized people can make about their collective struggle for freedom.

Having then learned about even more atrocities of the world and collaborating with other Black activists across the globe she became empowered to seek justice through any means necessary. She then spent the rest of her life moving forward to show her ASS to the American government. This was after the murders of key Black Panther members, several governmental agencies targeting these members' intimate relationships, and the rise of anti Black rhetoric in combatants of the Black power movement of the 60s and 70s. No one is free unless we are all free.

What Assata was showing us is that we all have choices. And choosing to remain silent is definitely one of them.

Every Choice Holds Weight

If you have an American education you may vaguely remember that chapter of World History where they describe communism, democracy, capitalism, and consumerism. When them people burned up in that warehouse fire!!??? In like 1912 or some shit? And they used to let five year olds clock in to work? Yeah baby - that’s us. Capitalism is a facet of colonization that involves the economic/political system ‘in which a country's trade and industry are controlled by private owners for profit.’ While Europe was busy colonizing every part of the world they could lie they said they went to, they were stealing and exploiting from native peoples for a monopoly on goods. Hoarding these resources gave them the ability to establish unfair tariffs, protocols, and shipping processes to any competitors. They weren’t losing out on any money - they were the only people in business. Direct descendants of these resource hogs and scammers continued to create monopolies and exploitative practices in order to hoard wealth. Goods, people, natural resources, and energy continued to be made for sale. The oil barons, automobile tycoons, and railroad dictators start very exclusionary policies and laws in order to keep those they don’t want all up in they pockets out of their boardrooms and offices. They add more businesses to their ever growing web of resource hogging entities and establish our modern system of economics. Generations of children in America are then fed propaganda about how these resource hogging entities model ‘the American Dream.’ How we can maybe one day become resource hogging assholes who made their fortune on slave labor and selling stolen goods back to the people you stole them from. Some of our parents worked hard to teach us how to critically consume media. Or maybe a radical teacher did. Maybe they covered a lot of stuff or maybe they didn’t waver at all. Maybe we had to hear from a friend or overhear in public. Maybe you pass a protest or see a post on social media. And then it clicks - it’s all propaganda and they got you too.

Once Assata was radicalized (no matter how long it took) she never wavered from her values. She didn’t respond to her government name, joined the BLA, started hosting programming to help Black folks in America, she refused to succumb or answer law enforcement, she went on hunger strikes while in prison, fought guards, and eventually escaped her wrongful conviction. Her money, energy, and time went towards the liberation of her people. She dove in 100%. You start by doing what you can. And you keep that same energy. Whether she was in the street or in the basement of a New Jersey prison, Assata stood on business. This is what ethical consumerism can be used to do. Ethical consumerism is a practice of researching where, why, and what you buy. As an American you may like to shop small! You buy from people you know or see in your community. Instead of going to Walmart or Target you go to locally owned grocers. Maybe you grow your own food and also buy from major retail chains. In this case you are given many choices as to where, how, and what you spend your money on. Where do you choose to shop? Why?

Revolution takes blood and time

The almost 8 decade long genocide of the Palestinian people has been the main topic of many revolutionaries since the illegal occupation began. To say that this is a new topic does a disservice to the millions of people over the years who were killed in the name of American nationalism. The genocide we are watching happen before our very eyes is happening simultaneously across the globe to billions of descendants of colonized peoples fighting thorough generations of trauma at the hands of resource hogging assholes. Congo; Tigray; Yemen; Flint, MI; Los Angeles, CA; Houston, TX. Our struggles are tied together. We must struggle and thrive - together. Speak up for all of them. Continue to do what you can. But lets get some world building.

So start within. In that wallet. And then in your community. Instead of boycotting these resource hogging assholes for months at a time what would it look like to find a semi-permanent solution to a community issue? My wife and I have been gardening for about 2 years now simply to cut down costs in our grocery bill. We buy thrifted clothes online and in-person and repurpose our pieces. We refurbish furniture and we compost. We do what we can. We refuse to support organizations, people, or communitites that deny a genocide and illegal occupation in Palestine. We stopped buying disposable vapes and buying from certain brands as they contribute to slavery in Congo. We are working on making our own soap, furniture, and clothing. But that’s what we can do for now. As we gain more resources we won’t hog them. We will make fewer trips to Target and rely on nonrenewable energy resources less.

But we won’t act obtuse to the fact that there are people who can not exercise the right to choose where they spend their money. Some people ain’t got no money to begin with. And they are allowed to think I’m not doing enough. I remember blocking and muting so many ‘trophy talkers’ aka people who feel like they have the right to police what others are doing during the mask mandate debacle that started to reach more media visibility during 2020. Blaming individuals for the failure of elected officials; forgetting how misinformation and propaganda to marginalized communities creates barriers for spreading knowledge; and it’s just oppression olympics to police how other people process global atrocities. However, when folks are exposed to the correct information about social distancing, how the virus spreads, and how many people are dying from contracting it, I expect more folks to be better citizens. Wear a mask, test before large gatherings, warn people when you are sick. But disabled people can tell you best - folks who are disabled have significantly less rights to their own bodies than able bodied folks. Throw in that able bodied folks are taught to infantilize and fear disabled people and don’t typically fight for their interests. Millions continued to die due to the inaction of elected officials, medical racism and ableism continued, and social issues continued piling up. So the community started filling the gaps. Everyday people start online mutual aid funds; clinics making vaccines available to struggling communities; tenants and service workers unionizing against their overlords - we fought back.

Everyone has a place in the movement. But the movement must start within. People often think protesting is the peak of revolution but it is yet one part. Members of the Black Liberation Army were often arrested for offering protection or resources to poor Black folks for free. They were going around their government to meet their own needs. There were artists who were arrested for graffiti, for painting public buildings, defacing property in the name of spreading a message. Entertainers and athletes refusing to perform without change. Boycotts. Community meetings or social event coordinators. Caretakers, cooks, educators, elders, aides, and musicians. All working together for justice. So you may think - am I doing enough for those around me? Ask them. What do the revolutionaries in jail who are willing to risk their livelihoods need from us? Assata needed lawyers willing to risk their careers to help advocate for her while she was in prison. (One of her lawyers was mysteriously murdered during one of her trials and he was a white man y’all.) She needed her mom back home to keep her daughter safe. The nurses who locked doors to pass her information. Friends, lovers, and community folk who can call her, cook for her family, get some mail, pay a bill. It’s our job to support those willing to risk their livelihoods for justice. Bail funds, grocery mutual aid, and free transportation were number one topics during the shutdown of public events during the COVID - 19 pandemic. Folks stuck in abusive households were speaking out at higher rates. And protests were everywhere.

The revolution is happening. It’s been happening. It just won’t happen overnight. Generations of people are continuing to watch their tax dollars be used to go against their interests. (Every world war and funding to colonize other countries or influence the people…) We’ve seen it done year after year! And millions of people speak up, fight back, become radicalized, and get in community with each other. We must continue to make light, to speak up, to question where we put our energy and money.

But we also won’t shy away from those who have been brainwashed by resource hogging ‘American Dream’ propaganda. Alas. We will share knowledge. We will build community. Or we won’t. And that’s ok. You probably aren’t radical enough to somebody. And you might be too radical for others. But it ain’t about you. So many people are sitting in American supported prisons (not just in America) for petty or non-existent crimes due to racial discrimination. People living in systems of violence and poverty created by their own governments to justify lying to their people. Conserve your energy for handling conflict that’s necessary. Don’t people please. Be direct.

Being at the poverty line and ethical consumerism

It’s been wild becoming even more radicalized over the years and making less and less money. I feel more and more shame towards my purchases because I have no more money in my budget to be picky. As an organizer who pays all their talent and takes no money from said events I am constantly going broke trying to help my community. I take breaks in between but without a large enough following we are just community members helping other community members. And when everyone is on the verge of homelessness - keeping each other afloat becomes harder and fucking harder. I am finishing my PhD this Spring so I hope I’ll be able to secure some sort of higher pay. I can continue to help my community and redirect my money towards land ownership, learning trades, sharing wealth and resources with my community, and doing what I love. A girl can hope anyway.

Assata never saw the America she was working hard to build. Glimpses of it. Other people being radicalized yeah. Maybe more visibility to the many subjects she advocates for. But that’s very common. Many Black American revolutionaries leave their home country as refugees. Other Black folks just get fucking fed up with America as a whole. Some of us are stuck here. Some of us die here.

I may never see the America I am building towards seeing but you ain’t EVER gonna catch me going down behind a resource hogging asshole who made their fortune on slave labor. AT MINIMUM! I won’t be working against freedom. Hell nah. It’s possible to just lead a life outside of hegemony and traditional conventions. You can make opportunities for others to do the same. You can fight for the justice of other people and lead a life to be proud of. It won’t be easy. But it will be worth it. We ain’t free until we all free.

What are you doing to get free?

#deepthots

How being trafficked informed my sex work

Sep 27, 2023

Human Trafficking is defined by Oxford as “the unlawful act of transporting or coercing people in order to benefit from their work or service, typically in the form of forced labor or sexual exploitation.” Statistics compiled from the National Human Trafficking Hotline highlights over 10,000 reports in 2021 alone with their projected number of victims being upwards of 17,000 people. The top three types of trafficking they report are: escort services, pornography, and illicit massages; however trafficking also occurs in non sexual ways as well. Victims are often exploited and recruited by employers, family members, and intimate partners. Emotional, economic, and psychological abuse remain the top three ways that victims are coerced into human trafficking and human trafficking can happen to any person regardless of their chosen and ascribed identities.

I, like many other survivors of child sex trafficking, had my access point through a friend. A fellow misguided and out right clumsy teen lying about their age to sneak into strip and dance clubs in Houston, Texas. I had met her at a teen night at a now shut down club after we were both fondled by the same guys on the dancefloor. He managed to get a hand under both of our skirts about three times before we decided to ditch the club. We talked mostly via text or on snapchat- the sex work app of the time. She had introduced me to camming online under a pseudonym only sending pics of mainly other people to creepy dudes we met at the clubs. Eventually we both migrated to meeting up with these guys at clubs on the nights we would dance or when we wanted to get in and try to make money. Making out, fingering, and fondling in between dancing on bars or on a tiny stage with a dirty pole made us about $250 - $500 split. By the time I hit senior year some of the guys would pay to Facetime me in the shower so I decided to meet up with a few to see what all they wanted. I had a car and time on my hands. Not to mention hating making the pennies I made at my job at a yogurt shop when the Johns started to thin out.

At this point I had not had penetrative sex with any of my Johns and managed to keep everything above the hood. I had met up with a few guys who wanted to exclusively have me as their sex slave and I wasn’t ready to risk getting a STI or getting pregnant doing things I wasn’t supposed to be doing. I had sweet talked or sucked my way around the P in the V conversations until I fell upon Secret Arrangement. I had seen a mini documentary on sugar babies in college after I had cut things off with my last Houston John, Alex. Alex was an old white man who hated white women. He had a brown bowl cut, a protruding belly, and a hanging bottom lip. But he loved to hear me talk. He thought I was so smart. And that I offered him more than any of his white wives ever did. And he was so old he “couldn’t imagine having sex,” with me. Which was delightful. We’d watch Cowboys games, talk about politics, he'd give me $300 and I’d go home. He was the second best John I’vve ever had. He had set a very high standard for me. And yet I didn’t know that what I was doing was exactly the same as other sugar babies. So once I moved to San Antonio and watched the doc I thought to myself: time to step it up.

I began watching all types of videos on how to be a sugar baby, how to create a lifestyle that wealthy men wanted to support, and how to make the most while also being a student. I then proceeded to go on my second sex work streak - now as an adult. From 2017 - 2022 I went on hundreds of dates with dudes literally collecting as much money as I could get. I connected with sex workers on Discord and on certain reddit and Twitter pages. As I continued on my journey of being an adult Black woman navigating online and in person sex work I gained more and more sex worker friends who warned me against serial offenders or people who intentionally wanted to blackmail or scam you. They offered me gigs to strip or dance at a private party or club and I’d do the same. We were all in need of money or financial independence and we wanted to help each other achieve that as much as possible. By the end of college most of my friends had an online sex work page, several online cash payment systems, and a small booklet of clients. We didn’t need pimps - we had iCal. We didn’t need to put ourselves in the line of danger with a John first and ask questions later - we would warn each other beforehand. Organizations like SWOP and my own #ChangeRapeCulture helped with building community with trafficking survivors, sex workers, and those seeking to get into the work safely and with mentorship. We were building the future of sex work we wanted to see and be a part of.

Now abuse and trauma still happen on the job for a lot of us even though we may have been able to find our more chronically online or remote audience. In person sex workers are still out here working hard for their money and relying on one another to stay safe. A quick look at #304 tik tok will show how tight (pun intended) sex work community is and how deep we look out for one another. The community I found through being trafficked that spoke up against non consensual acts, advocated for safe sex, and wanted to appeal to queer sex workers became my family. They helped me through my sexual trauma, my lost queer identity, my complex relationships to men, encouraged me to go to counseling, and helped me leave a FEW nasty relationships. Their love helped me understand why I originally sought out nightlife and followed my friend into seedy nightclubs.

I wanted the freedom that comes with sexual liberation especially after experiencing sexual trauma. I was chasing the peace within myself that I saw within the gogo dancers of Texas nightlife, the chaos of the bitches up in cages right next to the DJ, and the power of your body in a dark room with a man with money. I felt I was owed the ease they had. The money they had. The wisdom they seemed to have. All of the people I look up to were prostitutes at one point of time in their life - I wanted to see what they were seeing. There is so much that being trafficked took from me. My innocence;, my ability to trust and ask for help; and the dissolution of my immediate family. I would never recommend sex work to someone just looking for a quick buck or needing to get out of town. Many of us turn to sex work for money when we have no other option. However, those negative experiences we all face are the center of our current advocacy.

Sex worker advocates are fighting to have sex work decriminalized in the United States, incorporate standardized rules for consent, and working to have those being trafficked be free from their captors. I know that I dream of a future where porn, stripping, escorting, and sugar babying will be recognized as work and sex workers are compensated fairly for their work. I want sex workers to be safe and have access to free healthcare. I want sex workers to sponsor their families dreams, helping to grow themselves and their communities, and feeling free enough to explore their and others pleasure centers. I want to have the agency to do as I please with myself to please only myself and those consenting to be with me. Sex workers want to prevent sexual assault - not perpetuate it. Me included.

Some ways to support sex workers around you would be checking out your local SWOP chapters, supporting local groups like Red Light District, and supporting the sex workers around you. As always you can go to www.changerapeculture.org and look at our resources on our instagram pages that are sex worker specific. We released a reading list of POC sex workers for COVID! {https://changerapeculture.org/media/the-revolution-will-not-be-televised-2/} Follow them! And learn your sex worker rights history! Medium wrote a piece about sex worker’s rights that’s a good starting point. TIME did an article on how pivotal sex workers were to LGBTQIA2S+ rights in the 70s. POZ also did a great article on Black sex worker’s rights! Read up and diversify the perspectives you read from.

My experience being trafficked informs my politics around men, patriarchy, pedagogy, gender, solidarity, and activism. I’ll never forget it. I’m humbled to have made it out of being trafficked with my life as many Black women in person sex workers do not get the chance to do that. I hope no child is surrounded by the scumbags I met between the ages of 15 - 18 in Houston, Texas. I wish future kids have the space in their life to ask the questions they need to ask about sex, trauma, and abuse with people who care about keeping their childhood and being safe. I hope every Black girl feeling alone and desperate has a place to go with their favorite snacks, enough blankets to last a year, and unlimited data. Children deserve better and need more options for wellness when they have experienced sexual trauma. I want to protect my younger self and warn her about what lies ahead. This seems to be a part of that process. Send a sex worker some money today! Subscribe to my site: ismygirl.com/ChaosEmera and stay tuned.

#deepthots

#DEEPTHOTS: Last Year TINGZ

This time next year I will be Dr. Waits.

You hoes are about to be SICK of me.

As many of my avid readers know - I have had an incredibly traumatic PhD experience both because of and not because of my university. It isn’t until just now that my colleagues and myself have even had time to process that we are in fact writing these long term large scaled projects that will now come into fruition. So much of this process is explaining over and over and over and over and over again why you are even doing the shit. “What will this project bring to the world?” I don't know why are you depressed working for a department that historically screws over people of color? Why are we being held to these old ass standards of ‘rigor’ that include working past our physical and mental capacities? How is it humanly possible to prioritize a writing project over feeding yourself or your family? ALL of us except the international students have full time jobs and it’s only because the US is xenophobic that my international classmates don’t have additional 9 - 5s.

This summer all our 6th year students were assed out for funding. The department basically said they ran out of money. So we have all these people running around and trying to find funding so they can pay rent and then something so stupid happens. I am assigned TWO jobs within my apartment. I was basically double booked. Booting one of those 6th years out in order to fill the spot. I am finishing a DJ gig on campus and heading back to Detroit when I check my email. Twenty students have emailed me irate that I “missed the first day.” I email my higher ups to show them I had declined the teaching gig back in June and accepted a second fellowship at the same time. It’s also illegal for me to have two jobs so I wanted it to be clear I wouldn’t be taken on the responsibility. That was about 5 days ago - and no I have not received an email from the teaching coordinator yet. They emailed all of the grad students at 7PM the night before the next class to ask someone to show up the NEXT MORNING at 11AM. THESE are the people who are entrusted with our education. Not to mention that it was communicated to my students (without me knowing) that I had “other responsibilities” and that there would be a new teacher GUARANTEED. But emailing people the NIGHT BEFORE when I sent an email almost immediately and avoiding my email.

I finished my first day in my last class for my PhD and that was even more irrelevant than the administrators who do nothing and avoid accountability. We went over 50 word blurbs y’all. I’m trying to get a salaried position in education administration not on the tenure track and we are over here reading alternative text captions. I’ve blocked so much of this shitshow out I forgot about the majority of my white classmates. Y’all are still here too huh? And yes they proceeded to add the most unnecessary points in class. And YES they all do work around Black and Brown people…the jokes write themselves.

So for this last year I want a job. I want to never have to speak or see the majority of these people again. And I want to center my art projects and job search over my dissertation project. My photography, films, creative writings, and philanthropic writings are way more interesting than ANYTHING going on in the ivory tower, no shade. The reality of this though will probably include lots of time alone and in seclusion. I’ll spend this year manifesting, dreaming, and searching for that dream job. I’ll work on enjoying my first year married. I’ll read books I like. And I’ll eat whatever the hell I want. I’m taking trips for fun. And I’m writing shit that makes me happy!

Fuck this class. Fuck the rules. And fuck feeling like shit. This year will go my way. I’ll make sure of it.

This time next year I will be Dr. Waits.

You hoes are about to be SICK of me.

Fuck this class. Fuck the rules. And fuck feeling like shit. This year will go my way. I’ll make sure of it.

#deepthots