I Fell in Love With Sex Work Again And I’m Done Pretending That’s Shameful

If you’ve followed my blog for a while, you’ve probably noticed I disappeared for a few months.

For years, I was painfully consistent. I wrote constantly. Through chronic illness, burnout, terrible jobs, relationship drama and every identity crisis imaginable. Even when life was falling apart, I still showed up and wrote.

And then suddenly, nothing.

So let me tell you where I went.

I fell in love with sex work again.

And before someone rushes to psychoanalyse that sentence, no, this is not a tragic story about exploitation disguised as empowerment. It’s not a story about a vulnerable woman being manipulated by the evil adult industry. It’s not an essay about regret.

It’s actually far more offensive than that.

I genuinely enjoy it.

A few months ago, I started webcam modelling. Properly this time. Not “thinking about it.” Not flirting with the idea. Actually doing it.

And almost immediately, something clicked.

You know those moments people talk about where they finally find the thing they’re naturally good at? The career that doesn’t leave them emotionally hollow? The work that feels energising instead of soul-destroying?

That was camming for me.

Which is ironic, really, because I’ve worked “respectable” jobs before. I’ve worked jobs that sounded socially acceptable at dinner parties. Jobs that made other people comfortable. Jobs where I was overworked, emotionally drained and underpaid while still somehow expected to feel grateful for the opportunity.

And yet somehow society considers selling access to women’s labour for poverty wages empowering, while selling access to women’s sexuality is supposed to be degrading.

Funny how that works.

My first livestream happened at 1am after days of overthinking it. Eventually I got bored of my own internal monologue and just hit “go live” before I could talk myself out of it.

And honestly? It went well.

Chaotic, slightly awkward, but good.

I had absolutely no idea what I was doing technically. I was fumbling around trying to work out how the site functioned while pretending I knew what I was doing. Most of the viewers were kind and patient.

One man did scam me into a free private session almost immediately, which honestly feels like a rite of passage in both sex work and womanhood generally.

Women are warned endlessly about men exploiting us sexually, but rarely about how often our unpaid emotional labour, care work, domestic work and professionalism are exploited too. At least in sex work, the transaction is visible.

That first stream led to another. Then another. Then another.

And what shocked me most was not the money. It was how comfortable I felt.

Women are expected to perform insecurity constantly. We’re supposed to shrink ourselves socially and physically at all times. There’s an entire economy built on female self-hatred. Every industry targeting women depends on convincing us that we are permanently one purchase away from finally becoming acceptable.

Too fat. Too loud. Too old. Too sexual. Not sexual enough. Too confident. Too needy. Too visible.

Camming disrupted that in a way I wasn’t expecting.

Because when you sit on camera for hours at a time, looking directly at yourself while thousands of people watch you, something strange happens.

You stop seeing yourself exclusively through the lens of criticism.

I’m a BBW. Plus size. Soft. Very visibly not the tiny Instagram-approved version of femininity women are told is most desirable.

And yet over 2,000 people followed me within eight weeks.

Men paid to interact with me. Paid to watch me. Paid to compliment me. Paid simply to exist in my space for a while.

And before someone says “women shouldn’t need male validation,” let me stop you there.

This wasn’t about male validation.

It was about realising that women are lied to constantly about desirability.

We are taught there is one acceptable way to exist as a woman and that every deviation from it lowers our value. Sex work shattered that illusion for me incredibly quickly.

Because the truth is that attraction is diverse. Desire is diverse. Beauty standards are largely manufactured nonsense designed to keep women insecure enough to keep spending money.

Meanwhile, the actual men paying my bills were complimenting my stomach, my thighs and, memorably, my double chin.

Shout out to that guy specifically, honestly.

And here’s the part that really unsettles people: I’m good at this.

Within my first month, I was ranking in the top 5% of new webcam models on the platform.

A lot of that probably comes from previous experience in adult work. Confidence matters in this industry. Conversation matters. Creating an atmosphere matters. Men repeatedly told me I seemed like I’d been camming for years already

Soon I was getting requests for custom videos, paid Snapchat access, lingerie sales and an OnlyFans account.

Two days ago, I finally set one up.

And in roughly two months, averaging about six hours of work a week, I’ve made thousands of pounds.

Not hypothetical “girlboss” money. Actual money. Real money. Bills-paid money.

Meanwhile, I’ve worked traditional jobs where I was expected to sacrifice my mental health, physical health and entire personality for less.

Especially as a disabled woman.

That’s another part nobody likes discussing honestly.

Sex work has historically offered disabled women, chronically ill women and marginalised women forms of financial independence that mainstream employment often denies us. Flexible hours. Autonomy. Control over workload. Immediate earning potential.

Of course there are downsides. Of course there are risks. Every industry has risks. But it’s fascinating how people only demand moral purity and safety guarantees from women when sex is involved.

No one panics this much about women destroying their bodies in warehouses, care work or hospitality jobs for minimum wage.

Anyway, most of the money I’ve earned has gone straight back into the business.

I now own three Lovense toys that connect to livestreams so viewers can pay to activate them remotely. I’ve replaced multiple sets of underwear. At one point I got so tangled trying to remove an outfit quickly during a stream that I ended up cutting myself out of it with scissors.

I also temporarily lost my voice from camming too much one weekend and had to buy the same vocal medicine professional singers use.

Which genuinely felt like the funniest possible career development.

Next on the list is probably soundproofing my bedroom before the neighbours stage an intervention.

My partner has been incredibly supportive through all of this too and has joined me on stream a few times.

Nothing could have prepared either of us for the moment someone paid for a private session purely to stare at his limp penis for half an hour.

But he committed to the bit beautifully.

Real feminist allyship is apparently letting strangers critique your soft dick on the internet while your girlfriend tries not to laugh.

And honestly? That’s love.

If you’re interested in experiencing the magic I make on cam, I am MistressLillie on Chaturbate and Lillie Love on OF 😘