Last night at a rooftop party, I was drinking beer and buying vintage clothes in the interest of charity. Perhaps not the most immediate correlation, however, I now know that I can look rather fetching in a women’s pair of Scanlan & Theodore trousers. Who would’ve thought? With my hawk-eyed vision finely attuned to seeking out designer finds surreptitiously without arousing the interest of fellow bargain hunters, I spied an unexpected surprise on the other side of the sale rack: a former acquaintance who I knew had dabbled in amateur pornography.
The way this person’s filmic exploration of the flesh had become known to me was the way these things usually transpire—an email sent to me by a mutual friend who had “discovered” it on a website—the subtext being they’d been visiting said website for their own lechery and anonymous titillation, only to be surprised with images of someone they knew well, but perhaps with more clothes on. Now my predicament was as such: How do I address the elephant in the room and its 72-inch trunk?
So I went to the community—my Facebook profile—and asked those nearest and queerest whether I should address this person by their real or porn name, should we happen to speak. It was a flippant comment with comedic intentions, however, it elicited quite the response. One said I should say hello with their real name and farewell with their porn name, another suggested I call them by their first pet and street names, while one said plainly that I should address them by their genitals. Bizarrely enough, this person’s real name is that of someone destined for porn, with incredible alliteration and rhyming with a part of the male anatomy. Truth is indeed stranger than pulp fiction.
Now the purpose of this diatribe is not to pass judgement, because one can never be certain of circumstances surrounding any such activity. Sometimes one’s situation is dire—bills to pay, emergency surgery, overseas trips—and at the time, it seems like a logical and desperate last-minute decision. Alas, it’s a pertinent and timely reminder that the Internet is forever. Even images that are intended for personal or intimate use can escape into the public domain, forever to mar someone’s reputation or create instant infamy.
Presumably there’s life after porn, and thus, relationships, family and a career. A decision that netted them from anywhere between 700 and 1,500 dollars for a couple of hours’ work, now is an immediate deficit in any future venture. An assumed name is designed to protect their identity, however, the camera never lies. At least with prostitution, both parties have something equally to lose.
It might prove difficult to not talk to this person without the stigma of their indiscretion flashing brightly above their heads like a neon sign in a red-light district, but again, their decision doesn’t necessarily make them a bad person, just someone who has made a poor decision. So, if you find yourself in a similar non-karma sutra position, greet them as you would normally and like all touchy subjects, don’t mention the whore. If it’s proffered to you, listen carefully to their open-legged situation with an open mind and deny all former knowledge. And then promptly wipe your Internet history.
Published on 7 December 2011 by Agony Uncle