By PROUD & Kinky Staff / Photography by IG @sterling_analog

What themes of BDSM, power exchange, or sensuality show up in your art most often, and why?

My art showcases my versatile interests. I believe that sensuality is the main driver of my artwork. Without this idea of the power exchange of dance or sex or both, much of my writing, performance, and physical art wouldn’t exist. I wrote this piece that’s in the process of being published, “snatch.” It’s self-exploration in the form of a strip club with no customers, built on this fantasy that when you dance, you can take yourself to other places. It’s kind of a siren call but with no gullible sailors to lure. Instead, you are showing yourself this kind of love and imagination, which I think most adults no longer experience.

I’m a career sex worker of 10+ years now. The strip club was the first place I felt at home. It was a very tumultuous time in my early adult life, and without it, I wouldn’t have found my peace with really standing up for myself or telling people what I like. Now, my art is reliant on this concept of the exchange that occurs during dance and participation in kink. I’m kind of obsessed with this idea of nonverbal understanding between two parties, the silent push and pull of a teasing experience, and the idea that it can even happen independently with you as both parties if you open yourself to the concept of enjoying solitude.

Photo of Kitty L. Gore by IG @sterling_analog

How do you explore vulnerability, consent, or taboo in your work?

Dance is a recurring theme for me, always. There’s this allegory I find in the act of dancing for someone, or for no one at all. When I strip, I’m peeling layers of me open and apart for everyone to see. I like to compare it to an orange; I’m peeling pieces away, but instead of knowing less, you know more. Peel discarded, revealing delicate slices. As someone who considers this art, I feel that I would be lying to myself at this point if I weren’t genuine and vulnerable about it.

I also rely heavily on gender fluidity in my artwork and my everyday life; this ability to be something other than rigid. It is vulnerable to being adaptable and pliable. I want to be someone who knows who I am, no matter what that gender manifests as or what those traits are, and there’s this element of softness that comes with being that sure of yourself. I think my confidence sometimes comes across as too cold, and I am always searching for ways to allow myself to be vulnerable without compromising my peace. That’s what my art and performance have become.

Who or what inspires you—artistically or erotically—within kink culture?

Now this is a loaded question for me. In addition to being an artist and performer, I am also an archivist. Magazines, VHS tapes, DVDs, Super 8 reels, and paper ephemera, I love to document queer sex work history and preserve materials that made it possible for us to be ourselves. In an artistic respect, I admire personal ads and the vulnerability paired with anonymity it took to participate in queerness and kink in the past. It adds perspective.

Erotically though, I love the story! Doesn’t matter how bad, there’s so much roleplay and theme interests in gay pornos from the 80s and 90s. My favorites always feature uniforms and wrestling, but there are plenty of niche gems to discover. My favorite new tape is a gay parody of “Top Gun” called “Cock Gun.”

My brand is called Slut Carnality. I feel like that tells people exactly what they need to know about me.

What’s your relationship to kink, and how has it evolved?

Perhaps this is overly broad, but my relationship to kink is centered around trying new things and being open to new ideas. I feel like I could miss out on opportunities to learn about myself and process my emotions if I close myself off to experiences that may not be what I initially desired, but still have a purpose for me. I love kink experiences that are sans sex more than anything, building a relationship with someone through loving activity, setting the terms to an agreement.

It has evolved into something I feel little shame about. I came from a very devout Presbyterian family, and there was a lot of shame around sex and fantasy, even if there was so much tolerance for queer lifestyles. For many years, even actively as a sex worker, I felt this deep discomfort surrounding being sexual; it was so hard for me to be on stage and take my clothes off until I opened myself up to the idea that there is safety in laying down rules, but also in breaking my own rules.

All that to say, now I am a proud sadist and experimentalist and wouldn’t change it for the world.

What message do you hope your work conveys to other queer kinky individuals, especially those just beginning to explore?

Be yourself!!! Don’t give in to what isn’t meant for you.

It took me a long time with my trans and queerness to understand that surgery wasn’t for me, but there was a lot of pressure in my mind to be what people perceive a man to be, even though I’m a lifelong gender fucker. I wasted a lot of years chasing what I thought I was supposed to be, instead of accepting who I was. For some people, that means a cosmetic change, for others, it just means being ok with people getting it wrong. I learned that I’m ok with people getting it wrong– you don’t think men have incredible tits? Not my problem.

Being secure with myself was the best thing that ever happened to me. I suggest those exploring their identities and their kinkiness start by accepting that people will pass judgment, but judgment is never a reflection of who you are. It is a reflection of who others are, encouraging shame surrounding something we work very hard to escape the stigma of. I don’t think anyone’s confidence should come at the expense of others like that, no one is more “dignified” in the world of kink, we are all freaky bastards!

This article was originally published in issue 7 of PROUD & Kinky Magazine. You may read it in its original format here.

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