Lately, I was stood up by someone I had held in very high regard. It was what made me relapse on my drug use. Sad as it is to say, I thought he’d be different. Getting men to show up on a date with me—or even return texts after they’d promise they’d be there—has been damn near impossible.

After my drug relapse, I decided it’s just better to pay for the companionship and touch I need. I need to not feel alone and unwanted so if I need to do this, so be it. I’m currently looking at getting a Splenda baby for myself and sticking to porn shoots to get my jollies off.

On an emotional level, it’s devastating because it really hurts to feel like you’re not worth showing up for without a bribe. On a physical and realistic level, hey, I’m getting my needs met and it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.

But hey, welcome to 2025, right?

I mean, not for nothing, but I know I’m objectively easy on the eyes. I get paid modeling work—and not just as a “before” picture, either. I was a covergirl of a magazine at 30. I have a Loyalfans account and am currently around the Top 20% of vendors.

I like to think I’m fun to be around. I’ve been told I’m a good lay and I don’t just go for one round, either. People have told me I’ve always got a great story to tell, a good joke, or a comforting hug ready to go. I also really put effort into being a good host.

But still, people just don’t show up. It’s a mindfuck because I really try my hardest to be a good friend and lover. From what people tell me, it’s not me that’s the problem. It’s my dates.

They’re the ones who don’t show up.

They’re the ones I have to openly post about to even get an half-assed apology, even when they read my writing and see how important it is for me to get my needs met while I’m dealing with “diet heroin” withdrawals.

For all the caterwauling men do about not getting a chance from women, they sure don’t act grateful or even excited when they get a date. In other words, while I was sitting there, getting happy to doll myself up and give myself a little fun time, they…just did nothing.

But I’m willing to bet that they’ll be online, the next day, talking about how women don’t want to date men anymore. It’s not that women don’t want to date them. It’s that they don’t show up when women are actually happy to see them. It’s insanity.

As a porn star, it’s easy for me to see what’s going on because I’m on both sides of this issue. I am the lonely married hotwife looking for a partner. I am also the model who guys slide into DMs.

Without fail, the following happens:

In other words, most of these guys are not looking for a date. They don’t want to provide companionship. They don’t care that, maybe, for the person they’re talking to, that night out could literally be the only free time they have and they just ruined it.

They don’t give a fuck how it hurts the women they’re doing it to—even when there’s no strings attached aside from, “Be a decent fucking person and don’t ghost.”

No, they’re chasing the weird fantasy of a pseudoperson. They’re also chasing the thrill of getting nudes from women, almost as if it’s some kind of weird, twisted hunting trophy—a weird totem of power for the powerless.

It’s heartbreaking for me on multiple levels. One, am I not worth a call so that I can change my schedule? Two, am I not a person to these assholes? Three, how sad is it that these people care more about a fucking fantasy than actually getting the real thing?!

Look man. I get it. I’m on Loyalfans and will be on OF soon enough. If this is how life is going to be, I may as well cry my way to the bank and soothe myself in my own way. As weird as it sounds, being in porn has been helping me feel desirable and heal from the icy loneliness around me.

I am pro-porn for a reason. Porn can be used in a healthy way. Taking nudes has helped me heal from body dysmorphia. My best friends are all in the industry and it’s been good to me.

But even as a model, I am not going to ignore how absolutely fucked it is that so many people prefer to commodify intimacy or even just bail on a very human side of intimacy in favor of a fantasy.

Among women, it’s not OnlyFans or porn that becomes their pseudo-intimacy vice. It’s AI lovers, robots who basically treat them like a loving partner—always available, always loving, never judgmental.

If you go on sites like Reddit’s r/MyBoyfriendIsAI, you’ll see it’s mostly women. Many of those women stopped dating men in favor of bots because, like myself, their experiences with the opposite sex were absolute shit.

Dating’s never been easy, but the stakes are very high right now. People are desperately lonely. Money is tight. All most of us want is someone to hold, please us, tease us, and tell us we’re worth it. That’s true across the board, regardless of gender.

But here’s the thing:

We all just want something easy. We all want something safe. We all just want something that makes us feel like we still got it. So, a market pops up—as capitalism does. It’s there to cater to the itches we never seem to scratch.

For a small price, you can go online and a cam model or pinup model can make custom content that will make you cum. For a small price, that fictional character can serenade you with songs like you’re Bella from Twilight.

All you have to do is pay that small price. You get it easy, safe, and guaranteed. Isn’t that nice? Of course it is! It’s so nice. That’s why porn and AI boyfriends are both booming businesses. And you know what? In moderation, it can be a great thing.

In fact, I’ll be blunt. These services are needed because, at times, there are people who quite literally can’t find others to be around them for one reason or another. These services can help them feel less alone when humanity just doesn’t want them or can’t reach them.

Did you ever hear the phrase “fairy food?” In old Irish myths, it was said that you should never eat food offered to you by the fairies. Some said that eating fairy food would make it impossible for you to return to the human world.

Others said that fairy food was deceptive—that it’d taste good, and that it’d maybe even make you feel full. However, no matter how much you ate, you would never actually get any sustenance. Eating fairy food would eventually make you starve to death, even while you felt totally fine.

It’s that definition of fairy food that I want to focus on.

These interactions (or moments of watching others’ interactions) can be satisfying. They can make you feel good. They may make you have fun. They give you a way to pass the time and temporarily make you feel a semblance of a connection.

But they’re not real.

Unlike cerebral activities like reading, these activities don’t actually give you the connection you want. Quite the opposite—they give you a temporary feeling of satisfaction and familiarity that is just that: a temporary feeling.

I want to say it’s fake, but it’s not just fake. It’s a counterfeit of a counterfeit.

With a sugar relationship or even being the “pity friend” invited somewhere, you still get to enjoy talking to people. You sometimes get a hug. You might have a photo of you hanging out, some kind of memory that involves something interesting.

Sometimes, that relationship can become something more real, too.

Even with pets, you get a real bond. You get memories of playing fetch, or watching your favorite fish poke at your finger, or hearing your parrot make its first word out of a series of squawks.

Online interactions don’t even afford you that. You don’t get the feeling of an embrace. You don’t get the enjoyment of a night out where you both talk, gazing into your eyes. You don’t get the oxytocin of a hug, the memories of being able to recount treasured memories.

Half the time, the “person” you’re talking to online might not even know who you are.

You’re paying for a scrap of a memory—an interaction where, in many cases, the other party doesn’t know who you are at all. That’s fine if you just like their content or like a brief escape, but that’s absolutely depressing if you’re turning your nose up at real people in favor of a night of AI chatbots.

All you get is a brief feeling of approval, a crumb of validation that is gobbled up, leaving you hungry and sad without a full explanation as to why you feel like shit.

Like, that’s sad, right? In lieu of something that is real, that is healthy, that is sane…So many people would rather just have the easy route, the route that gives them a temporary smile while starving themselves of what makes life memorable.

So, what more can I say?

Or rather, who am I to say?

If that’s how things are now, let them eat fake.

In an ideal world, we’d all be eating steak and potatoes, served with a chalice of wine. But, we’re in a social famine. I, for one, will choose to enjoy Diet Coke and splurge on sugar-free, gluten-free, milk-free rice cakes as often as I can.

I’ll hunt for something substantial, whenever I can, though I recognize we’re in a famine right now. As for those of us who have decided to gorge on photos of a roast turkey and other fairy food?

Well, I hope they find it filling—even though I doubt it will do right by them