Whether OnlyFans or other services, men are finding that digital sex work is just that — work

Photos: Jonathan Knowles/Tara Moore/ALEAIMAGE/Getty Images

Alex (not his real name) would never have considered himself a sex worker. But in early March 2020, around the start of the Covid-19 crisis and after months of prodding from his substantial following on Twitter and Instagram, he set up an OnlyFans account. For $13 a month, those followers could see the dick pics or masturbation clips he’d upload. He did it so informally, you’d think it wasn’t profitable. But it was.

Before OnlyFans’ ascent to meme status, Alex paid little attention to male sex work; like college kids fantasizing about stripping when classes get too hard, he thought…


by Steven Underwood

Support the full novel, Into the Ashe and Fire

“Damn these Jungle Witches and the whores that breed them,” the Blue Blood barely broke past the threshold into the café before he started at it. His jacket dripped a train of water across the linoleum floors.

Arrica Tre, the serving witch, flinched at the word as if he’d walked in and slapped her. She waited for someone to correct the man, but only heard the welcome ticking of the clock on the wall. …


Owning your sexuality — and recognizing that fatherhood doesn’t need to be about hardness — presents a necessary alternative

Photo: Maskot/Getty Images

Joseph Guthrie came out as bisexual when he was 32. Acknowledging his sexuality didn’t unravel his sense of himself as a man or as a father. On the contrary: It only seemed to embolden his sense that no single perceived trait could define him. His family, though, felt differently. His queerness, in their eyes, disqualified him as a man — and, thus, as a father. “I haven’t spoken to my father for four years now,” Guthrie says. “When you cut the toxic people out of your life, it makes a massive difference: You’re happier.”

Much of what we consider “toxic…


By Steven Underwood

Mama always told me to stay away from the Voodoo Queens out along Negro Knocks, where the black folk were loud, opinionated and troublesome.

“Them Devil Worshippers crawl across those pavements like ticks to an ass. Don’t come ‘round there lest you want your soul to be low.” And yet, as the church bells sung the work day sleep, my friends lured me out of bed after dinner.

The streets were lit with streetlights and sin. Four women in scant silks danced around us three, giggling and swearing promises of luster. Sarah cowered against my arm. Esther teased back at…


by Steven Underwood

Nothing worthwhile is found in the streets. Before this September, if I were to walk home from school, I’d assume to find the usual swaying my head low, scanning the ground to dodge the broken glass and eye contact: a used needle (Retail: $20 per pack of 100): tiny green ziplock baggies barely big enough to hold a raisin (Retail: $5.05 per pack of 100): black gum stains pressed into cement after years of tramples (Retail: brand varying, $0.75): shoestrings (Retail: $1.00).

Now, those were shockingly the most common, mostly browned with age, but always bound together…


Do we care about Trauma, today?

In 2013, I was deeply traumatized by an experience at a PWI culminating in the creation of my record, the first time I’d ever been in handcuffs and the development of my more serious contest with Adult depression. The memory of my paralysis before the prison hue of orange and the overwhelming terror of midnight suffocation are not things I can easily escape some six years later.

So, when I say Emoblackthot’s story of trauma and deception is not entirely what the first reaction would impress upon us. According to Isaiah Hickman’s testimony of…


Promotional artwork for Netflix’s the Society, premiered May 10th

I’m typically not captivated by the toil and vapidness of suburban white teenagers on television — especially if I can’t even get my maltreated Black tokenism that’s essentially the bare minimum of teen television. I’ve somehow sidestepped Riverdale for years now, and the closest I’ve found myself sinking into this kind of awkward gaze on the White agendas, but my timeline somehow tricked me into watching (and begrudgingly stanning) Netflix’s the Society — and the ending, honestly, has to be expected.

Netflix latest freshmen show of contained storytelling is about a small class of high school peers from a majorly…


Photo by Steven Van on Unsplash

Wherever it was said it was unprofesssional to position your confidence before the interest of people who do not care if you can get out of bed in the morning should be shredded, along with the book, the pen and the author’s hand who was goofy enough to write it.

I’ve spoken to many writers in my career as a twitter savant and an artist in a digital, clout-based industry like culture writing. One tip, by the genre-defying Clarkisha Kent, was to cling to my Ego as not only a defense, but as a justification for the expectations I hold…


Black Boys and Bird-Chests, or the Racialized Legacy of Body Dysmorphia in African-American Men

Photo by mwangi gatheca on Unsplash

The burn in my chest the first and last time a friend’s mom punched me was the final time I allowed myself to be okay with having a “bird-chest” and lanky arms. I remember the thought crossing my mind followed solely by the immediate regret of showing up over this house at all, and I should’ve demanded such a thing the day white friend told me he was blacker than me because he could dunk on a full-sized rim and I couldn’t. However, the catalyst for…


I was born to be the Mona’ Lisa.

I think about her when I’m on my back beneath him.

Or on my belly, because of him.

Revered and Beautiful. Rather than a second mat, under my husband– collecting checks just to spend them on a right to keep on breathing.

She has flaws, and she is not the most beautiful. But, millions flock to her virtue and give love to the flawed beauty of this white woman with the brunette hair.

Blacks ain’t even likened to brunettes.

Ain’t that something? So beautiful they find other words to describe her blackness…

Steven Underwood

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