Before I was a mom, I was an X-rated writer. And I was actually pretty good at it.
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By Ariel Hart
I knew it would come to this, but I didn’t think it would be so soon. I knew eventually, I’d have to tell my son. No, not that I’m an ax murderess — nothing quite that juicy. I’d have to tell him that before I was a mom, I was an X-rated writer.
Yes, under the nom d’porn “Ariel Hart,” I wrote scores of articles for men’s magazines, phone sex scripts, short stories for women’s risqué fiction anthologies, the racy bio Raw Talent … the whole erotic enchilada. I wrote dozens of scripts for adult films that were produced, sold to, and shown on cable TV. Movies like The Swap, the four-part Passages series, and Endlessly.
I even wrote about my dual life for Ravishly. I kept my former career a secret because I didn’t want people judging my son for the choices I’d made. I also didn’t want to be dismissed as “just a sex writer,” because there’s a whole lot more to me than that.
Up until now, my teenage son had no clue. Not that he should. Since David is still under 18, it isn’t even legal for him to be looking at porn. But I know he will, if he hasn’t already. Didn’t we all?
David, who’s now almost 16, knows I wrote some steamy stuff. But he doesn’t know that I used to be the Nora Ephron of the XXX genre. Or that our friend Rick is none other than adult film legend Rick Savage, veteran of hundreds hardcore films and videos. Or that cousin Jane’s aka is “Veronica Hart,” porn royalty in her own right. Or that my old friend Pam was once sexvid starlet “Angel Kelly.”
I’ve hemmed and hawwed about whether David should ever know. Lately, I’ve been wrestling with a few burning questions: How do I tell my son? Do I tell my son? Is it his business? I figured he would find out on his own, organically. That it would come up in conversation naturally, and he’d know. End of story.
But by not telling David about my former life as a smut scribe, I felt like I was lying to him, as though I was ashamed of what I’d done. Actually, I’m pretty proud of it. I was damn good! In fact, I’d been nominated for several scriptwriting “Oscars.” David knew I freelanced for a well-known Fortune 500 company which produced many of his school textbooks, so why couldn’t I tell him about writing blue movies? What was the difference? What was the big deal?
And I’d still be writing bawdy movies today if it had stayed lucrative. But with all the free porn out there, no one’s paying big bucks for X-rated scripts anymore, especially with so many gonzo, all-sextravaganzas flooding the market.
The Harts have a very relaxed household. No body shame here! But somewhere along the line, David became a bit prudish, especially where his mom is concerned. It probably has something to do with puberty and random erections. He knows that his sexuality is nothing to be ashamed of. He also knows that even parents are sexual beings. (eeeew!) And now he knows that his mom used to be a porn writer.
How did David take this little nugget of information? Pretty much with a grain of salt. All of my worry and trepidation about how to tell him, all of my weighing the options was all for naught. I finally just came right out and told him. His reaction? “Oh…” and then a beat later, “What are we having for dinner?”
You see, no biggie. Except when you’re talking about my smutflick Bigger. But that’s another story.
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This story originally appeared on Ravishly.
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Photo credit courtesy of author.