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It revealed an XXX profile link that an internet troll had left on my personal Twitter page.
There she was, a girl I recognized, frozen in time 15 years ago.
Was reporting her just deleting her all over again? I assuaged my guilt by tithing, giving 10 percent of what I earned to the Church.
Was “her” still me even though I’d spent the last 15 years decidedly being not her, trying to do more with my life than the eight months I’d spent, at 19 years old, playing a porn star? When the elders confronted me, having found out about my work, I stopped going.
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Yet another dude had created yet another fake profile account for the porn star I used to be.
It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but this troll had found my real identity and linked the porn page to my personal Twitter account.
We’d spent all day together at his house, where I’d dressed up in a little plaid school-girl outfit and sucked a lollipop while he photographed me for Hustler subsidiary “Barely Legal.”Wendy James was everything that I wasn’t but that I wanted to be.
She was unapologetically ambitious, negotiating for more money than even the most experienced actors received.