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I recall staring at Jenna Jameson and Chi Chi LaRue as they announced the category I was nominated for. Jenna was an icon in the industry, and everything a glamorous porn star was supposed to be: tan, pin-thin, long blond hair, big blue eyes, chiseled cheeks, and voluptuous implants. Everything I wasn’t. I have brown eyes that crinkle in the corners because I smile too much, a crooked front tooth, and chubby cheeks I try to suck in for pictures. No matter how many hours I’ve spent in the gym I never could get rid of my chipmunk cheeks. I barely heard them as they read through the nominations; all I heard were the voices of my own insecurity.
“And the winner is... Aurora Snow!”
Surely they’d read the name wrong. Frozen in place, I broke out in a cold sweat as everyone at our table stood, encouraging me to do the same. This was what I wanted, right?
With my long black skirt gathered in hand, for fear of tripping on my way up the stage, I rushed towards the spotlight. Yikes. I had to give an acceptance speech. And I was so unprepared.
Though I was taller than Jenna I felt tiny, eclipsed by her presence on stage. I felt the fat of my cheeks flame up. I become a shade of crimson when I’m nervous. I looked out into the darkened audience beaming, not knowing what to say. Seconds felt like minutes.
Who do you thank when you win an award for sex?
Being recognized as the best in my field should have been exhilarating. And while up there on that stage, burning under those bright lights, I realized that while I was grateful for the honor, it wasn’t my crown jewel. Part of me loved winning. But another, deeper part of me didn’t feel anything at all. What good was winning something I couldn’t share with anyone I really cared about? This was one award that would stay in the closet when family came to visit. It was a difficult accomplishment to brag about.