I’ve heard of personal shoppers to the stars… but porn stars?
I received a message out of the blue from a mate who had recently embarked on a new enterprise, making and sharing adult content for the paying public on OnlyFans.
“ARE YOU FREE THIS WEEKEND? I NEED YOUR HELP WITH SOMETHING.”
Intrigued, I sent back, “YOU DON’T WANT ME TO APPEAR IN ONE OF YOUR VIDEOS, DO YOU?!”
He assured me that wasn’t the case.
“PHEW… THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO HAVE TO DO SOME PRESS-UPS!”
We arranged to meet the following afternoon on Hurst Street.
He was delighted by the positive response his content was generating.
“I’ve only been going a month, but I am getting a following, with more and more subscribers every day,” he told me. “In fact, stats show I am currently in the top thirty percent of OnlyFans creators in the country!”
The rarity of a British South Asian openly performing in gay porn, without concealing their identity, was generating particular interest.
“I’m happy to show my face and share my name,” said Jayhan Singh. “My family know I am doing this; I’ve told work colleagues and seen HR at work to ask if it would affect my employment.”
“What did they say?”
“That it has no bearing on my work… unless I mention the company name.”
To be so comfortable in one’s own skin, where you are happy to bare every inch of it online for the world to enjoy, is admirable.
It turns out I wasn’t the only one impressed. He had been contacted by the BBC to discuss his perspective on sex work…which was why he wanted to meet.
“I’ve never done interviews,” Jay admitted. “I was wondering, if you were free, and didn’t mind… would you come with me to the studio. You don’t need to go on air, but I’d appreciate the support.”
“So, you’re asking me to hold your hand?”
“Yes.”
“Of course,” I told him, secretly disappointed he didn’t want me to help film some content.
I adored that he had no qualms about performing sex acts in front of a camera but chatting to the media made him bashful.
The conversation moved to the dubious quality of online South Asian gay videos.
Jay asked, “Do you ever watch Desi-porn?”
I gave him a look that said, what do you think? “It probably appears at the top of my search history,” I told him.
By this point, we had been joined by my partner and we shared opinions.
While I liked the amateur nature of the vids produced in India and Pakistan, my partner bemoaned the lack of professionalism.
“Also, they are too short,” he said. “I need at least eight minutes.”
Jayhan planned on capitalising on his niche market, producing something of a higher quality, utilising Indian attire, props and set dressing, to appeal to his fanbase.
The next day I received a new message: “WHAT U DOING 2MORA? DO YOU WANT TO GO SHOPPING FOR OUTFITS?”
I assumed we would be heading to CloneZone for rubber pants and a harness, but no… he wanted to go to Soho Road to pick out a traditional Asian dress.
So, one atypical Tuesday, I found myself taking the scenic bus route to Handsworth, to act as personal shopper to a sex worker.
It became quickly apparent that Jay had no idea what he was looking for.
“I’ve never worn stuff like this,” he confessed. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Well, go for a basic kameez (*The long shirt or tunic worn with loose pyjama-like trousers),” I advised, leading him away from the high-end boutiques, glittering with stunning wedding robes with astronomical price tags.
We found ourselves in a cramped shop in a market bazaar run by a portly gent.
The store was stacked and strewn with colourful clothing for both sexes.
“Try something white,” I suggested, “that would set off your skin tone.”
Instead, he was drawn to a rich blue top, with gold trim, and simple white bottoms.
Jayhan looked dubiously at the immense waist of the trousers, “Those are too big. I’m going to need a smaller size.”
“They have a drawstring. One size fits all,” I explained. “How do I know more about this stuff than you?”
He decided I was his ginger pink guru.
He went to try the outfit on, navigated precarious stacks of packaging to reach the shop’s lone changing cubical, squeezing in amongst a tottering tower of boxes.
Moments later, he remerged looking radiant.
He grinned, “I look like someone else!”
“You’re Indian,” I declared. “Who knew?!”
It was only now that we thought to ask the price. It all came to a mere £35, including a white and gold scarf, to complete the ensemble (which the store owner had to demonstrate how to wear). Bargain!
The store had filled up with female shoppers.
I asked a practical question, “How far down does that top unbutton?”
Jay demonstrated. They opened down to a point below the chest, which would look hot with nothing underneath, we agreed.
We found ourselves in the awkward predicament of discussing how to make gay porn, whilst in a confined space with half a dozen women haggling over headscarves and saris. A bizarre conversation to have in a crowded bazaar.
“What deal will you give me for this?” asked a young woman, holding up a brightly coloured dress. “I’ll give you twenty pounds.”
“This is fixed price shop,” the storekeeper insisted. “It is thirty pounds.”
The woman gave me a smirk that suggested confidence in knocking him down in price.
“Go for it,” I encouraged her. “I’ve seen my mother haggle in Marks and Spencer.”
Back to porn, I explained to Jayhan how he could play with himself through the kameez then pull it up to reveal his tent-polled cotton trousers.
“I like this scarf,” an indomitable matriarch called across the shop. “You sell for five pounds?”
“Then you can undo the drawstring and slowly pull them down to reveal all,” I continued in a whisper.
“I’ll take this yellow scarf as well,” the older woman insisted, “for three pounds.”
“I might ask if he has a pair those curly shoes,” Jay mused.
“I’d ask if that blue tunic is wipe clean first,” I suggested.
The young woman got her dress for £20… and I assume the indomitable matron got whatever she demanded.
Jayhan left with the fetching blue and white outfit… for the asking price. He was far too mild mannered (and not Indian enough) to successfully haggle.
We should have brought my mother.
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