With her permission, I copied and pasted her article here.
I’ve been interested in the career or Tracy Queen, a Brooklynite who’s become an internet porn sensation over the past few months, for a while now. Tracy, a curvaceous Asian American with a real passion for her work, started out doing cam shows last summer and quickly developed a large, almost rabid following of devoted fans, with whom she’d spend the last half of her cam shows discussing the social and scientific implications of her performances. Her philosophy was that she demanded the respect of her fans, so she should show them respect in return. The first time I tuned in for a cam show to check out what all the internet buzz was about, she masturbated using a small but powerful vibrator, with an intensity one rarely finds in sex scenes with human partners. The woman was getting off on getting off for the camera, and the passion was intoxicating. I was hooked. But after she turned off the vibrator and put on a bathrobe, my fascination really began: Tracy spent a good half hour answering the questions her fans put to her, starting off with a detailed description of the orgasm she’d just experienced, followed by a thorough catalogue of the different types of orgasms she experiences versus the many types of orgasms she says women are capable of having. She wrapped up with a scientifically exhaustive—and accurate—contemplation of the source and evolutionary purpose (or lack thereof) of the female orgasm, as theorized by primatologists and evolutionary sexologists with which she’s familiar.
She did all this without reading or referencing any material. She just knows this shit.
Clearly, we are dealing with an atypical porn performer. Loathe as I am to say that, given that most porn stars are markedly different from one another, I’d say that in the case of Tracy Queen, “atypical” hardly scratches the surface.
A few months ago she began recording and editing scenes with partners, a few of which I’ve seen. The same intensity and obvious enjoyment I witnessed in her camming comes across loud and clear in her recorded scenes: Tracy Queen obviously lives for the sex she has on camera. She seems to approach each act as a chance to grab life by the proverbial horns and fuck it. But not fuck it into submission. Fuck it into… I don’t know… perfection? It’s hard to describe.
Anyway, when she announced that she would be live-streaming her first-ever gangbang, of course I jumped on that bandwagon. Again, it’s difficult to put into words what exactly set this group sex scene apart from every other gangbang I’ve seen in my time (and that’s a lot of gangbangs), but the difference is easily discernible while you’re watching. The tone is different. The mood isn’t one of tension and release, black and white, gang versus banged. It’s not even frantic in the way a lot of group sex seems to be. It’s something much subtler, more nuanced: it’s of effortless control, skilled performance, and almost—dare I say—celebration. As a woman, it’s often difficult for me to watch a woman surrounded by a crowd of men who are all vying for a hole. It feels exploitative, even when I know the performers and understand the situation to be fun for all involved. It’s a squirmy kind of feeling to watch the scene unfold. But Tracy’s gangbang didn’t give me the squirms or the uneasiness I usually get; instead of being surrounded by men who wanted to fuck her, this livestream showed, in real time, a woman who was determined to fuck all the men in the room, to bring them pleasure, and to show off while she did it.
I’d been interested by Tracy Queen before; now I was entranced.
I sought Tracy out at her much-sought-after home in Brooklyn (I’m sworn to secrecy about its location) for an equally-sought-after interview with the woman herself.
First of all, she seemed surprisingly nervous. I can’t say what about—Tracy Queen conducts herself with poise, articulates with wit, charm, and an extensive vocabulary, and seems to have her living space under as much control as her performances. But nevertheless, when I showed up, the mood was somewhere between anxious and panicky. Granted, this is the first interview, to my knowledge, that she’s ever given a reporter, much less in her living room. So I suppose a measure of nerves was to be expected. What I wasn’t expecting was that she’d seem almost afraid of me. Almost as if she were hiding something. Some of her answers and mannerisms only furthered that appearances.
She seemed unsure about why, exactly, she’s given up filming in the large studio she’s appeared to be shooting in for the past several months—ever since she began working with scene partners. Instead, she at first insisted that she shot everything in her relatively small living room on the second story of a moderately-sized house in Brooklyn. When I pointed out that the videos I’d seen were obviously filmed in a larger space, she backtracked on her explanation several times. First it was money, which, I pointed out, couldn’t be the real reason: she’s the highest-grossing indie porn star in America. Then she alluded to vague “other projects,” at which point her nervousness seemed to ease.
Let me tell you, folks, Tracy Queen comes alive when she talks about planning a sex scene. In this case, her next GB. As soon as the topic arose, her anxiety melted away and her agitated, hyperactive manners disappeared behind the self-possession and clarity of a vision she tried to put into words for me.
She assures me that she will be using new techniques during the shoot, citing “studies” she’s been reading about brain scans taken during coitus, and the results helping her maximize something or other… one can only assume she meant pleasure. (I did some extensive Google searches looking for whatever she was referring to, to no effect, but maybe she has some scholarly database access I don’t. After all, she bills herself as a trained biochemist.) She assures me, with every other breath, that this will be “huge.”
In the next breath she tells me that she gets her nails done and does other “porn star stuff” as she puffs majestically on a hookah. And yet she insists she doesn’t get out much because she is always working. From her living room-cum-studio, I couldn’t see any work being done, but Tracy was adamant. “Big projects” with “huge results” are in the works, but she cannot give out much information to assuage her fans.
While this kind of obfuscation would seem perfectly natural in a chat with many other porn stars I’ve interviewed, something seems amiss here. Tracy is obviously aware that she’s being vague in her answers, and she makes no concerted attempts to mask her sidestepping. She doesn’t seem confused about what it is she’s doing or uncertain of how to phrase things—she behaves as if she realizes that porn stars are expected to be confused and uncertain, and she is using these expectations as a cloak. Whether that cloak is meant to mask her plans themselves, or the surprisingly cagey yet obviously proud young woman herself, I can’t tell.
What I can tell is that there’s another gangbang in the works, one that will be filmed and edited rather than live-streamed. She tells me there will be more men, and that she looks forward to “coming alive on the set” like she did last time. She tells me she is working on her plan to change the world. She blows a set of perfect smoke rings and finishes her coffee. In the moment between her last swallow and when her eyes lock onto mine with an acute vapidity, I watch a penetrating awareness scan the room, and further. I don’t know what’s happening inside Tracy Queen’s head, but I think we all hope to find out someday.