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xmag.com
: August
2002 : Erotic City |
The
Three Types of Sex Workers
You
knew this was gonna happen eventually, ladies. Until now,
the majority of my vicious stabs at humor have all landed
on a few not-so-innocent strip-club proprietors. But it
appears that as I have descended deeper into the fleshy
womb of Portland's adult industry, my experience has taught
me that there are three very different species of sex-industry
worker. When mixed with others outside of their own species,
each is potentially volatile.
Allow
me to classify each for you...
1.
EXOTIC DANCERS (a k a STRIPPERS, TWIRLERS, or CLOTHING-DEFICIENT
PERFORMANCE ARTISTS.)
At
the top of the food chain, (at least that's what they
would like to think, anyway) are the Exotic Dancers. These
women typically seem to think they are
better than #'s 2 and 3. These noble creatures would never
lower themselves beyond having to do things such as...
...dance
three songs nude, with two other girls, on a tiny, piece-of-crap
stage, with a single wrinkled dollar bill on it in front
of the only customer at the rack, who just happens to
be a creepy, child-molesting-looking guy that seems to
think blowing on the girls is turning them on. Nothing
but first-class treatment for these ladies.
With
proper training, the experienced dancer can learn to perform
in Jell-o, in mud, in oil, or in some cases, on ridiculous
things such as a fountain, a swing, or shower stages.
(I think I heard Doc's was considering putting in a toilet
stage...give 'em a call for an update on that one.) The
most advanced dancers have developed amazing skills of
levitation and gravity-defiance with the ability of a
magical brass pole, which they must stroke at the beginning
of each set. You think they do that just to make you fantasize
what it would look like if they were stroking your pole,
don't you? Sorry, guys, you know me...I'll always be there
to burst your pathetic little bubble. It's simply a hygiene
thing. Those poles get greased by more ass and pussy than
the entire staff here at the office. Plus, with the
current outbreak of STDs such as ass moss and salon crotch...not
to mention a rise in Stinky Pussy Syndrome...among Exotic
Dancers, a girl has to
be careful.
But
these ladies are in it for the art of the dance. It's
not the money. It's not the tacky jewelry and sleazy lingerie
their regulars bring them. It's not for the endlessly
flowing supply of booze their customers insist on pumping
into them.
Are
they in it, rather, simply for the fact that they all
just love to be nude in front of every stranger that walks
in the door...like their father's best friend...or their
high school career counselor...or the ex-boyfriend they
left a year and a half ago in order to pursue modeling?
We'll never know, I suppose. But that's OK, we live in
a town where a pregnant, one-armed woman with a black
eye can get onstage and get naked for a living. (Note:
Exotic is very interested in talking to this legendary
icon...if you know
where
to find her, please give us a call here at the office.)
So it really doesn't matter why in the hell these ladies
are doing it; there are plenty of people right here
in Oregon willing to pay you for it, at least a dollar
a song anyway...if you're lucky.
The
dancer has probably the longest average career length
among these three classes of sex worker.
The
party-till-dawn lifestyle, constant adoration from an
endless line of schmucks, and anywhere from $1500 to
$10,000 a month, all make this profession very difficult
to shake.
 #2.
THE LINGERIE MODEL (a k a JACK SHACK GIRL or RELAXATION
AND STRESS RELEASE TECHNICIANS)
The lingerie model is actually
the most predatory species of the genus exotica. Though
many stage dancers might claim that they make a better
living in the clubs, some of the most unattractive lingerie
models can make about the same in a week as an exec
at Intel makes in a month. One very important fact to
be aware of when approaching these lethal beauties is
this...they are without a doubt, and verifiably, the
most violent species of the group.
Large groups of lingerie
models left unattended in a strip club is highlycautioned
against. Here is a brief, yet detailed account of a
special event held recently at a strip club that shall
remain nameless. Ten lingerie models attended a V.I.P.
party which would consist of said models performing
on stage, some of them getting nude for the first time
in front of a man who was not jerking off in a frantic
and frustrated state. Eventually, that evening came
down to an "Out of my way, Beeyatch," responded to with
an impressive wad of spit in the other's face, and immediately
erupting into a full-contact fiasco of boozed-up barroom
brawling bitches. (I had two more B words to add to
that, but I can't remember what they were at press time.)
[Might those be 'boner' and 'Beaverton'?--Ed.]
As
an added note, this club had attempted a hybrid-gathering
of this nature--strippers on the same turf as lingerie
models--on the previous month as well, and it met
with similar results within fifteen minutes of the
event's commencement. After two failed attempts, when
Exotic consulted with this adventurous club
owner if he would dare to hold another lingerie V.I.P.
party, he responded by saying, "Get the fuck out of
my club and take your piece-of-shit magazine with
you!!!"
Guess
we'll take that as a no. 
Violence
tends to run rampant within this species on their
home turf as well. On one wonderful night, I was treated
to a three-round brawl between two particularly violent
specimens at a certain lingerie shop. The inciting
incident was brought about primarily due to enormous
levels of intoxicants and stimulants.
First
attack is almost always verbal, with a venomous, razor-sharp
tongue. I witnessed Subject A put together more syllables
of pornographically insulting words than I have ever
heard said in one breath. I can't exactly quote her
on this, because my alcohol intake was pretty up there
as well, but it was something like, "Get the fuck
out of my way you fucking ghetto whore white-trash
trailer-park inbred skank ass diseased slut piece
of shit!"
Hmmm,
now that I write it down like this, I just realized
something. Both fights started because one of these
models was in the other's way. Perhaps we could lower
violent outbreaks among lingerie models if they had
larger spaces in which to frolic. Maybe it's the confined
area in which these models perform their trade that
leads them to outbreaks of madness.
Or
think about this...perhaps it is the fact that these
models spend a good part of their day dodging loads
of semen. I'm sure most of you all know the main difference
between a lingerie shop and a strip club, and if you
don't, we suggest you head into any strip club in
the city, start beating off at the rack, and watch
what happens. OK, well, maybe that's not the best
example, but you get the idea, right? I'll give you
one example a former lingerie model once shared with
me of the strangest show she was ever asked to perform.
A rather ordinary-looking man showed up with his pet
dog. When the customer asked the model if his dog
could come in with him, the model cautiously allowed
it. The guy offered to pay the girl six hundred dollars
if she would masturbate herself while he pleasured
his lucky puppy orally.
One
other recent development in the investigation to discover
the source of the Lingerie Model's violent behavior
was recently exposed when photos were submitted from
a skinhead paparazzi who chooses to remain anonymous
for his own safety. Said pictures portray our very
own editor Jim Goad...a known violent person...fraternizing
with several notorious lingerie models. (See pictures.)
I'm not gonna go into too much detail on this one
myself (once again...for my own safety!) but
if you've been paying attention to Goad's illustrious
past, I'm sure you can figure out where I'm going
with this.
If
you haven't, I strongly suggest you pick up a copy
of Jim's new book, Shit Magnet. I had to put
that in here because I'm sitting here at six in the
morning, six hours away from deadline, and Goad is
breathing down my neck so he can edit my monthly offering
of crap that no one reads. [You can order Shit
Magnet at www.jimgoad.com--Ed.]
#3.
THE OUTCALL GIRL. (a k a TRAVELING LINGERIE MODEL,
ESCORT, or many other wonderful nicknames that
I wouldn't dare admit in print.) I choose to ignore
this breed for safety reasons. Both mine, and theirs.
Let's just say that this species is extremely endangered,
and very little is known about them due to the lack
of time I've spent "in the bush" with them. For a
complete authorized professional analysis of the OUTCALL
GIRL, simply send an email to xmag@qwest.net...attention
Karla with a "K."
The
Dead Goldfish Lives On
Last
month's editorial submission to Erotic City
from Rick Callous (yeah, I know I misspelled it) was
an e-mail documenting his execution of a past girlfriend's
pet goldfish in an Osterman blender, and even though
he bitched and whined about his coverage in Erotic
City, it appears he won't let it die, so here's
Part II:
OK,
so maybe 2 or 3 people actually read your shitty magazine.
After the deluge of apparently feeder-fish-friendly
strippers scolded me for my Goldfish Blending incident,
I guess I have to admit that. Now several of my girlfriends
have spent time with me on this subject and I guess
MAYBE, just maybe, I was possibly wrong.
In
an effort to right this barbaric wrong, I would like
to extend a formal apology to the following:
a.
People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA)
Please stop calling me now, and when I find the asshole
that gave you my number, they are dead.
b.
Oregon Society of Aquarists
c.
American Society of Ichthyologists.
And,
I guess, my ex, who certainly didn't deserve to read
in vivid detail the account of Jacob the Goldfish's
execution between the pages of a literary masterpiece
like Exotic magazine. OK, Now things can get
back to normal?
Maybe
now my Mom won't think that eleven years in the adult
industry hasn't pushed me over the edge into some
kind of fish-killing sociopath. From now on, I'm a
friend to all life, no matter how seemingly insignificant.
Thanks, Exotic, you helped make me a better
guy.
You're
welcome, Rick. Glad to see that we were able to reach
at least one of you. You can see the new-and-improved
Rick, as well as anyone who is anybody, at Exotic's
9th Anniversary Party on Monday, August 12th.
This gig is reservation only, so if you're on the
industry side of things, call us here at the office
at (503) 241-4317 for invites. This just in...now,
merely two hours 'til press...I finally got to yell
STOP THE PRESSES, when I received another email from
a dancer at the Dolphin regarding the death of Jacob:
"Hi,
Rick, I read your little story about the goldfish
in Exotic and I have one question: 'How did
it feel?' I think I'm going to try it. It just might
be a really effective stress-reliever. I'll tell you
how it went after I've done it. One way or another,
I'm gonna get rid of that boyfriend...but first, I
have to buy him a goldfish."
Now
I feel responsible for spreading the word of your
debaucherous influence to over 30,000 people, Rick.
My innocent little column might have been instrumental
in the possible extinction of how many fish?
How many have to die, Rick? How many?
Stay
tuned next month for big news concerning the death
of Ink-n-Pink, my "retirement" from Exotic, and
the New and Improved TOP 10 strippers THE GUYS at
EXOTIC wanna FUCK. See you at the rack.
CALENDAR
OF EVENTS
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