When celebrated Exotic magazine publisher Frank Faillace conned me into this gig FOUR YEARS AGO, I almost said no. I was on my way out the door, after all, moving to New York or Antarctica or somewhere in between. I'd been in Portland for nearly two years--about as long as I'd lived anywhere else--and I was ready for new scenery. But somehow I got stuck. I think maybe I fell in love. With stripping.

Now I've been preaching about how wonderfully unique and inspiring and not-at-all-bad the sex industry is for six years. Jesus! Where does time go? And it turns out I was dead wrong--the sex industry IS bad. Cuz once you get a taste of it, you're pretty well spoiled for any other occupation ever. It's just too good.

I've seen so many girls come and go and then come back again. They get their law degrees, get married, have babies, go to rehab, buy houses. They say, "This is my last shift ever" and party and give away all their G-strings... but they're back a year or so later. They told me I'd be back, and I rolled my eyes and cursed 'em under my breath, and HERE I AM. Even now I am psychologically in NYC, running across the goddamned Brooklyn Bridge every morning, but my body still manages to make it down to the Magic Gardens twice a week, where it undresses and purrs under the red lights. It's impossible to leave!

But really, it is time to go. It was time to go two years ago, but there were too many buts back then. Now there's only one or two.

And so I'm calling this my second-to-last column. Next month will be my 50th. I can't believe you put up with me for so long. It gives credence to my
theory that what's sexiest about a girl isn't her exterior so much as her interior. Why else would you come to the Magic and Mary's after five years of virtually the same hot chicks?! It's about more than a girl's outfit, hair color, breast size or butt size. I think it's cuz you like getting to know us, and the fact that we chicks are all-nude and living exclusively off your generosity somehow makes us more willing to get to know you. It ends up being pretty intimate in spite of the contrivance. God, I love it.

So, what can I do to wean myself off of my addiction? I love to act and might pursue that, but you seldom get to say what you really want or be who you really are when you're acting. You can in music, but it's still more scripted than stripping and less physically satisfying. Ultimately, walking across a tiny stage butt-naked shooting off my smart-ass mouth has been the job of my dreams. Maybe I could publish my book, then crisscross the country giving all-nude book tours and college lectures. Ah, but those audiences are so whitebread! I'm ruined, see? You've ruined me.

I predict I'll be here through October, then party, give away all my G-strings and kiss you goodbye. Maybe I'll be back! Who knows? Or maybe I'll stay forever. Miss Mona says that kicking stripping is harder than kicking junk. Until then I'll write dribbly interviews with rock stars and be all-nude downtown. And try not to fall in love with anything else.

Thanks a million for supporting the arts.