it was a dark and stormy sunday night. i waited for the bus in the torrential downpour with a hipster girl who ate a blow pop with such theatrically inconsiderate loud wet smacking slurping licking chomping sounds that i became literally OVERWHELMED with the desire to punch her in the face. i balled up my fists in my pockets. clearly, it was misplaced rage. (is that the word? i mean that makes it sounds like it was rage that was lost and i couldn't find it, instead of rage that i had full possession of but wanted to place upon the wrong person.) i don't even know what i'm so mad about, i'm not a generally angry person. but something about that girl just made me want to knock the pop right out of her mouth.

i experience a similar rage at the gym when men make groany sex sounds while lifting weights or exerting themselves on the cardio machines. i guess i don't like being exposed to other peoples' sexual sounds without my consent. so you see, it's more an issue of consent than of my being a hair-trigger rageaholic.

when i got to work there were about five customers in the whole bar. i was working with my #1 favorite girl to work with, though, so i just figured it would be a night about fun instead of money. and if i happened to make money that would be a nice bonus.

i danced a few sets and then i noticed a super handsome guy sitting back against the wall. i went and sat with him for a minute and got him to buy a dance. and then he bought four more in a row. he was dutch. i love a dutch accent, i have to say. he really reminded me of one of my favorite massage clients, a very tall dutch man i think i've written about before, and like my massage client, we had a natural chemistry that made the minutes tick by without feeling like work at all. just like a fun sexy connection with someone you're never going to fuck, but whose energy feels exciting for a minute.

there. i admitted it. i sometimes get turned on at work. i'm now officially out of the closet on that one. i used to talk about it with the girls at the massage parlor all the time, how arousal is such a sneaky lil force, just pops up sometimes when you're going about your business. it's funny to write about it, though, especially now that i've got some queer readers. i feel like there's this expectancy/assumption that if you're a lesbian, you're only in sex work for the money. and yes of course money is the #1 driving force, but it's also a really fun job that i happen to enjoy for the most part. it's fun to get to try out different sexual personas with customers, i like talking to them and i like the license to exude as much flirty sexy energy as i want without any judgement or expectations, because it's my job. it's kind of a lucrative exploration. or something. i don't know.

after five dances with the dutch guy, he excused himself and on his way out told me, "you're my portland dream. unforgettable." it was really a cute thing to say.

after that, THE MOST annoying girl came to sit at the rack for a long time. she was really pretty and probably normally sweet, but she was extremely drunk and likely tripping balls. she kept tipping, so that part wasn't annoying. but she was just super lovey and needy. the kind of person who will suck a lot of energy out of you if you let them so it's better to ignore them. which only makes them want your attention more. anyway she kept standing up and beckoning me over to her, desperately. i finally went up to her and she said, in the serious tone of someone delivering an important message, "you're really beautiful. i mean it. like, really really really. do you even know that?" i said, "yes honey, i know it. you're beautiful, too. now please sit down and just relax. it's fun here, okay? not serious." she did sit down then and try to relax.

but the next time i was up on stage, she was back to being all high and crazy. she kept standing up and trying to caress my legs as i danced past her. i shot her a warning glance, which she ignored. instead, she stood on her chair and reached over to yank my thong back and cram a bunch of dollars into it in a sloppy motion that involved her fingers clutching into my asscrack. i grabbed her wrist and said, "do NOT touch me." she looked wounded and goes, "geez. you're SCARY." i said, "oh girl, you don't even know. do you want me to show you scary?" at this, she stepped down from her chair and went back and sat with her boyfriend, who had long since grown embarrassed by her antics and taken a seat in the back, near the door.

a late 30's butch dyke came in with a guy friend. he also seemed gay, and totally disinterested. they both had weird hot topic fashion. (or maybe it was actual st.mark's place fashion. what do i know about these things, and is there even any difference anymore?) anyway the dyke looked like a female adam lambert from american idol. (is it redundant to say "female adam lambert"?) getting to the point: the dyke was fucking rad. she sat at the rack and smiled and tipped well and clapped heartily after each song. she only stayed a little while, but i was happy she'd come in.

some airline pilots from texas came in pretty late. they didn't want to buy dances, but they were a good time and got all of us girls liquored up. by that time, they were the only tipping customers. we three girls and the three pilots sat together at the rack, sipping cocktails and watching whichever girl was dancing. the guys gave us stacks of ones to tip each other. i liked dancing for my co-workers and having them tip when i smiled at them or did something they liked. it was really really cute. it felt like a cozy little party. a perfect sunday night. and then before i knew it, it was time to get off work and go to bed.

so much for anonymity.

i got a facebook friend request yesterday from a guy whose name didn't sound familiar, but whose face i totally recognized but couldn't place. i figured he must be a friend of a friend, probably a fag i know peripherally but whose name i didn't remember. i thought about how easily i forget boys' names, but how i will never in a million years forget the name of girl, particularly a hot one. so i looked at his face, and name, and face, and name, accepted his request, and resolved to call him by name next time i saw him out at a club or whatever.

then this morning i woke up and apropos of nothing, this guys face popped into my mind and i knew where i knew him from: he was a massage client! not awesome.

mcdonald's

in the spirit of this blog just totally jumping the shark lately, here's another non-sex-work related work story. it's an excerpt from a longer story, but you don't need to know a lot about the backstory, just that my family had just moved to a little town up north. we were religious, and so we were just starting out at a new church. also, i was a lesbian but didn't know it, know it. i mean, i knew, but i didn't know.

"...the church we picked had a youth group that met on wednesday nights in a little room to the right of the sanctuary. the room was almost entirely pea green. pea green walls, pea green carpet, pea green chairs. even the youth, in the dim florescent lighting, looked pea green.

it was in this green room that i first laid eyes upon my first love, kristen k----, when she burst in halfway through the opening prayer in her pea green and orange mcdonald's uniform. my head had been bowed in prayer, but, smelling food, i looked up and saw her. i was at once mesmerized and couldn't take my eyes off her for several years. i still run into her occasionally, and find it impossible not to stare.

kristen's striped uniform shirt was tight across her flat chest. her pants were snug as well, clinging to her ample booty. her hair was bobbed and permed, and she had ratted her bangs into a little peacock plume. she wore a thick layer of makeup that was a bit too light for her complexion and stopped abruptly at her strong jawline. through the makeup i could see that she had lots of pockmarks and acne. also she had a slight underbite. somehow all these things that could be seen as unattractive combined to form a total package of overwhelming hotness.

she had a bag of mcdonald's food with her and tore into it the moment the prayer was finished, inhaling her big mac in four bites and munching her fries five or six at a time, all the while making yummy wet chewing noises that surprised me by giving me butterflies in my stomach.

the youth group were taking turns sharing sroties of their first week at school. who they wanted to witness to, which other christians were in their classes. when the "talking cross" reached kristen, her voice was husky. "yeah, school's going okay so far," she said through a mouthful of fries. "i get out early to go to work, though, so that's good."

"anything else?" the youth pastor, mike, asked.

"i have a new boyfriend," she said, causing my butterflies to stop fluttering and sink stolidly to the bottom of my gut. "he's not a christian yet but i'm working on him. maybe i'll bring him next week."

then it was time for singing. i didn't know any of the songs yet so i just listened. kristen's strong, thick alto rang out above everyone else's. she had such a gorgeous voice. when i got to know her better she told me about the time she'd tried out for star search and thought she had it in the bag because she was the best singer there. but they told her she didn't have the right look. by which they meant they didn't want to put a mannish gap-toothed girl like her on tv. the thought that anyone could see her as less than strikingly, amazingly, painfully beautiful was beyond me.

it took almost a year for me to start talking to kristen, and by that time i was already so infatuated with her that i came on way too strong. we hung out a few times, and she seemed flattered by my attention. there were always these strange moments, though, like something was happening that we weren't talking about. she used to look into my eyes in the strangest way like she loved me and hated me at the same time. anyway, the day before my 16th birthday, she said i should try and get a job working with her at mcdonald's.

so the next day, being legally eligible to apply for a job, i did just that. i went and talked to the manager, jim dummer, who looked like an overgrown dj conner. you know how in the last few seasons of roseanne, dj still looks exactly the same as he did when the show started, only now he's big? well this guy looked like an overgrown version of THAT. like the biggest adult baby dj conner you could imagine. he was nice, though, and gave me a job on the spot. when i asked whether he could put me on the same shift as kristen, he said, "oh she quit yesterday. that's why we were able to hire you so quick."

i was baffled. i went home and called kristen but she wasn't home. i called a few more times and she didn't call me back. i guessed she'd gotten sick of me. that was fast. i kept calling and eventually i got her on the phone. she said she was just too busy with her boyfriend and getting ready for graduation to deal with a new friend.

heartbroken, i threw myself into my work, earning "employee of the month" my very first month there. the job was easy and i was frighteningly good at it, but the place felt sad to me.

i'd stand behind the counter, taking an order, and think of kristen behind this very counter, punching these same register keys with her big man-hands. i'd take my half-price cheeseburger into the breakroom and think of her inhaling a big mac at this very same table. i couldn't look down at my grease-splattered fake doc martens, without imagine her real ones gracing these same red tiles. i'd often stare off into space and wonder what it would be like if she were here working with me. i longed for the camaraderie we'd have experienced as co-workers. she'd stopped coming to youth group and i needed another chance to make her want to be my friend.

i used to look through the burger chutes into the kitchen and imagine the joy i'd feel upon seeing her face looking back at me. instead, it was my "boyfriend," myron, who returned my gaze with a lascivious grin as he stood flipping burgers. he'd flip one high in the air to impress me, but instead of landing back onto his spatula, it would usually splat on the rubber floor mat. smooth."

maybe this isn't much of a story without the rest of the story. haha, you'll have to buy the book, i guess. if i ever finish writing it, that is.

berry picking.

i'm not working today but i feel like writing. so i'll tell you a story about my first job.

when i was a kid, i was always babysitting and stuff like that, but my first real job was picking berries when i was ten. i went with some neighbor kids and their mom. we all crammed into their beater station wagon and set out for the blackberry brambles just after dawn. it must've been about 6 or 7am, i guess. much earlier than i was used to getting up on a summer morning.

i remember being super excited about the idea of earning some money for school clothes and madonna posters. i envisioned myself working hard all summer and then bringing a giant sack-full of presents home and distributing them like a tiny santa claus. i planned to make good.

when we arrived at the blackberry place, it was already teeming with other pickers, mostly women and children. the mom and kids i was with seemed pretty annoyed. "shit, look at all those early birds getting OUR WORMS," was the general sentiment.

we went and signed in at the front table, received our baskets, and set out to work. i tried to choose a bramble that didn't already seem too picked-over. harder than it looked. i found one i thought looked decent and started picking. "ouch," i said with genuine surprise each time i got pricked by a thorn. i had forgotten about that part--the thorns. oh well, no matter. just be a little more careful.

i kept picking. and getting pricked. after about an hour and a half, the early morning cool wore off and it was suddenly blazing hot. it hadn't anticipated this. i was wearing pants. i rolled them up, but then my legs got scratched up. so i put them back down. hot was better than bloody.

i kept picking. and picking. and picking. and finally my bucket was almost half-full. ...wait a minute, i've been picking for HOURS and my bucket's not even all the way half-full yet?! i went to go weigh it. i had picked TWO DOLLARS worth of berries. i was really going to have to step it up.

i began to pick like a maniac. i filled up my whole bucket and started on another one. i got that one about a third full before the whistle blew for lunch. oh, lunch. of course. i should have brought a lunch. i looked around for the neighbors i had come with. when they were nowhere to be seen, i assumed they must be hiding to avoid having to share their lunch with me. i sat down behind a tall bush and started in on my berries. i ate them, one after another after another, dazed, till the whistle blew for us to get back to work.

after lunch, i felt almost drunk on berries. my belly was giant and full, like the rats in the movie "charlotte's web," after they go to the state fair and gorge themselves on scraps. i decided to sit down for a minute and let my berries digest. i watched the other pickers moving slowly up and down the rows of brambles, their berry-purpled fingers moving with a nimble speed that seemed otherworldly to me. how were they filling up their buckets so fast? how were they not totally pooped out by now? why was i the only person not working? wasn't anyone else so hot and tired they wanted to cry? i got it together after a while to fill up another whole bucket and then it was finally, thankfully, time to weigh in and go home.

i think i made something like six dollars that day. i was outraged. six dollars for getting up at the butt crack of dawn, laboring all day in the sun with nothing but berries to eat all day? what a rip. or, as we said in those days before we knew how culturally insensitive it was, "what a gyp!"

the next morning the neighbors came to get me but i wasn't ready in time and they didn't want to wait. i was glad. so. my berry-picking career lasted all of one day. and for the whole rest of the summer, whenever i wanted a quarter for the ice cream man, my mom would say, "no you CANNOT have a quarter! quit nickel and diming me! if you hadn'ta quit that job, you could have all the ice cream you wanted!"

meatballs.

i'm so tired, and yet so annoyingly awake. i just returned from a lovely post-work meatball date with a friend from down south. when i got home, there was a chocolate bar for sharing on the kitchen table. i ate a lot of it. and now, dear diary, i am awake.

today was a slow day at work. it was sunny and warm outside, so not great for business. but i worked with a girl i like a lot, and also my favorite bartender, so that was nice. i was getting used to the idea that i wasn't going to make any money, but then after dinnertime it picked up a little. i got a couple of good customers and was able to leave with $225, not great but better than it could have been.

the customers today were all at least slightly weird. there is a guy who comes in and eats the world's largest burrito at the tip rack. i kind of hate him. and i don't know why he thinks it's okay to talk with his mouth full.

there was a guy who told me he was a werewolf. he wasn't kidding.

and one of the guys who bought dances was SO GROSS. he was wearing sweatpants, which i usually try to avoid, but since it was slow i made an exception. this guy kept talking a lot. just normal shit at first, like, "you're making me so hard." but then nasty stuff too, like he said, "if that curtain was black insteada dark red (referring to the shabby curtain that hangs between the table dance nook and the rest of the bar) i'd be fucking you upside down and sideways." i was like, "uh. don't be so sure about that." he goes, "even the biggest, most professional-wrestler bouncer couldn't keep me offa you."

nothing like being saved from potential rape by having the wrong color curtain in your lapdance nook. what a weirdo.

also the slow guy was there today, the handyman who has a crush on me. i wish he wouldn't ever caress my shoulder again, ever.

but other than that: totally okay. i liked getting off work and meeting an old pal for meatballs. YUM.

yesterday i had the best day i've had in a long time. i woke up and had breakfast with a new friend. nettles we had collected in the woods, and eggs from their backyard hens. the nettles were soft and tasty, like spinach but milder and more aromatic. the eggs were the best i've ever eaten, their yolks a nice dark yellowish orange. they looked like easter eggs before we cracked them (see left).

then i went for a walk in the sunshine. it was warm and beautiful. i had some chocolate, bought eyelashes, and then went to work. i was in a good, mellow mood all day so i felt effortlessly friendly and made over $300, which i think is pretty good for an afternoon/early evening shift. i bruised my inner thigh on the pole and it looks gross.

when i got off at almost ten, it was dark but still warm-ish. i walked through downtown and across the bridge to go two-stepping. my body felt tired and rubbery like it needed to be set down on a soft shelf for a rest. but there was a sweet person wanting to dance with me, so i danced and it was lovely.

i'm off today. and tomorrow. gonna go to the movies and work on my quilt and sweat at yoga and do some writing. exciting stuff, people: EXCITING STUFF!

this was definitely a more interesting blog when i had those crazy pimp/trolls to bitch about, and when i was yanking on the dicks of strange men all day. but i'm happy to be chilling for a minute so i don't mind the side-effect of this blog taking a turn for the boring. i'll let you know when anything exciting happens, though. i promise.

dude.

i took a nap today and dreamt that i was taking a bubble bath. i was relaxed, and the stock images i employ for solo sexy time were floating by on the wall, as if by projector. i became really turned on and so i reached down to jerk off. but instead of my pussy, i had a dick. a really big good-looking one. i wasn't freaked out, it actually felt like some sort of natural progression, i'm not sure what that means, but that's how it felt--like it was something i was supposed to eventually have, and now i had it. i kept my erection for a long time, employing the tantric moves i've learned to help guys keep theirs. when i was ready to come, i was full of wonderment, i really had no idea how it would feel and i had the feeling it might only be this once, so i should pay attention. it felt like a wild explosion, but not so different from the orgasms i have with my girl body. the thing that was amazing, though, was ejaculating! i shot a giant wad and caught as much of it as i could in my hand. i was scared to smell it, if it smelled like man cum, i was going to be disgusted and then this marvelous dream would be marred. and so it was with trepidation that i brought my cum-filled hand to my nose and sniffed. it smelled great! like pussy. i was tempted to see if it tasted good, too, but i didn't want to test my luck.

what does it all mean?

mellow monday

work was great last night. it wasn't super busy, just steady. i only made $250 after tip-out, which was surprising for a minute, but when you think about it, $50 per hour is a great amount of money to make. especially when you consider 90% of the world's workforce, who work for so much less than that. sometimes i see such cute girls working at places like target, and i think, "you want me to turn you out, honey?" i mean, you've already got your stage make-up on and you've somehow managed to hoochify your target uniform. but i don't want to be a creep.

the reason work was great was i was in a really good, mellow mood. i had this warm, sexy feeling and it radiated outward. i can be overly languid onstage sometimes, but nobody seems to mind. i'm tempted sometimes to rev things up, but when i feel relaxed i tend to just settle into it.

i didn't give many dances last night. i felt too lazy to hustle. but i am proud to tell you that i did dance on the lap of the #1 powerlifting champ of missouri. he was in town for a physics convention.

a crew of work-buddies came in and as soon as they saw me they started going nuts. apparently i look "exactly" like their hot co-worker, rachel. they blinked in disbelief at the resemblance. i wish they'd had a picture of this doppelganger so i could tell you if we really do look alike. they tipped so well that i'm inclined to take their word for it.

the only thing i didn't like about last night is that the club has this developmentally delayed handyman/lackey and he's started really giving me The Eye. i don't like that. it feels unprofessional. he kept lurking around the stock room, smiling at me through the chain-link fence that separates it from the dressing room. all the more reason to stay up on the floor, i guess. when he was leaving for the night, he caressed my shoulder and goes, "bye andi," and did a weird lip licking thing that could best be described as "yucky." oh, why me.

i fell asleep in the cab and when i woke up the cabbie had passed my house, but only by two blocks so i wasn't very mad.

i slept like a rock but got up early because my housemate was eating a giant bowl of cereal. he likes to stand at the edge of the kitchen and munch man-sized mixing bowls of cereal, and since my room's next to the kitchen it sounds like he's eating in bed with me. i couldn't get back to sleep after that, but it's not like i have anything terribly important to do today. i'm going to yoga, and then looking forward to reading on the couch and napping with the cat.

OH! and LOST is on tonight!!! YES

boner party.

yesterday i woke up feeling HAGGARD. sky and i were going to thrift shop, we drove all the way out to the suburbs to go to this one particular store we love and they were having a power outage and so were closed. well that was a bummer. now what?

we were driving back to the city and i got a text from a regular of mine who i had been dodging every time i've been in town. he's actually really really sweet but he takes so long to come that he practically gives me carpal tunnel syndrome. plus he just talks and talks and talks about mundane, everyday things. like recent family gatherings and movies he likes. it feels weird and incongruous to be sexually servicing someone while they're telling you how cute their sister's new baby is or what their mom made at the potluck. i try to bait him with sexy stories but he seems uncomfortable engaging in any sort of dirty talk. so i just let him prattle on. i know if he would just do it MY way it would be easier and more fun for us both.

it's good to cultivate and maintain a clientele of regulars, and doing this means sometimes you have to see the ones who aren't your favorites, but who are steady and safe. new clients can be risky, and there are certain times of year when the cops perform sweeps and you get nervous about taking anybody new, and then you're super glad you have your regulars. so. when bert texted yesterday wanting a last-minute appointment i figured i should see him. you can only dodge someone so many times before they stop calling.

sky dropped me off at the studio. rachel was working again and that was nice. i was rushing around, flat-ironing my hair with wet nails, just doing everything in that hung-over ass-backwards way. she goes, "girl. you okay?" i was like, "yeah. i'm a little wrecked, though." she goes, "uh-huh, you're glistening." i did have that dewy sweatiness of the recently intoxicated. i put on extra shiny lipgloss to maybe just create a look of it.

bert showed up and i put him in the shower. got down to business. he talked nonstop about nothing, but since he doesn't ask questions it's easy to just zone out and offer an "mmm," here and a "wow," there. he took ten million years to come. he doesn't like variation, just likes you to jerk in one certain motion over and over. and over. just when i was feeling like my arm was going to fall off, he smiled and said, "you look tired, andi, let me finish this." what a sweet reprieve.

after that i went downstairs and worked out in the little gym, the window of which overlooks the pool and hot tub. there were a bunch of pubescent boys hanging out in the hot tub. when they got out of the tub to eat their king size bag of cheetos, i noticed that several of them had extreme boners making tents of their wet nylon shorts. they seemed oblivious to their obvious boner party and eventually polished off the cheetos, returning to the tub with orange hands and faces. i made a mental note not to sit in that hot tub again: EVER.

then i showered and got ready for my next appointment, an outcall. i've written about this client before, too. len, the contrary one with the chocolates who tried to videotape me once. since i don't have to pay the house, plus he tacks on a tip and outcall charge, i make more than double what i make for an incall. so even though he gets on my nerves, i don't mind seeing him. it's funny how money changes things.

on my way to len's condo, i walked through the tender loins of the city. i saw a pencil-thin 6-foot tall queen who looked familiar scooting by on a child-sized razor scooter, wearing daisy dukes and a tube top and laughing maniacally at the top of her lungs. as i was staring at her trying to remember where i knew her from, a man in an oversized shower cap knocked into me with the giant empty refrigerator box he was hauling. "I'M LOOKING FOR MY WIFE!" he screamed as he pushed past me. he was so earnest, so driven, and so stark raving mad that he reminded me of don quixote searching for aldonza. i was caught off-guard and laughed sadly.

when i arrived at len's, his place was messier than i had ever seen it. i don't know how he can live that way, or why he doesn't just hire a maid, which he could surely afford to do. it's strange--he doesn't even seem to think of his house as disgusting, he's never said, "pardon my mess," or anything of the sort. it's possible that i'm just not the kind of company he spruces up for.

anyway, he had a bottle of wine and fancy french chocolates waiting for me. he let me choose my own chocolate this time, a gesture i appreciated. he wasn't annoying this time at all. what a nice surprise. and he didn't try to keep me there forever, either. i wish he'd exfoliate his back but other than that: totally fine. except that he kept wanting to suck on my tits. when i'm not getting laid or having makeouts with anyone, i don't mind. i kind of feel like, "well, i'm not using these right now, anyway," and i'm oddly able to sort of tune it out. but when i'm holding onto the recent memory of a cute person's mouth on my tits, and replaying it in my mind, i don't want to wreck it. plus, it gets hard to switch my sensations on and off. difficult to describe, but i just feel like, "hey dude, get your mouth off of me, those aren't for YOU."

i left len's feeling a little tipsy off of one glass of wine. "strange," i thought, until i realized it was almost ten pm and i hadn't eaten since brunch. i got back to sky's and made an egg/avocado burrito and it was seriously the best thing i've eaten in a while. eggs and avocados: such a winning combo. when i was getting near the end of it, though, i caught a whiff of cum on my hands and became repulsed. i had washed them thoroughly, but the scent of a particularly pungent cumwad can be a bit cloying. i went and scrubbed my hands with toothpaste. but by then i had lost my taste for food.

sky and i snuggled in bed and watched desperate housewives and then i went to sleep on my little floor pallet. usually it's so comfortable but last night i just tossed and turned and whined aloud. now i'm on the plane writing this and i just caught the woman next to me staring at my computer screen, smiling. i couldn't tell whether she had been zoning off or reading. i don't particularly care, either way.

i'm working tonight and i'm so tired from not having slept. so i'm going to take a nice long nap when i get home. goodnight!

like riding a bicycle

some pictures for you. clockwise, from left: 1. the view from the window of the massage studio. when i look out at night, it feels glamorous to me. 2. my favorite co-worker. we have basically the exact same body besides those tits--everyone agrees. it's strange and sweet to see arms and legs and a butt that so closely mirror my own. i mean, i have an identical twin sister, but other than her, i hadn't ever known anyone who looked so much like me. 3. so many victoria's secret dogs everywhere! you know how they give them out free? well all the girls in the house spend a lot of money there so we have SO MANY of dogs. here are two of probably twenty. 4. our cubbies. mine's the one with the white makeup case with all different colored hearts. it's my favorite makeup case i've ever had. it's one of those items that make me happy every time i use it. you know that aesthetically pleased feeling?

annnnnnyway... yesterday after i wrote, i went to get a colonic. as i was leaving my appointment i got a call from PJ, who is my cleanest, easiest client of all time. just a mellow, happy guy who doesn't talk too much and is very responsive. always tells me how gorgeous i am and how much he loves my touch. i had pretty much decided not to see anybody yesterday but since it was PJ i figured, "why not?" it made it seem like the colonic had been free, and also drinks and cabs later when i went out.

so. i headed over to the apartment. when i got there things were quiet but i could hear orgasmic groaning coming from the red room. (we have two rooms: the "red room," and the "big room." most girls prefer the red room because it's darker and so you can get away with being hungover or significantly older than your pictures indicate. i like the big room better because there are lots of windows and the massage table is sturdier.)

i set up the room, lit the candles, slapped on some lipstick and was ready in 15 minutes. PJ was exactly on time. we had our hour, i saw him off, showered, and then i was free to leave with some chump change in my purse.

when i was dressed and ready to go, my favorite co-worker emerged from the red room. i had almost forgotten how much i adore her. she's just... rad. (i've written about her before, i think i called her "rachel.") so i put my purse down for a while and lounged on the couch with her. my sweet work crush. i totally don't want to fuck her or even make out with her, i just like being around her and i want to have her giant mane of powdery-smelling hair all over me. and i love the way her voice sounds--it makes me feel happy. i think what the thing is, is that when i first started at this place and i was nervous because it seemed so different from the trolls' dump, she picked me for her best work friend and was just super sweet to me all the time. she'd mix us cocktails to drink poolside, or we'd lay on the couches between clients and laugh. we got excited to see each other all the time and it hasn't worn off.

later, i went out and saw all my friends. i was overcome with nostalgia and love and missing this town. but later i ended up getting really drunk and staying out all night, and i remembered why it's not super great for me to be here all the time. it's really just Too Much Fun here. and all my friends (except for sky) are party animals. i have been enjoying clean living up north and i'm not at all sad to go back there in a bit. rather: i'm stoked!

butterflies, cocks, cash.

i barely worked this week because i got a job helping style the wrestlers of the WWE for a magazine shoot. i'll tell you something about myself: besides giving a great handjob and dancing naked for strangers, i have other skills which include sewing, and i work sometimes as an on-set seamstress/tailor and stylist. so. that's what i was doing this week. the wrestlers were pretty rad and the catering was SUPERB, but the woman who hired me and who i was assisting was INTENSE. and the job involved hanging out with her all day and night for 3.5 days. i had to do that thing i do where i scrounge around and find the things that are good, and just focus on them. this lady really likes fine food and drink and took me out for a fancy dinner, that was nice. i appreciated being fed and gotten a little tipsy.

after spending days on end in an exhausting state of perpetual annoyance, i had to wonder whether it was this lady who was annoying or if i just dislike anybody who bosses me around. i haven't had a job where you have a "boss" for a long, looooong time, and maybe i'd vilify anybody who gave me orders. but right when i was thinking that, she made some comment about how fat and dumpy all the dykes up north are, and i just thought, "it's not me: it's YOU."

so, that was most of my week. and then i came home and worked on thursday. it was the slowest day i've had since i started working there, just boring as hell and looooong. but i had made out with somebody cute the night before so i had that in my mind to marinate upon. since there was nobody to hustle, i spend most of my breaks down in the dressing room with my feet up, doodling in my notebook and having a warm butterfly feeling.

now i'm back in my other town. i know i should email my regulars to alert them of my presence, but i kind of just don't feel like it. i have a nasty papercut, which i'm using as my excuse even though i did finally purchase finger condoms last time i was down here. am i losing my taste (or touch, rather) for cock? i think i'm just lazy? i should really work since i hardly have any money right now and would certainly enjoy some new makeup and clothes. but maybe it would be just as fun to thrift-shop with sky as it would be to blow a wad of cash at nordstrom's. hmmm... are my priorities shifting? i'll get back to you on that one.

hello strangers!

i think maybe a few more people read this lil blog than i think. leave me a comment sometime to say hello. xo andi

No Shorts.

since i'm not working again today, i'll share this story from 2004, when i was working in one of those giant mega-clubs where there are like 35 girls working at any time, and though there are 3 stages, you might get up on stage 3 or 4 times in an entire night. especially if there's a featured performer. all the rest of your shift is spent trawling around the club hustling for lapdances. there was also a vip/champagne room, but that always felt like SUCH a rip-off to me, as the house would hold onto your cut and when you finally got it the next time you worked, it always seemed like less than it should've been. so i just stayed out on the floor and didn't do vip's unless the customer specifically requested it. anyway, the house fee was 6 "tickets" for the dayshift, and 12 "tickets" for the night shift. some girls had sued the clubs, saying it was unlawful for them to charge so much in stage fees, and the girls won. so the house didn't charge "stage fees" anymore, they charged "tickets." FUCKERS. the "tickets" are $20. and there may have once been actual paper tickets involved, but i had never seen one. so at the end of the night you'd owe $240, PLUS ten dollars for every single dance you did, the number of which the floorwalkers meticulously recorded all night long. they'd add to this number if they didn't like you or if you didn't grease their palms. almost every club in town was owned by the same company and if you voiced your dissidence or didn't pretend to be 100% happy with this rip-off arrangement, you'd get blacklisted. so. anyway, there's a bit of backstory.

(another bit of backstory is that i had been stripping for a while, and i was also writing but not about stripping. and this girl asked me if i wanted to go on tour with her, in a show that was all about sex workers and their art. it sounded fun, so i said yes and started writing stories when i'd come home from work. this is one of the first ones.)

No More Shorts, Not Even on a Desert Island.

There was a guy who used to come into the club and in his UPS uniform. He was usually kind of dirty and sweaty from work, but he didn't smell bad, he just smelled like someone who works a lot.

This guy was usually really polite, and I was always glad to see him because it was like seeing money walk in. Literally. You know how in cartoons someone will be marooned on a desert island and they get so desperately hungry that they keep seeing their friend as the mirage of a walking hot dog? Well that’s how it gets in the club sometimes: Your regular walks in and he’s a walking dollar bill. And of course, sometimes your walking dollar turns out to be a mirage, as was he case the day mine came in wearing shorts with his uniform.

So he comes in in shorts. I’m glad to see him. I definitely notice the shorts right away, but I'm not even worried because he's usually so nice. We chat a little. It’s summertime and though the air conditioning is always on full-blast in the club to
keep everyone’s nipples looking perky and I am covered in goose-bumps, he makes the obligatory “hot enough for ya?” comment, and then we go downstairs for a dance.

I’m sitting on his lap, etc., and I start to get really grossed out because of his shorts. He’s got them all pushed up like hot pants and it’s too much skin-on-skin contact. The friction from his leg hair is, like, CHAFING me. And then on top of that he starts getting really grabby. He’s paid for a $40 dance, which is the very cheapest dance I’ll give. So I say, “If you want to be grabby, you’ve got to buy a fancier dance.”

[You can’t just come out and say, “if you’re going to grab my tits like that, please it will cost you $20 more dollars,” or, “if you want me to jerk you off it will be another eighty,” because soliciting money for specific sexual acts is against the law and he might be a cop. So you have to put it delicately, like. “well, I’ll give you a dance for forty, but sixty or eighty would be more fun for both of us. The more generous you are with me, the more generous I am with you.” And then give him a wild smile implying that shit’s gonna get crazy around here if he whips out enough cash.]

The UPS worker doesn’t whip out any additional cash, however, just keeps manhandling me and trying to grab my tits. Since I know he’s not a cop, I say, “Look honey, you gots to pay to play. If you want to touch my tits it’s going to be at least another twenty.”

So he gives me another twenty and continues to mash my tits and things are fine. He pays for another song. I keep dancing for him and my mind starts to wander even though I know you should never let your mind wander while you’re giving a dance because that’s when fucked up shit will happen. In this case, I’m in la-la land and all of a sudden, there is a FINGER in my BUTT!!! It's not, like, feeling around the rim of my asshole, it's ALL THE WAY IN, and his fingers are both HUGE and FILTHY. "HEY!" I yell, "GET OUT OF THERE!" I try to hop off his lap but he's holding me around the middle and I can't move at all. I scream, "LET ME GO!!! Your fucking dance is OVER!” His finger in my ass feels so gross I'm totally freaking out. I somehow elbow him in the chest, causing him to loosen his grip, and I'm able to leap off his lap.

He's just sitting there, looking confused but oddly satisfied, if that's a possible combination, as I wrangle my little dress back on and run out into the hall. The floorwalker happens to be passing by. “This guy put his finger in my ass,” I tell him, pointing at the UPS worker, "and he would NOT take it out!" The floorwalker is a giant. He grabs the guy by the scruff of the neck and the waist of his shorts and throws him out onto the street like a sack of potatoes in front of a big crowd of North Beach passersby and tourists. That was nice to watch.

"Thanks," i say.

"Get back to work," he says.

And so I get to back to my business as usual. But I don’t day dream anymore while giving dances. And I decide to adopt a strict No Shorts Policy.

cherry poppin bulldaggers

the client i used to see in NY really liked when i told him stories about my sexual escapades. he loved that i look like a nice girl-next-door but have this secret wild sex life that hardly anybody but him gets to hear about. well, since i don't REALLY have a wild sex life, 99% of the stories i told him were made-up, but once in a while i'd be too tired or lazy to make up a story so i'd tell him a real one. one day i found myself telling him the story of getting my cherry busted, and i was annoyed with myself for being so lazy as to sully a story so dear to my heart by offering it to him while jerking him off. so, needing to take it back for myself, i wrote it down. since i'm not working this week, i'm sharing it with you today. happy reading. xo andi

cherry

once before i had ever had any sex, i went in for my first gynecological exam and the nurse practitioner couldn't get the speculum to go in, so she lubed me up and tried to force it.

"OUCH," i said, "what are you doing--stop it!"

she said, "well, it has to go SOMEtime."

"what does?" and then it occurred to me that she was talking about my hymen, and that she was not only talking about my hymen, but she was trying to bust through it with a speculum.

"today is NOT the day where i get my cherry popped by a gynecologist," i said, pulling my feet from the stirrups and hopping down from the table.

"well," she said, "you've got an 'abnormally intact' hymen and i'm not going to be able to get a good look inside till it's gone." she went on to inform me that trying to bust it loose was going to KILL. she suggested that i make an appointment to have her cut it out for me.

"i don't think i'm going to do that," i said. "i think i'll just get rid of it the old-fashioned way."

i left the clinic feeling like a freak, but at least i could finally understand why i hadn't ever been able to successfully insert a tampon. i had tried to follow the simple instructions on the box, but my vag just seemed to be a weirdo and it would never go in.

well, eventually i finally started having girlfriends, and while the sex we had was fun, it was definitely pretty lesbionic. which is to say that it was girly and sweet and non-penetrative. a girlfriend would try to slip a finger or two in but it would hurt a lot and there didn't seem to be anywhere for the fingers to go. i would mostly get off by fucking girls and strategically positioning myself against their legs or hip-bones for clit friction. this was fun, but i remember feeling like there was an inner chamber inside of me that wanted to be explored, but there heavy gate that was locked with no key. i know this is a cheesy description, but i can clearly remember that that's how i thought of it in those baby dyke days--i really pictured my pussy like a dark empty room that would be a nice cozy place if anybody was able to break in there and turn on the light.

and then i moved to san francisco. and met a really hot girl. she was very much a San Francisco Butch, all tough and covered in tattoos, and i was SUPER hot for her. my self-esteem wasn't great at the time and i was used to rarely getting what i wanted. so you can imagine my surprise when the crush turned out to be mutual. i used to go see her at the cafe where she worked. i was penniless and she'd give me coffee and things to eat. i sort of fell in love with her. she wasn't in love with me, but i think i had a "fresh off the boat" thing going that she was into.

we ended up having sex and she tried to fuck me but couldn't. so she went down on me and got me off that way.

afterward, when i was lying in her bed and she was sitting on the floor having a smoke (i didn't used to care so much whether people smoked) she looked at me appraisingly and said, between puffs, "so. what's the deal with you?"

i was caught off-guard. believe it or not, i hadn't ever talked about my hymen with anyone. "what do you mean?" i asked.

"i think you know what i mean. ...don't you?"

i DID think i knew what she meant, but then i felt scared and unsure. what if i launched into an explanation about my abnormally intact hymen and it turned out she was talking about something else entirely, like "was that good for you?" or "are you hungry?"

"um..." i floundered.

"you know. before, when i was trying to fuck you..." she offered.

"oh that," i said, my face blushing hot red. "yeah. um. well..."

"yes?" she encouraged, her cigarette dangling from her lip.

"yes. um. well," i began again. "so i have this um, 'abnormally intact' hymen."

she looked at me for the longest time. finally, she said, "and you haven't ever thought about trying to bust it?"

"well, i mean... i think it's gonna hurt too much to do it myself. and the girls i've dated have all been sort of... gentle?"

she just kept looking at me. it was hard to read her expression at first, but then i saw that she seemed happy. almost like someone who had just won a prize. she stubbed out her cigarette, suddenly full of purpose. she stood up on her knees and grabbed onto my hips, pulling me until my ass was dangling off the bed and my pussy was in her face. "well," she said, pushing my panties to the side, and prodding my hymen with her tongue. "do you think you might be ready to let it go?"

"well, i think. i mean, do you think you could DO it?"

"i can do it," she said.

"really?" i asked. "i mean, do you WANT to do it?"

"yes," she said, her voice getting husky. "i want to do it."

i couldn't get my head around it. it seemed like a big gross ordeal, not like something the hottest girl i'd ever met would feel like getting into with me. "wow. um, really?" i asked again.

"popping a girl's cherry is like every guy's number one fantasy. and i've never gotten to do it. i mean, not like this," she said. "so yes. i want to do it."

"well, since you put it that way," i said.

and so we tried. for the whole rest of the day. she'd go down on me, suck on my tits, just get me as hot as possible and then she'd try and finger-bang me. she'd go little by little and i'd try to take it, but eventually i'd be screaming in pain and we'd take a break. then we'd make out for a while, i'd calm down, and we'd start again, getting a little farther each time. when i say we'd get a little farther, i don't mean that her fingers were going farther into my pussy, i mean that that thick layer of skin was getting more and more flexible. little by little, it was stretching. my cunt could feel her fingers through the skin, which was a brand-new sensation.

eventually we passed out. but the next day, we woke up, brushed our teeth, and scrambled back into bed. sometime mid-morning, i was screaming in pain, telling her to stop! stop! but she wouldn't, she just kept inflicting me with this searing, stabbing pain. it felt like i was being cut open with a knife. you might think i'm exaggerating, but i'm not. at some point the pain gave way to a feeling of numb electricity. "i just punched through part of it," she said. "i have a finger inside you."

some more fucking, some more screaming. and then... this feeling like a dam was breaking. i felt a "pop" and then a "whoooosh" as she rammed three whole fingers inside me.

"oh my GOD!" i screamed. "FUCK. don't stop!" the pain was INSANE, but it was also the greatest pleasure i'd ever felt. she fucked me like i had never, ever even known was possible. she was an animal. we both were. my blood was everywhere. we were on the floor on a white sheepskin rug that was so covered in my blood it had to be thrown out onto the street later. she was huffing and growling in my ear, biting my neck, bruising my arms, leaving her marks all over me. her sweat was dripping into my mouth and she didn't get tired, she fucked me harder and deeper. "don't come yet," she'd say when i was about to, and she'd slow down. she knew exactly what to do to keep me on the brink, and i knew that there was no coming without her say-so.

finally i couldn't take it anymore, i was at some sort of breaking point. all hell had already broken loose but i was afraid of slipping any farther down that rabbit hole. she made me beg and when i did, it was for real. when i came, i didn't care about looking hot or sane or the neighbors or anything: i fucking HOWLED. and as the orgasm pounded its way out from deep within my pussy to the tips of my toes, i knew i was changed. i felt like my life was beginning.

kitty cat.

i worked yesterday and it was uneventful, but lucrative. slow and steady, which is fine. i asked my boss whether i was on her shit-list, since yesterday was the only shift i got for the whole week. she seemed surprised. looking over the schedule, she said, "really? i'm sure you're on here somewhere, i thought i gave you saturday night. oh. you're right, today's it. i'm sorry honey, i'll make it up to you next week." so. that's promising. she's a little flighty, who knows whether she'll remember this conversation when she's making the schedule. i hope she does.

oh a funny thing happened the other night that i forgot to mention. so my boss has a daughter who bartends on the weekends and the other night i tried to hustle her husband. he's really good looking and appeared to be sitting at the bar alone so i went up to him and leaned all over him, running my hand through his hair and nuzzling into his neck to whisper in his ear, "how'd you like a little kitty cat purring in your lap?"

he goes, "haha. um. well i'd love that. but i'm a married man. my wife's right there," he said, gesturing to the bartender, who was busy making drinks for customers. i felt lucky that she hadn't been watching. i undraped myself from him and said, "oh. haha. sorry." and kind of flounced away. i'm sure they laughed about it when they got home.

today i was feeling really bummed that i wouldn't be making any more money for the whole rest of the week, but then a girl i know from down south called to tell me she's coming up here for a job (she's a prop and wardrobe stylist) and will need an assistant. perfect. so i'll be doing that for 4 days. it's only $200 per day and you work ten hours, but it's interesting work and the girl is fun. this shoot is going to be with the wrestlers of WWE! i'm pretty excited. i'm going to try and find a way to bring my kid brother to the set one day because he's a HUGE wrestling fan. i've been neglecting him since i got up here, i need to think of some ways to make it up to him, and introducing him to his heroes seems like a good place to start.