erotic city

"Nothing but the Naked Truth"

August 2002

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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...


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... 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 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.



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]


#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 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, 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.








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