erotic city

"Nothing but the Naked Truth"

September 2002

Jump to calendar : September 2002 : Erotic City

Nine Years of Decadence Remembered
(and Jacob the Goldfish's Final Chapter)


Where exactly do you begin a story like this? Actually it all started about nine years ago when a man named Frank discovered a way to make a living off of an addiction to strippers and called it Exotic magazine. This story doesn't necessarily end in "happily ever after" fact, it hasn't ended at all. But another year's passing was celebrated last month at Stars Cabaret when all the twisted and brilliant minds behind this magazine came together for a night of bonding among the Exotic brotherhood.

We invited all of you to share in this moment, and to those of you who witnessed this event, all I can say is...YOU CAN'T PROVE A THING. For those of you who missed it, I'll give you a quick condensed version.

We announced our Covergirl of the Year--Isis. The masses have spoken, and this goddess will be gracing our cover again very soon.

Then we launched into the third episode of our serialized sitcom, Jacob the Goldfish. This column has all but adopted this poor deceased fish as a bit of a mascot over the past two months. So it was only natural that a humorous gesture be made to our host Rick Callous regarding his murdered pet. I arrived at the party with a handsome goldfish to award Rick with and was shocked to discover that Rick had purchased the exact same gift for me as well. We both intended this as closure to the story of Jacob the Goldfish. Early in the evening, after almost ashing a cigarette in one of the fishbowls, a chilling thought occurred to me that Jacob II and Jacob III might not make it though the night. I had no idea it would be at the hands, or should I say throats, of two Exotic staff members. The first fish was swallowed without warning by our no-nonsense
general manager Bryan Bybee for no apparent reason and without any provocation on the fish's part. The second was proudly swallowed on stage by our mild-mannered production manager Bobby Baldwin. Alcohol does wondrous things. Our attempts at trying to correct a horrible wrongdoing by Rick was unfortunately turned into a vulgar display of cruelty by two of our own. Or maybe it was just hunger...maybe next year you should put some meat on that "free buffet" there, Rick. The pasta just wasn't quite cutting it.

Last month I asked Rick how many more fish had to die before this story would reach its conclusion. And now two more have fallen, so it's time for me to let this one go. Jacob will always live on in my heart...and in the
bowels of my associates.


Spooky's Quest for the Porn Afterlife


"You're an angry, bitter man trapped inside an industry full of people that you hate!!!"


This is a direct quotation from one of my favorite advertisers expressing his feelings on what kind of a person my job here at Exotic has turned me into over the past four years. This was brought about as we were discussing my tongue-in-cheek account of several violent lingerie models in last month's Erotic City. (Most of what I say here is the truth, people--maybe it's the truth you don't necessarily want to hear, but we're all adults here, aren't we?
Can we take a joke, even if we're sometimes the punchline?)

After this individual shared this statement with me, I pondered the potential possibility that perhaps he was right. Now...I definitely don't hate all of you, but I'm afraid that there are actually quite a lot of individuals involved in this industry I don't love. "Hate" is such a strong and powerful word. Maybe I'm a little angry, possibly a little bitter...but trapped? Well, our much feared and sarcastically respected boss here at Exotic (Not Frank, he escaped this afternoon to be pepper-sprayed during the downtown Bush riots.) insisted I finish this column tonight instead of in the morning. At one point I was forbidden to even leave for dinner. I won that battle but returned to close out the night shift. Now well-fed, and currently handcuffed to my keyboard, I'm gonna give you whatever I can so that I will be allowed to go home and get some rest. So I'm not trapped I suppose...I believe the more accurate terminology would be "imprisoned by porn."

Last month I mentioned my "retirement." Some of you even voiced concern about the possibility. Here's the story this month, kiddies. Consider this as an engagement ring. Just like a wedding, we're gonna set a date. There will be a big party and all my closest friends (all two of 'em, seeing as how I hate everyone out there) will be invited. And then the honeymoon begins. The date...sometime next summer. In case you have no idea what the fuck I'm talking about, this means I intend to break the chains and bust out of the porn penitentiary where I've been shackled in for the past seven years.


Anal Sex in the City

So I'm sitting there getting a table dance, the stripper bends over, gets down on her hands and knees and sticks her finger near her ass. She looks over her shoulder and growls, "So, do you like it in the ass?" What else can you really say as your eyes crawl all over her perfect ass but, "Ohhhh, yeaaaaaah!"

Then a momentary lapse of reason grabs me by the testicles and makes me aware of the dangerous ground I may have just stepped into, and in a rather nervous, somewhat distressed tone, I amend my response to the question with, "Uhhhh, you do mean YOUR ass, don't you? 'Cause if we're talking about my ass, then you're gonna have to buy me a serious dinner, and a lot of drinks before we can even talk about it."

She smiles and assures me that she is referring to her own ass. After I sigh in relief, she throws some more fuel on the fire when she informs me that it has been three and a half weeks since she has been sexually serviced, and that she is so fucking horny she's gonna have to bang the hell out of herself as soon as she gets home.

I do what any red-blooded American male would do and offer to buy her a drink. As we shared our first round together, I decide to help this girl out and offer to assist her in relieving her need to be banged. A couple of hundred dollars in table dances and cocktails later, I'm walking into this babe's apartment thinking how lucky I am to have stumbled into a hard-and-fast sure-thing situation. She immediately takes me by the hand and leads me to the bedroom, where her attractive roommate awaits us. She pushes me on the bed next to her roommate and strips her own clothes off in the blink of an eye. Once again, the only thing that pops out of my mouth is "Ohhhh, yeaaaaaah!"

Sounds like a great night, doesn't it? Try again--after disrobing, she put on a swimsuit and informed me we would be taking a dip in the hot tub. Five hours later, I still never saw that hot tub. What I did see was a photo album of her and her ex-boyfriend of seven years she had just split up with three and a half weeks ago. This is also the only man this sex-kitten has ever had sex with. Not such a sure thing anymore, now is it?

Sure things can go to hell on you, friends. In fact, with the women I have consorted with in this industry, they seem to go horribly wrong about 90% of the time. Even a "seasoned professional" such as myself can still be turned into a "trick." I'm still a man, and once in a while, the fantasies and illusions of this industry can even blind me. Maybe it was her opening line about taking it in the ass. What is it with guys and the obsession with anal sex? This can turn on you as well, my horny little butt-pirates. I'll probably never forget this line that was whispered in my ear during a round of very stimulating sex with an old friend. She innocently started playing with my ass and purred, "I wish we were at my house so I could do you with my strap-on." My sphincter clenched like a bear trap at the mere thought of it. I thanked god, or whoever it is that keeps my ass virgin, that we had
chosen to go to my house that night.



Ink-N-Pink Goes to Hell

Contrary to rumor, Jim Goad's Twats Wit' Tats competition has yet to drive Ink-n-Pink out of business. Ink-N-Pink will not go quietly into the night. Any parties interested in taking Ink-N-Pink all the way to the grave may contact me at (503) 936-0878.


Portland's Sex Industry Under Siege

There's only one good thing about rules, my friends, and that is the forbidden rush of adrenaline you enjoy when you break them. Unfortunately, City Hall, in cooperation with Oregon's answer to the Third Reich, the OLCC, is slapping rules and regulations on us faster than a premature ejaculation.

First there was the ordinance defining what an exotic entertainer could and could not do while performing. Originally, forbidden practices were described as follows: simulated sex shows, masturbation, simulated masturbation, and toy shows. So the original interpretation of what they were trying to take away from us only seemed to affect lingerie models. But they were only getting started. Soon after, Stars Cabaret was fined when an entertainer was accused of repeatedly spanking her ass in a masochistic manner, and in so doing was labeled as performing a simulated sex show. Now, I've seen plenty of girls slapping their asses on many stages. And in my experience, I never really got the impression that these ass-smacking babes were attempting to convince their audience of anything but the fact that we are supposed to be paying attention to them. There's nothing like the sound of a hard smack on a perfect ass. The OLCC has now created a fear factor within many clubs that are choosing to currently enforce policies such as no ass-smacking, no nipple-tweaking, and no fondling of any kind of the sacred pink taco.

But the newest ordinance taking a stab at the PDXXX sex industry will forbid exotic entertainers under the age of 21 to work in any clubs serving alcohol as of January 1st, 2003. This law will affect about 10% of the exotic entertainers in our fair city and 100% of all of you. 10% may seem like a small amount, but when that 10% is targeting the ripest, primest cuts of meat on the butcher block, that's about 10% too much, isn't it? Looking at this realistically, I have to admit that I might have a bit of acceptance to their intentions in regulating underage girls to be swallowed into an industry that often tends to consume innocence and youth like a midnight snack. But this is a country based on our freedom of expression, or at least it used to be.

For every girl this pending law might save, it will drive ten more into far more dire and possibly dangerous circumstances. Consider the underage dancers that are currently employed in the sex industry. Many of them have already given up years of their valuable youth as a dancer in our not-so-fair city. But come January 1st, it's all over for them, regardless of the clientele they have developed and the friends they have made, or the money on which they have come to depend. The things that the OLCC thinks they might be saving them from have already affected these ladies. Arguments claim that these women will be exposed to alcohol, drugs, and undesirable surroundings when they are at a very impressionable age. Very true, possibly, but then what is to stop these girls from taking on other positions within this industry such as a lingerie model, juice-bar dancer, or perhaps as an outcall escort? If these ladies choose to thrust their nubile young bodies into this industry, this current attempt at regulating what they do with their lives is merely a detour for them.

If you have anything valuable to contribute to this topic, feel free to pass it on to City Hall or the OLCC. Coming across like a pissed-off pedophile won't help the cause a bit, so consider your argument first. We're not just fighting for lap dances from schoolgirls here, Portland. With each ordinance, law, or new hair up Vera Katz's ass, we are losing more and more of the freedom that makes this country what it is. Take the power back.






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