It’s like a sticky, sweaty Christmas in July

Posted in Bitching with tags , on July 11, 2008 by twobuck

It’s that time of year again: two weeks from now, the Sydney Sexpo will be up and running (well, grinding in a bored sort of way to “Milkshake”) again. Since the Big Porn company that owns my tits and soul is running the thing, my work is planning a few events in connection with it. Belladonna (of “Cock Pigs”, “Cum Buckets! 4”, “Ebony In Ivory” and my personal favourite, “Gee, Your Ass Stretches Terrific!”) will be doing a signing at the main shop one afternoon the week after next. I’m torn between trying to get that shift to score off the crowd that’s going to be there and wanting to stay as far away as possible, because any gimmick they’ve run in the past- bringing in a girl from Melbourne to pose as a “porn star” who just finished a shoot in LA was the latest hare-brained scheme, I swear they’re like the Bobsy Twins with extra fisting- seems to end up fucking over the regular girls one way or another.

Don’t get me wrong, I like Belladonna just fine and she seems like a cool lady. It’s just that with all the fuckery going on at work at the moment I’m starting to wince every time the boss says “Oh, before you go, one other thing I forgot to tell you…” I’m still not sure if the girls are going to be wanted to work at the Sexpo main event. They have in years past, and it’s been quite a good earner for them. But…I just plain don’t care for it. I’ve been twice before, mostly out of curiosity, and each time it just weirded me out. The whole thing is a weird, uncomfortable mix of a country town show day (minus the cow shit. Unless you pay extra) and a suburban middle-aged swingers’ meet. I know, it’s great for the industry people, and that we’re lucky enough to live in a country where adults can admit publicly that they actually (oh gosh, tee-hee) have sex and enjoy it.  The whole thing just leaves me feeling the same way I do when we get the Porno Turistas in at work: they shuffle along and giggle and prod and poke things, they mill around handling the merchandise and snickering in awe at the fact that someone would actually BUY a vibrator. It’s prudish and immature and I hate that shit.

On the up side, World Youth Day grows ever closer. With any luck, the presence of thousands of young people who are living in close quarters in a strange, big city for a week but aren’t allowed to stick their bits in each other will mean an upturn in business. if the lapsed-Catholic guilt wasn’t still running so strongly in my veins I’d get myself a nun’s habit.


You cannot stop the glorious march of progress, citizen!

Posted in Bitching with tags on July 8, 2008 by twobuck

So, next week our fair city is hosting World Youth Day, and I for one am looking forward to it. The main street that will be closed so that the faithful legions may march upon it in a most holy fashion also houses our little establishment of ill repute, and what with a nicely timed public transport strike and dark mutterings of protest plans I’m looking forward to a bit of chaos.

My old boss (a 6’1″ Lebanese drag queen with a preternatural fondness for the baseball bat, rumoured to be named “Dorothy”, which he kept behind the counter), whom I shall miss dearly, has been transferred to another location. The new guy seems okay, and certainly has no qualms about standing up to dickheads who harrass the girls- and really, what more could one ask? Meanwhile, the refurbishment plans of Management continue unabated. I was halfway out the door after a thoroughly fiscally unsatisfying shift today when the boss casually asked, “Oh, you’re on tomorrow night, aren’t you?”

“Yep, why?”

“Oh, they’re doing the wall.”

“They’re doing…the whatnow?” Visions of marching hammers and interminable acid-fuelled guitar noodling swam in my head.

“The wall. Knocking it down.”

So it seems that once again I shall be wading naked through piles of sawdust and Makita attachments in pursuit of a living wage.

Ye Olde Peep Showe

Posted in Punters with tags on July 8, 2008 by twobuck

As I’ve said before, like any job, peep show work becomes pretty mundane after a while. At first, it’s all very naughty and a little thrilling in an exhibitionist sort of way, but after a few months you settle into a comfortable routine: take off this, wiggle that, pout, rinse, repeat. With a few notable exceptions, most of the punters are of a similar mindset- after all, we’re generally talking about dudes who visit every other day, spend the same amount of money on the same few girls, take the usual amount of time to come, and leave. After browsing through the frankly startlingly wide (heh) variety of amazingly graphic porn available even in a small shop like ours, I’m a little surprised that everyone isn’t completely numb to the idea of regular naked people who aren’t fisting a monitor lizard while on fire or something. Even the 18-year old kids we get will, after a few minutes of bravado and pack behaviour, settle down into either hurling vicious insults at me or quietly wanking (sometimes both).

Except for the country boys.

We get a few in every now and then and they are without a doubt the strangest punters I get. I don’t mean strange as in deviant or flat-out weird (for that I have the elderly gent who comes in after the funeral he goes to every time one of his friends dies and lies on the floor with his cock sandwiched between his legs, mewling and stroking my shoe), I mean from-another-time strange. I grew up in the country and, as evidenced by the fact that I ran off to the biggest city I could find when I was 17, have no great fondness for it, nor the salt of the fucking earth people who inhabit it. As I recall, country people are exactly like city people except they talk more slowly and don’t know how to make a decent coffee. And country boys, far from being plain-speaking old-fashioned types with Deep South manners, are exactly like city boys, albeit far more willing to have sex in the flatbed of a moving ute. So I find it quite puzzling that the country boys we get at my work are right out of Banjo Patterson. Everything’s Yes’m and Please and Ta, pet, and it freaks me right out. The first few times I thought they were taking the piss, but apparently something about a peep show turns them into gentlemen.

The pair we had in the other night were from somewhere west of Tamworth (Horse Capital of Australia), on their first trip into the big city. As far as I know, internet porn and girlie mags are still readily available outside the metropolitan area, but you wouldn’t guess it from the sheer glee and excitement with which these cowboys greeted Real, Actual Vagina. I do believe one of them Whoop’d. And they wanted to talk. Usually, I feign sudden deafness and shrug when a punter wants to chat through the glass, because fuck that. But these two boys were SO EXCITED to tell me all about how they’d seen the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House and the beach and the skyscrapers (and we got to ride a pony and the man with the pony said I rode it better than anyone and the pony was grey and it was called Silver and, and, and EVERYTHING!). It would have been churlish to refuse. They were grinning all over their corn-fed, fresh scrubbed faces and just losing it over even the most standard stripper moves I pulled and honestly, I got a little caught up in the moment. For a good ten minutes there I was the whore with a heart of gold, giving a couple of gleeful farm boys their first taste of the big, decadent sin city and ushering them into manhood. Then they whooped and hollered off into the night (after slipping me several notes with their hotel address and room numbers on it) with a cheerful wave and a chorus of “I love you, girl!”

Thank Christ, about two minutes later a guy came in and wanted me to show him my arse while he yelled at me in German. Any more of that Salinger bullshit and I might have started believing the hype.

Gung-Ho to the future

Posted in Punters with tags on June 27, 2008 by twobuck

As I said before, the renovations at work have slowed business right down, so most of my regulars have disappeared (along with my rapidly dwindling savings). So naturally I was surprised to see the return of Gung-Ho Guy the other night.

It had been an absolutely wretched night- dead as hell, only one private show and that was with a complete arse who would not stop bitching and moaning because I wouldn’t give him head. Normally, that would get him kicked out, but unfortunately the only guy serving behind the counter was a wet, ineffectual idiot who merely shrugged and looked apologetic while the bastard was ranting and carrying on. Curiously, he regained his spine in record time when I berated him for his lack of balls after that nightmare private show, yelling that I was not to tell him how to do his job. I wouldn’t have to if I thought he were capable of such a thing- but I digress. Like I said, utterly shit night, ten minutes til closing and who should show up in his usual booth but my favourite enthusiastic wanker.


“Hey, sweetie. How are you?”


I do so. I’m pleased to see he’s maintained his MO- clothes hung over the back of the door, arm braced against the wall for support as he jerks himself like he’s starting an unusually resistant lawn mower.


“Uh, I sure can.”

At this point I’m hopng he doesn’t want me to talk dirty to him. I’m terrible at it- not only do words fail me when I’m naked, but I start giggling uncontrolably.


“I can see it, sure, it’s right there. It, uh…it sure is big.”


Now I’m slightly concerned- is it possible that as a result of a gamma-infused condom his cock has become invisible to everyone but he and I? Are we bound together as some kind of horrible X-rated Justice League- Twobuck and Invisicock? Either that or the dude needs to go back in time and introduce his parents, pronto.








“Um. Thank you.”

But I’m such a Nice Guy

Posted in Bitching, Punters with tags on June 27, 2008 by twobuck

One thing that really, honestly baffles me every time it happens at work is the punters trying to talk me into sex. I don’t mean guys offering to pay me for sex: it’s annoying if they keep at it after I’ve said no, but I can see how the logic works. I mean, I’ve gotten naked for cash, so I can get that they think it might be worth a shot to ask for a hand job or something. What I really cannot understand is the guys who think that through the sheer force of their winning personality they can convince me to fuck them for free. At work. In a booth. Bear in mind, this is in a city where prostitution is not only legal but extremely widespread (heh)- one of the reasons I stopped doing full service work was that the glut of young, nubile and extremely attractive women in the industry made getting a decent amount of work difficult (yeah, book your flights now). So I can’t for the life of me imagine what their logic is, apart from maybe the misguided notion that someone who isn’t a full-time whore would be “cleaner” or something.

It’s happened often enough now that I’ve detected a strange and slightly worrying pattern in the guys who try it. Not that there’s any particularly common thread in terms of appearance or age or affluence- it’s rather more subtle than that. Namely, that every approach each of these guys take is exactly the same as a guy trying to get you to fuck him in high school. I don’t just mean it’s the same sort of “oh come on baby, it’ll be fun” kind of vibe- I mean it’s word-for-word taken straight from the mouth of a guy at a seniors party.

All the other girls here do it

Really? Well gee whiz, I guess if I want to get to go to Casey Nichol’s big party after the formal then I’ll have to get in with the cool crowd and WHAT THE FUCK, DUDE? I’m 23 years old, you idiot. Do you honestly think my main goal in life is to fit in with the cool kids at the peep show? I can guarantee you, if any of the other girls DO fuck you, which I doubt, they sure as hell aren’t doing it out of the kindness of their little stripper hearts.

I just broke up with my girlfriend

Sure, makes sense you’d come and watch strippers, then. What doesn’t make sense is you thinking that your tale of woe is going to move me right onto your naked lap. The fact that you’re here, now, paying to watch a woman dance naked tells me right off the bat that no, you probably don’t have a date this evening. Has this worked for you in the past? Have you walked up to women in bars and whined about what that lying cheating bitch did to you and had them leap upon you, cradling your head against their nurturing bosom and cooing softly “There now, brave little bear, let me kiss it better”?

I just think you’re really pretty

It didn’t work in the back of a Holden, and it’s not going to work now.

But I want to

That’s the one that always gets me. The bambi eyes, slightly quivering lip, like a horny little match girl staring wistfully through the wintery window of my crotch. “But I WANT to.” From a forty year old businessman. Well, golly, mister, if I’d known it meant that much to you I’d have bent over and grabbed my ankles the minute you walked through the door.

Just to reiternate, I’m not actually surprised that punters would try their luck, and a couple of hundred dollar bills can be pretty persuasive. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been at least tempted by a particularly pricey offer or two. But a grown man actually sulking because you won’t fuck him for a 50/50 split with the house of his forty bucks and a “I like your shoes”? That’s just sad, dude.

I’m up to my arse in sawdust

Posted in Bitching with tags , on June 27, 2008 by twobuck

So management, in their infinite wisdom, have decided that while some desperately needed renovations are going on at my work it would cause an unacceptable loss in revnue to, say, shut the place down for a few days and just get the whole thing done in one go. Instead, the last few weeks have been a drawn-out series of confrontations between workmen and naked girls, like some particularly ratings-focused renovation show. While the scent of sawdust and new paint makes a pleasant change from the usual stench of spunk and despair, the punters seem to have found the constant screeching whine of angle-grinders and the presence of burly, leering dudes in King Gee shorts to be somewhat offputting. Combine that with management’s reluctance to tell the girls things which one might consider to be slightly important- such as, for instance, “Don’t bother making the trip in to work today because we’re painting the booths and they won’t be dry until the end of your shift so you’ll just have to go RIGHT the FUCK back home again with no money”- and you can understand that my work enviroment has become rather tense of late.

It’s not that I mind having to walk around in nothing but lingerie in front of a bunch of construction guys who aren’t paying me a damn cent, not at all. Nor do I care one whit that said construction guys choose to demonstrate their raffish and charming disregard for the lives of us all by, oh, using a circular saw to cut through metal surrounded by wood roped thickly with extremely precarious power cables. That’s just fucking dandy. What I DO mind is that after nearly a month of slow business and hassle, the only part of the entire place that’s been left in its natural state of rank decrepit filth is the GODDAMN DRESSING ROOM. Also, the performer’s couch in the booth is still held together with rapidly surrending duct-tape.


Sorry to disappoint you

Posted in Uncategorized with tags on June 15, 2008 by twobuck

To anyone who came here from the following search terms: slightly nude girl (only slightly?), no clothes nude girls, nudegirl, show some pretty nude girls, and really nude girl- did you find what you were looking for?