Archive for the ‘politics’ Category

Language and Laws

In Lorelei Erisis, politics, video, whores, Widow Centauri on July 16, 2013 at 4:59 am

If I’m Gonna Be Heckled I’m Gonna Go Back To Doing Stand Up

In bitch, bullshit, Comedy, drama, fights, New England, politics, stand up, strip club on May 29, 2013 at 9:14 pm

I’m gonna write about my neighbor because I hate her.

I generally try to get along with the people I live near. I’m not that friendly but I’m not a shitty neighbor. I try to keep the noise down after the normal day person hours. I generally live a much quieter life than I would if I didn’t have to. I am inclined to play loud punk music and dance all night. When I have people living in the same building I do my damnedest to be respectful. I’m also rather self aware. I have come to a place in my life where I am content to live the way I do. I know myself and I know what is important to me. I live across the street from a liquor store because I like to drink beer. I like to drink alone. I live in a rather urban area and most of the buildings in the surrounding area are inhabitated by gentrifying hipsters, the few African American families that still live in the area, obviously being pushed to the other side of the river.

When I moved into the building more than a year ago the other units were entirely inhabited by single white men. There were not families, there were not children. The building was awake late into the night and it seemed that the other residents had a similar habit of heading across the street to the liquor store about ten minutes before closing time. I fit right in with my alcoholic vampire ways.

A few months passed and one of the units became available on the first floor. I thought about renting it and turing it into a dungeon, a spare place to house people who come to visit, or a spot to grow weed. None of these made any sense as I already have a huge flat and really didn’t need to take on the studio. It is the sort of thing I always want to do, rent another unit in a building where I am content and would like a little more room, for some invented reason that I only invented because when a unit is available I think about the things I could do with it. Nah, I knew I should not rent it. So I didn’t. When the landlord did rent it he rented it to the first person who was not black. I watched it happen. My landlord is a racist. Apparently he thought a young single mom with three babies, no car, no job, who smokes constantly and screams when she exhales would be a better fit than a person of color. I blame my landlords racist rental practices for my current dilemma: I have a heckling hippie at the bottom of my stairs. What the hell did I do to deserve this?

At first she seemed friendly. She invited me to stop in and say hi. I hung out. I got drunk with her friends. But many months passed and in that time she has morphed into WORST NEIGHBOR OF THE DECADE. Even worse than when I lived next to this guy:


She has taken to heckling me when I come down the stairs. She follows me out to my car, screams at me, talks shit about me to anyone she can including her five year old child. She knows me as an allies, so she is always saying this fake name she knows me as, then following it up with all these bizarre comments. She comes out of her apartment when I come down the stairs, to taunt me. Yesterday I realized that she is not a neighbor she is a heckler. She is that person who comes into a comedy club and makes snarky comments at the comics, she is the retired stripper or the big fat dude who got way too drunk and sits there saying things like ‘is that all you got, show me some more baby, oh yeah, work the pole’ totally distracting the other patrons and trying to throw the performer. There are two ways to deal with a heckler. Confront them and make them ashamed for their actions and thus shutting them up, or ignore them and hope they will grow tired of the nonsense and shut the fuck up. Eventually they get tossed out of the club.

I tried confronting her. You see she digs holes in the parking area. She told me she was building a fire pit. I asked her if she had considered the safety of the situation. The pit is next to a wooden fence, under a very low hanging tree, eight feet from the building, and NEXT TO MY CAR. I was polite and suggested that her fire pit could set things ablaze and that it would really suck to have the place burn down. She began screaming at me while she dusted off the propane grill that sits next to her ‘fire pit’ she went on and on about how paranoid and scared I am of fire. This is an urban environment. We are in a mixed use commercial space, walking distance to Nordstroms. A fire pit is illegal. I asked her if the landlord knew. She assured me that it was fine and that nothing would catch fire. While screaming at the top of her lungs, at 2:30 in the morning.

Why is she digging a hole at 2:30 in the morning? Why is she screaming at me? Who the fuck is this nutter living downstairs? Why is she so interested in me that she has taken to heckling me as I come and go? What the hell did I do to deserve this?

A Rant

In American Dominatrix, bitch, bitchy, bullshit, dominatrix, drama, Golden Showers, Massachusetts, New England, pissing, politics, Public, whores, Widow Centauri on May 4, 2013 at 10:06 pm

I’m just gonna bitch about my life for a second and you, dear reader, will either read it, ignore it, label me an entitled little while girl and move on, or whatever the fuck you want. Who knows maybe it will be your favorite and you will print it out and send it to people as Christmas cards.

I don’t think that life is this hard for everyone. I go to a lot of effort to make sure that the people are around me don’t know how much pain I am in. I cry from the pain several times a week. After finishing that mammoth thesis I have a ll these big plans for it. But now that I have worked six, maybe ten days in the last six months I am not surprisingly out of cash. Oh poor fucking me.

And I don’t want any snarky BS about how if I would answer my phone, or somehow deal with people better. I do what I do in the way that I do it and you can love it or walk, bitch.

My legs hurt, my feet hurt, my life feels like a big sham. I should be so happy to have finished school. I assumed that I would just get right to work. But I am tired. Tired from lack of sleep, a strict lifestyle that ended in an epic party with two of my favorite people. I’m straight exhausted. And now I need to go find a new club in New England.

Oh fucking goodie. A New England club, that sounds super. There are few of them that are open later than one or two in the morning. If I’m gonna go to all the trouble to look like a hooker I want to work till the sun comes up, eat some eggs in a greasy spoon, and high tail it home with the rest of the night shifters.

One am? Please I’m not even getting warmed up by that time.

I have been in this business too long. The rest of the world is starting to emulate my underground seedy culture. I always liked that it was seedy and that it was dirty and that we were all getting away with something. Now smut is ubiquitous. Little 18 year old drugged up hoochies hope that they can be the next rap queen, while I just realize that this is how I pay my rent. Which has yet to be paid, or even generated.

I have been in this business a long time. I have no regulars who I would call regular. I have turned a couple of regulars into sometimes friends, check ups on facebook, a random hello if we bump into each other, but no, I have no regulars. After all this time I don’t have one person I can call and say ‘get your ass over here with a grand and cancel your plans for the next two days” Not one?

Is it because I am a bad business person? Is it because I would rather sit here in my filthy clothing (I have not done my laundry in eight months but that is a different tale of woe) and write about the dirty things I have done? Is it because I am horribly agoraphobic? There is really so little I want to go outside in the light of day for that I’m just not that into meeting you before, say, 10 PM. I could pull off 8, but not in the summer time.

I long for the darkness and snow to encroach upon us again so that I might have some legitimate weather gripe “oy, so much snow, its so fucking cold” yeah other people bitch with me when it is cold. But few want to bitch about the sunshine and warmth. Nope! Misery loves company and I’m wicked lonely.

I like holing up and writing. But it is not quick money. It is not the rent I need right now.

I will scrape together some level of enthusiasm to paint my face and drag my over fed ass into a strip club in the coming days. Though I have no idea which one. A Maine loop appeals to me, though if I get there and they say I’m too fat well I guess I just went all the way to Portland on the last benji I have sitting crumpled on my make shift desk.

At this juncture I would rather play than dance. Right now I want to take someone out and make silly games happen. I want to wear my clean and pressed suits, not my filthy bar scented stripper clothing. The dress that I found a cockroach sitting on in the last dressing room I was changing in. I am getting to a point where I am hating on dancing. I don’t mind the slut part, I mind the physical labor of being on a slippery stage with a dingy germ covered pole popping my ass for singles and the potential that someone will get a lap dance, a VIP, give me more than just that dirty single. Yeah the physical labor of dancing naked is horribly exhausting to me. But the rest of it, the skimpy clothing, the brief encounters with strangers for money in a semi public place — that still turns me on.

So I have to get my lazy bones up, rub some tiger balm on them, stretch, put on my blond wig and red lips and high tail it to a titty bar. First thing Monday morning.

Yeah, so I need to switch up my sleep cycle and deal with this nonsense.

Gawd isn’t their anyone in New England who wants to have fun, let me taunt them in public, maybe piss on them in a public bathroom or out in the park?

Where have the few regulars I have had over the years — what has become of them? Are they reading this? Do they want to play but think that someone will see them? Do they long for me to have a dungeon again, to come to their place, to play for free (cause they have no money and everyone in the fucking world is giving it way for free) — oh fuck if I know.

I’m just bitching to make myself feel better. Something about writing and bitching makes me feel a lot better.

I’m gonna write all night, I think. Maybe I’ll tell some stories that have not been told. Maybe I’ll post them, maybe I’ll work on the undone writing projects that I have waiting in the corner of my mess. Maybe I will do my laundry, take it outside, set it on fire and find someone to take me shopping.

So many maybes — the only thing I want to do it write.

Cadillac Lounge — I’m Out!

In Adventure, bullshit, Cadillac Lounge, cheap men, culture, drama, Massachusetts, New England, paying for it, perverts, politics, strip club, Tour, traveling, whores, Widow Centauri on April 18, 2013 at 3:21 pm

No More Cadillac Lounge

Last week when I went to the cadillac lounge I was asked to sign a form saying that prostitution would not be tolerated, that anyone caught engaging in such activities would be fired immediately. I asked the housemum if this was going to be enforced. She shrugged and told me that she can’t be everywhere.

I went to the Cadillac Lounge on Sunday. I really need to be working so I went it. I have had issues with sunday management before. I was assaulted by an employee on a sunday and no one followed up on the situation. This particular sunday I was working like a happy little stripper, wishing I could be at home visiting the family I had in town, not dancing naked for strange men who I have to tell not to bite, scratch, touch my face, or attempt to insert any fingers into my bodily orifices. They always laugh but I just look at them like they are bad children. “Don’t do that and we won’t have a problem” I tell them.

I take a guy into the champagne room. We are chatting. It is loud and I think he likes my blond wig more than my conversation. His english is broken and my spanish is bad. We are smiling and making eye contact and then he stands up and takes his pants down. Just pulls them right down. “You can’t take your pants off in here” I tell him. “What?” He says shocked. “No really, pull your pants up or the dance I over” and he insists that other girls let him get naked.

This dude is a short, middle aged, pudgy little dark skinned man. I don’t have any interest in looking at his dick as it peeks out from under his roll of belly fat. “Pull your pants up” I say loud enough for people to hear in other rooms. He gets huffy so I walk out into the lobby area and, lucky for me, the manager is sitting right there. “This guy took his pants off in there and is insisting that it is alright” I tell the short Italian manager. H puts his fingers in his hears and closes his eyes, shakes his head back and forth and sings la-la-la” Indicating that he wants nothing to do with this.

I head to the dressing room, then realize that this is no place to be. I head to the toilet to process what just happened. The girl in the stall next to me is shooting up. Another really young dancer comes in shivering. I know this shaking bird has a baby or two, but I didn’t realize that she was part of the bathroom needle party. I just sit there in the stall with doors that don’t lock, on a chair, next to the toilet, looking like I’m freaking out. I’m pretty sure management is gonna follow me into the ladies bathroom and demand that I refund the money to the dude with no pants. I’m sitting there thinking about my option, buying time to figure out what to do.

I like working at the Cadillac Lounge, sometimes. Actually I used to really like working there, but then things got really shitty. Management started giving me grief when the hoursmum isn’t around. The dancers who dominate the place offer hundred dollar blow jobs. I used to be able to sell a bottle of whisky and sit in VIP with a customer all night swapping stories and doing shots, making money. But they changed the rules. I don’t know if it was because of the time the biker refused to leave his bike after I sold him a bottle or if the liquor laws changed in the state while I was busy writing my thesis. I’m not sure. I only know that I can no longer hustle my ‘let’s get a bottle’ special. I like that sort of night. I’m bumbed that it is no longer an option.

So between the junkies sucking and fucking for peanuts and the fact that I have a person in my flat I would rather be spending time with, and the fact that I was gonna take the next few days off anyway and then I was also gonna take all my clothing and shoes home to wash — well I decided that if it came down to it I would walk out. Or at least I was thinking about it pretty hard.

I have been dancing at this particular titty bar for over a year now. I don’t generally last more than a few months before shit goes wrong. Things are getting out of hand at the Cadillac Lounge. Management has started fining dancers for showing up at 8 pm, not 7 pm. This was sprung on me Saturday night when there were plenty of dancers. “Oh yeah, you have to pay an extra $25 dollar fine for being late” “late?” I asked, looking at my watch. Yeah. Random fine. Due now. They have been doing this for all sorts of random things.

Two big signs in the dressing room read PROSTITUTION IS ILLEGAL but no one seems to care. It is just there to save the club from crashing and burning if the fed ever gave a fuck about the junkies sucking dick in this place, which I’m pretty sure isn’t gonna happen. The fed have greater business to attend to in the smallest and most mafia run state in the nation. This little whore house is just a front. For what sort of business I do not care to know. But I am certain that the titty bar is not doing a huge job bringing in upscale clients. It is not charging enough for a cover or for drinks. It seems to be the cheapest drink in town.


But back to the bathroom. I’m sitting there and the junkies are sharing a needle and in walks the big black bouncer. He hovers over me and tells me “you know some of the girls here so extras and the guy assumed that you would, what do you think the back rooms are for anyway?” I looked at him defending the actions of the pants dropper and began to run over the last couple of weeks that I have been back at the club. I was sitting there thinking about what to do while this massive man, who should have been on a basketball court, screamed at me that I needed to give the dude with no pants back his money, presumably to buy a belt.

It wasn’t even a lot of money. It was the principal of the thing. The fact that two days prior I was asked to sign a paper that said I would not be engaging in such activities, and now here the management won’t even back me up.

Yeah, I’m out.

I said fuck it. I packed my things into my pink sticker coated Brookstone suitcase. The other dancers in the dressing room looked at me and I said goodbye. The bouncer came in and told me to keep my mouth shut. Not to tell any of the girls what was happening. “I am saying goodbye to some of my coworkers” I told him. You really think you can keep me from telling them what the hell is up? Whatever dude. I’ll be out of here in a minute.

The manager came down to yell at me. I told him I was not going to argue about it. That the situation was rageingly hypocritical. “This is not a good idea” he told me “ you should just give him back his money. He is a friend of the owner.” Everyone pulls that ‘I’m friends with the owner’ shit. This guy was not a friend of the owner. This dude possibly was the owners gardner, but they were not friends. I have danced for the owner’s friends and they all kept their pants on. All of them.

This was bullshit.

So I’m going out tonight in search of a new club to dance in. Given that I am heading to NOLA next week I’m gonna hit some places that I don’t really want to dance. It would be super if a subbie wanted to take me on a little tour of the clubs. We could go a s customers and scope some places I really would not mind working. Or I’ll just go hit up a few places and make a little loop of clubs until tuesday when I fly away.

Never Ask If You Can Sleep With Someone’s Friend

In Adventure, bullshit, drama, friends, friendship, Lovers, politics, San Diego, Sex, Widow Centauri on November 26, 2012 at 1:23 am

I fell in lust in San Diego


Oh gawd this shit almost never happens to me.  I pride myself on not liking people.  I really can’t ever get into some dude.  Why would I?


I knocked on my friend’s door but this big buff dude came to the door in boxers, a neon green sock, a neon pink sock, and flip flops.  Nothing else.  “Is Cassandra here?” I asked.  “I would have called but I lost her number” I followed up “Are you her boyfriend?” Dude was built.  I wanted to know what the score was.  Why did Cassandra have a mostly naked body builder answering the door?  “No” he assured me “I’m her new roommate.”  “Ahh, I see” I said, sounding like I knew the full back story.


“Come in, come in” he said.  We chatted, I told him I was in town on a whim and that Cassandra had been holding onto a possession of mine, for me, since I left, years ago.  Sadly Cassandra was not around.  She was at the university and not expected back for many hours.  I got his number, and hers too.


I went to the beach.


Later when Cassandra suggested that I crash at her place I drank with the two of them.  He was surprisingly pleasant.  His persona was one part BRO and one part subbie.  He brought us things, made us tea, shut the fuck up while we were chatting.  I was almost not offended by him at all.  That is saying a lot.


The next day I was planning on going into Tijuana alone.  Though a series of ‘you shouldn’t go alone” and “how long are you going to be there” I invited Mr Mussels to come to TJ with me.


The next morning MM and I drove to the border and walked across.





It was Friday, we spent several hours shopping, drinking, eating, wandering around and having fun.  We expected a lengthy weight at the line (as the crossing is called).  When we were ready to leave, and expected to have time enough to do so we headed to the border crossing only to discover that there was not a wait.  It took five minutes for us to cross at 10 pm on a Friday night.  Um, wtf?


Seems as if the fear mongering is actually working.  When I was a teenhole I would go to Mexico on the weekends and get trashed, walk back across and have no problems save for a few hours wasted waiting to get back into the states.  I am very sad that there are not any tourists waiting to get back across the border, this could not be good for the Mexican economy.


I love Mexico.  I grew up spending as much time there as possible. I still feel like Baja is part home, the part I go to in the dead of winter, when I cant stand not having anyone to make love to on the beach.  Porto Nuevo, Rosarito, Ensenada — Home. Why is the line so short?


People are scared of getting killed.  I didn’t get killed.  I got good service, I was invited back.  The chicklet kids even split when the elders told them to get lost.


Going into  Mexico is not a scary thing to do.  Baja is the land of tacos and margaritas, the land of hot springs on the beach, of hiking and eating, and peyote, and straight up fun.  Where are the people?  Why are people here so willing to believe that something bad will happen to the average American citizen?  What the fuck ever happened to a free trade agreement?  Mexico got fucked by US policies, free speech, and republican racism.  My heart breaks for the Mexican people who put their faith in nafta.  There was never anything that stopped the US from scaring their citizens into NOT crossing the border, there was never anything that prevented the states from hiring private police to patrol the border.  I saw more guards with bullet proof gear than I did civilians crossing.  The place was littered with La Mira.  Fuck that shit.  I want an open border.  The people of Mexico were promised an open border.  Why are we killing them for trying to come into the states to get jobs and feed their families?


My family is part Mexican.  All of my immediate ancestors lied and cheated and stole and hustled to be in the states.  I am as white as they come and I am horrified at the policies that govern the us Mexico line.


Build a wall at the Canadian line.  Stop the funny people from taking MY Job.


And oh yeah, the dude with the mussels.  Yum.




The whole weekend I wanted to fuck him, I wanted to play.   We flirted, we made jokes, we walked a strange line of Cassandra.  She is one of my sweetest friends and I would never do anything to hurt her, including fucking her roommate.  Did she like this dude?  Would it be alright to hump him and split town?   I didn’t know.


I wasn’t going to make any moves on him at all, but then I realized that it has been way too long since I have had sex.  I’m so horny I’m finger fucking myself ever time I take a piss, I’m trying not to drool while I eye his mussels.  Yeah, I want some of that.  So I decide sometime before my flight out that I’m totally goanna fuck him at the beach before my flight, like an hour before my flight.  But as I’m always running late for shit, I missed my flight out of SoCal.  I missed it cause I was flirting with this dude, I was getting into the idea of jumping on him, but then, yeah I was behind schedule, so we rushed to the airport and I had to call him to return for me.


While he was returning I called Cassandra and asked her if it would be all right for me to fuck the living daylights out of her roommate or if she would be hurt or something.  I’m used to dealing with sex workers, not civilians.  But Cassandra is not a sex worker, she is a nice normal woman with no frame of reference for what I was asking.  For whatever reason she cock blocked the whole thing.  I have no way of knowing if she realized that that she cock blocked this little party, or if she knew what she was up to.  Asking after the fact might just invite drama.


Mussel boy returned and Cassandra started wanting to know what was going on.  I was running on very little sleep and a simple need to fuck.  I feel like my question was out of left field, Cassandra had been working all weekend while I was kicking it with Man Meat.  So, when we returned to Cassandra’s home we went for a walk, we danced on street sign poles, I took a couple pills and got a little loopy.  We groped each other like a couple of friends who want to fuck but one of whom is a mutual friend’s bf / go so we don’t fuck, but sort of pet and grope and kiss and tease and get REALLY into each other, as to develop a major lust.  A lust that would have been cured if a good hard pounding had come from this.  But no, we molested each other through our clothing.


Even when I took my pants off to attempt to climb a stop sign, even when he bent me over a white picket fence, even while we were on the foggy beach and no one would have known, there was the reality of Cassandra’s mental health.  So we groped like a couple of Christian teenagers, but sadly we never got it on.


And I really needed it.  Really a lot.


I’m at home and I can’t stop jerking off.  I’m having a masturbate-a-thon, not a blog-a-thon.  I can’t stop imaging the way his hands felt on my arse, the way he dry banged me as he help onto my big juicy hips.  Yeah, I now have the hots for some random dude who I will maybe never see again.  He is in California living with Cassandra, I’m here thinking about fucking the two of them at the same time.


Oh, if only we had fucked I would not be all needy and pathetic.  I’m gonna go to the strip clubs this week.  I need to fuck a stranger.


I Pissed on a Bitch in Target

In Adventure, bathroom, deviance, dominatrix, drinking, Golden Showers, Happy Hour, perverts, pissing, politics, Public, San Diego, sexual politics, Widow Centauri on November 23, 2012 at 1:56 am

I wish I had been in the mood to piss on him out in the open in the middle of the store. Like in Ladies Panties or something.  Sadly we went to the bathroom.  I was already at the store shopping, visiting a friend who can’t get a good job with zirs master degree so ze lied about having an education to work at target.  I am trying to encourage said friend to become a sex worker.


But I was in the target and some bitch called saying ‘I’m your biggest fan” so I said “meet me at the target.”  When we got to the bathroom there was someone in it.  My friend passed by cause ze wanted to get a look at my piss drinker, I asked my friend “you want to watch?” and then I waited with the piss slut for the door to open.  Apperantly my friend did not want to watch.  I was hoping that I could corrupt my straight vanilla friend but no, until ze gets burnt out on not making enough to pay hir student loans back, my friend is not yet a sex worker, or interested in watching.


I took the thirsty bitch into the bathroom and told him to take off his shirt.  I locked the door.  “Lay down” I told him, like I have told so many thirsty boys in strange bathrooms.  He put his shirt on the baby changer and I closed it.  I took my jeans off and hung them on the elbow thing that hinges the door open / closed.


He told me he wanted to drink it all.  “Don’t miss a drop” I told him.  I squatted over his face and shot a bit into his mouth.  “Swallow.”  I shot more, I moved quicker and slower with the piss until he spilled a little.  I wiped it off his cheek with a piece of toilet paper and shoved the paper in his mouth.  Then I continued the mouthful at a time until I was finally empty.  Thirsty bitch was lucky, I had a lot of pee.  Lots.


I told him that when we left the bathroom I was going into the store and he was leaving.  Two different directions.  We walked out and that was that.  I’m really glad I didn’t have to use the porcelain one.


Thanks target toilet.


I wish I had been in the mood to piss on him out in the open in the middle of the store. Like in Ladies Panties or something.  Sadly we went to the bathroom.  I was already at the store shopping, visiting a friend who can’t get a good job with zirs master degree so ze lied about having an education to work at target.  I am trying to encourage said friend to become a sex worker.


But I was in the target and some bitch called saying ‘I’m your biggest fan” so I said “meet me at the target.”  When we got to the bathroom there was someone in it.  My friend passed by cause ze wanted to get a look at my piss drinker, I asked my friend “you want to watch?” and then I waited with the piss slut for the door to open.  Apperantly my friend did not want to watch.  I was hoping that I could corrupt my straight vanilla friend but no, until ze gets burnt out on not making enough to pay hir student loans back, my friend is not yet a sex worker, or interested in watching.


I took the thirsty bitch into the bathroom and told him to take off his shirt.  I locked the door.  “Lay down” I told him, like I have told so many thirsty boys in strange bathrooms.  He put his shirt on the baby changer and I closed it.  I took my jeans off and hung them on the elbow thing that hinges the door open / closed.


He told me he wanted to drink it all.  “Don’t miss a drop” I told him.  I squatted over his face and shot a bit into his mouth.  “Swallow.”  I shot more, I moved quicker and slower with the piss until he spilled a little.  I wiped it off his cheek with a piece of toilet paper and shoved the paper in his mouth.  Then I continued the mouthful at a time until I was finally empty.  Thirsty bitch was lucky, I had a lot of pee.  Lots.


I told him that when we left the bathroom I was going into the store and he was leaving.  Two different directions.  We walked out and that was that.  I’m really glad I didn’t have to use the porcelain one.


Thanks target toilet.

Why I Work As A Stripper

In Adventure, deviance, FAQ, fetish, kink, New England, paying for it, perverts, politics, porn, Public, Sex, sexual politics, sexuality, strip club, whores, Widow Centauri on September 17, 2012 at 5:35 am

I’m well educated and I have a really nice middle class job.  So why in the hell do I work in seedy bars half naked doing dirty things with strange men for money?  Because I like it.


I like the rush I get from meeting you in a dimly lit bar, with music so deafening that I am wearing (and hiding) earplugs.  I like meeting you, a strange man who I would likely never say two words to on the street, maybe you are over weight, maybe you are not within twenty years of my age, maybe you are not the least bit sexually attractive to the non-dancer version of my sexuality (whatever the hell that might be), but in the titty bar you don’t have to be anything but ready to pay me.  Sure you must have a modicum of polite behavior, and a decent amount of personal hygiene, but other than that the deciding factor is ‘are you ready to have a sexy time?’


I give you some extra dirty dances.  I let your hands roam, I let you lick me, suck on me.  When I look down at you, someone I just met, sucking on my tits in a dingy little club I calculate the amount of money that I am making, I think about the reality that this does indeed make me a cheap whore.


I used to do high-class escort work, now I’m in a titty bar, by choice.  I could still escort but I actually get turned on in the strip club, I’m pretty hot for the self-degradation that I play in my head. I don’t know what other dancers do to ignore or enjoy this job, but I find it can be somewhat meditating.  It is one of the few places I frequent where I am not expected to be smart or competent.  I can relax into the objectification that all feminist literature tells me I am supposed to dislike.  I can play a role: The Bimbo. I like it.  I almost never have to make conversation that involves much more than me saying things like ‘wow, you are so smart,’ ‘you are so cute,’ ‘I can’t believe your wife does not appreciate what you do for her,’ and then we get on to the dirty sexy times.  And they are dirty and sexy.  Escort work was a lot more private. It was over in an hour.  No strangers peeping in at us.  Escort work was sexy but working in the clubs brings out the skeezer in me.  I expect to have at least one orgasm every time I go to work, hopefully more.


I love it when you feel me up while I am grinding on you.  Your hands wrapped around me like random disembodied hands in the night.  I love looking across the way and seeing other dancers giving dances, some of them working too hard, others rolling their eyes at me to express a level of discontent with the experience.  One night I looked across and saw too blond dancers with the same shade of bottle blond bouncing at about the same pace, backs to me, I thought I was seeing double, I had no idea who the dancers were but from the rear, side by side, in little booths so they could not see one another but I could see them both, they looked exactly the same.  Later I looked across and I saw an 80s man, looked like he stepped right off the set of Miami Vice, I saw him snort a line of coke off a strippers ass.  He watched me watch him.  We both delighted in the voyeuristic experience of doing our dirty deeds right out there in the open.


When I am giving lap dances I always hope that you are not freaked out about how much it is going to cost, that you are in the mood to play (because I am), and that you have just the right touch.  I love to have my nipples pinched, but not too fucking hard, not at first.  At first I like to be built up a little.  I like to have you pinch them gently then harder, tease me with it.  I can come from having my nipples pinched and played with.  I get wet when you suck my tits in this grimy little sin shack.  I don’t do this job out of desperation I do this job because I am a fucking pervert.  When I am dancing I stroke your dick through your pants. Is it a big one?  Oh lucky me, we will go to the VIP room.

Wanna See Me?

In Adventure, American Dominatrix, bathroom, BDSM, Cadillac Lounge, deviance, dominatrix, paying for it, pissing, politics, strip club, Widow Centauri on May 26, 2012 at 8:08 pm

Sorry I went away for a bit. I have been very ill. I have had every possible test run and the good news is that I’m not dying, I’m not contagious, and I’m totally insurable.

The bad news is that I have had a three year migraine headache. Three and a half really, but who is counting?

In that time I have been pretty much just trying not to die. I spent the first year thinking I would get better and pretending that I was fine. The second year I spent sleeping, hiding from the sun, and struggling to finish school, the third year I started seeing doctors and getting serious about my health.

I am livid about health care in the USA. I have been put on so many fucking pills and nothing made me better. The behavior I was presenting was pissing a lot of people off. I was almost never able to make it to anything I scheduled, I was being really bitchy, I was dark and moody and I was running off my friends — fast.

I decided I had to come out as sick. If you have been hurt or blown off by me I am sorry. I am not able to do the things that normal people do. I have been severely disabled by this.

Shortly after I shot the I’m sick video I started looking at other things I could do to improve my odds of getting better. I decided to make some changes. I thought I was eating healthy food, and I was but then I was having beer and cookies too. I thought I was getting enough exercise but I was fooling myself. I figured I would stop drinking, stop eating sugar, stop eating nuts, stop eating soy, workout more. Its been two weeks. I’m feeling a lot better. I’m not going to the beach in the daytime any time soon but I have not had a migraine headache in a week. This is huge. I’m not sure if it was the beer, the nuts, the soy, or just a fluke. Maybe it is because I decided that I wanted to feel better. Who knows. I’m not great, but I’m feeling well enough to update this blog and tell you where I have been hiding.

Cause you know I have been doing dirty things, right?

I have been working in the strip clubs, because I still have bills to pay and it is a gig that is flexible enough for the sexy vampire with migraines and attitude problems. As the video suggests I am extremely sensitive to sunlight. So I dance at night, try to hide from the sun …

If you want to see me I’m dancing as ‘Friday’ at the Cadillac Lounge in Providence RI. I’m usually there on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. I sometimes come in a night or two during the week, but it really depends on how I’m feeling. I’m heading to the lounge in a couple hours and I’ll be there Sunday and Monday night this week too, (memorial day).

The Cadillac Lounge is a very edgy place. I have a lot of fun there. If you want to see me, talk to me, donate money to me, play … this is the place to do it. I’m not doing very much out of the club right now.

I assure you that I am not contagious. If you want a migraine of your own I recommend graduate school.

Please do come in and say hello, I would love to see some fans.

Dr Pee

In Adventure, American Dominatrix, bathroom, BDSM, deviance, dominatrix, Family, fetish, Golden Showers, Massachusetts, pissing, politics, sexual politics, Widow Centauri on December 20, 2010 at 11:11 pm

I left the club at 1:00 in the morning. I called to confirm and headed to Boston.

I grew up in hospitals, my mother was a nurse. most people dislike hospitals, I love them, I love the way they smell. antiseptic. clean, like the smell of disease, washed away. it reminds me of my home. I am sure that when my mother dies I will go to hospitals and sniff the air to remind me of the way she smelled when I was a child.

After a two hour drive and a surprisingly small amount of getting lost. I pull into the hospital parking area. It’s the middle of the night and I call this guy and have him come down to get me. He is a resident, living and working at the hospital in an attempt to get through medical school. When he gets downstairs he is in scrubs, with his little name badge hanging around his neck. I have a full face of hooker makeup and high heels on. I must look like I just came from a strip club. It didn’t occur to me to tone it down, I was in a hurry, a hurry to get several hours across the state. I look whorish and the guards at the hospital check stop notice but say nothing, they let the doctor and this lady of the night pass by without a word.

We head to the service elevator, large enough for a gurney, we head upstairs and down a few halls through some doors that clearly announce that only hospital employees are allowed to be there. I’m way to comfortable in hospitals. We enter his room, it has his name on a little placard on the door. I think to myself “he must be so excited to be at this stage in his career, living in the hospital, oy!”

His tiny room is dimly lit by a computer screen. Porn shines through the room, orgasm ruining porn. Giddy girl next door types putting their finger on the jiz as it starts to come out. Denying full release. “Will you do that to me?” He asks wantonly.

Take off your scrubs, I tell him. He strips. He is skinny, white, and fragile looking. His dick is rock hard and standing at attention. Get in the shower I tell him, and he heads to the tiny bathroom and sits on the floor of the toilet. I wash my hands as I am apt to do naturally, more so in hospitals. “Stroke your dick for me” I tell him and he starts pumping away. I take off my high-heeled boots and jeans. I climb up on his shoulders, holding onto the top of the shower stall. “Open your mouth” I tell him. He looks up at me with his mouth open like a baby bird. I shoot some piss into his anticipatory hole. “Swallow it,” I demand. He gulps it down and moans a cute little “ohhh.”

“You’re a dirty doctor having me come up her in the middle of the night to entertain your perverted needs” I tell him as I dribble a little piss out very very slowly. I let my stream drip and dribble like a faucet left on just a bit. “I am, oh yes I am,” he pants. “Open your mouth you perverted middle class white man” he opens wide, clearly hoping for a lot of piss to come gushing. I squirt out a good bit and when he goes to swallow it without being told I shoot a hard stream onto his face. He gasps. I laugh. “Stroke your dick and open your mouth” I tell him I fill his mouth and tell him “swallow it, don’t make a mess” he swallows and pumps and opens and I fill his mouth, letting it overflow and go into his nose a little. He gulps it down and pumps harder. “May I come?” He asks politely? “Not yet,” I tell him, “you have to finish your drink first.”

I climb down onto the floor of the shower and showed my pussy in his face. “Drink” I tell him as I gush my piss in his face. He pumps and moans and pumps and swallows. “Cum for me” I tell him, as he gulps my piss. He starts to convulse and I pull away, and grab his cock. Just as he starts to come I shove my pinky finger into his urethral opening. “Fuck you and your shitty little boy orgasm” I say to him. I lift my leg like a dog and piss in his face. With my finger in his hole and my piss still shooting all over his face I tell him “you’re a sad pathetic creature, a looser, a little piss drinking slut, why in the hell do you think I would really let you come?” I shoot piss up his nose and wait for him to stop shaking.

When I take my finger out of his hole a little jiz dribbles out and I shove my pussy back in his face, empty my bladder and get out of the shower. I dry off, wash my hands again and put my clothes back on. He is still sitting there, blissed out of his mind. “Thank you” he says, “that was fantastic.” I smile. He pulls himself up, dries himself off and I pat him on the head. “I can get out of here alone” I tell him, knowing that I can navigate the complex maze of hallways that we twisted and turned through to get to his little room. Hospitals are well marked. “He hands me a $100 tip says “thank you, that was so much fun,” and I disappear out into the brightly lit halls of polished and sanitized disease.

I feel so at home here.

Tips for Keeping Your Pussy Healthy

In bathroom, beer, Bikram Yoga, dating, drinking, Dykes, Education, FAQ, neurosis, politics, Public, safety, Sex, sexual politics, sexuality, sweat, yoga on December 10, 2010 at 11:55 pm

One of the best things about being a sexpert is that sometimes my childhood friends will ask me for sex advice. I dislike a lot of needy email but when people I care about trust me with their secrets I feel all warm and cozy, like I have done something useful with my life. Today I had a friend ask me about yeast infections and pussy health. Once I had the list together I thought I would put it here.

Here are some tips for keeping your pussy healthy

Always use a condom!
Don’t let people put their hands on your kooter — hands have a lot of germs on them, even clean hands. If you dig fingers and hands, get latex or nitryl gloves. I’m serious. This is how the dykes do it — always use a glove! Don’t use perfume on your pussy. Don’t over douche — use it if you need to but consider it an irritant. Douche washes away the good flora that you need for healthy pussy. Use high quality lube. None of that strange flavored shit. I suggest Eros brand silicone lube, it is my favorite. Liquid Silk is good too but it tastes nasty. Wet is always a fine mid-grade choice. In a pinch KY is superior to all lube that tries to look fancy. If you have sex in a place that prevents you from showering, use a baby wipe as soon as you have a chance. Wipe from front to back. Wear clean COTTON panties, shower often, and masturbate alone daily — this helps your body to flush out anything that might be in there and keeps your pussy wet. Always use lots of lube — a wet pussy is a happy pussy.

I used to get yeast infections. Once I started practicing yoga they stopped. I had one, last year, it really sucked, but it was only one in the better part of a decade. I don’t mean to imply that yoga prevents yeast infections but it really reduces stress which does create imbalance in the body. Also yoga helped me become comfortable with my body. And I get to sweat! The combo of body comfort, stress reduction, and elimination of toxins through sweat seems to have been instrumental in getting the yeasties under control. Find a good way to relive stress.

Oh, and booze tends to stimulate yeast. stick to vodka. no beer.