Category: memoir
Whorephobia: Strippers on Art, Work and Life
Sexwork & Stripping. On & off stage, under the lights or in the dark; back in the day, until today. For me, it would never as good as the first time.
Not crazy, but like crazy
I sniffed my mother’s armpit. Last March, after the fall that fractured her L1 vertebrae…
#911Memory
Fifteen years ago I was on the phone when he said, “Hold on, I think the boiler just exploded,” and put the phone down. After a few moments, “I gotta go. There’s body parts and plane parts all over. I gotta go.” He worked at the Marriott Hotel opposite the World Trade Center and it was early and the story hadn’t hit the news yet.
Lesson Number One
Previously published: BUST Magazine Spring/Summer 1996 (as Scarlett Fever) He pushes me inside a yellow…
Dating for Dollars
Previously published: Johns, Marks, Tricks & Chickenhawks (Soft Skull Press, 2013); Best American Erotica, 1995 (Touchstone Book…
Killing Time
Originally published as “Lele” in Hos, Hookers, Callgirls and Rentboys: Professionals Writing on Life, Love,…
1982 : sitting in limbo
I have the week off. I don’t know why I said that. I have no idea. A day? A week? I don’t know. But it sounds like something regular people say. Like that. But, really, Myron’s mad cause I’m making money for someone else, and I think I’m going high-class but somehow I’ve fucked this up before I even get a chance to fuck it up.
1982 : mardi gras redux
“It’s two blocks, you could walk faster than…”
“I could. But I don’t hafta. I have cash, see? So, I don’t hafta walk. I’m paying, so just drive….”
“Sonofabitch,” I mumble under my breath. I’m a loud mumbler.
1982 : Moviola
I’ve been gone. I’m sorry. I’d tell you where I’ve been, if I knew. I’d like nothing more than to know where I’ve been and what I’ve done. I’d like to pull my brain out through my ear, pop it in the VCR, sit on the couch with you, a vodka and a bowl of popcorn and see what happened; see the things my brain is busy blocking out. Or maybe it’s the vodka that blocks it all out. There is no way of knowing.
1981 : it was rape
It’s 3AM and the Lollipop is empty, except for a few regulars. Everyone’s feeling good and it’s like this morning never happened. Piper’s chain smoking Newports and laughing about something Chief’s saying; Myron’s in the back room with a new dancer, and me and Max are trading insults. It’s what passes for flirting between us and I’m so into this game, I don’t notice the Big Man’s come in until I hear the tap tap tapping of his diamond pinkie ring on the bar.
1981 : take a look at yourself
Maxie slides onto the stool next to me and looks at my empty glass. I’d swallowed it in one gulp. “Here, kid. Ya look worse’n usual. You could use another.” He pushes the bottle towards me. I can always use another, I think. “Now, spill it,” he says.
1981 : gorilla pimpin’
Still staring at my reflection, I gingerly press my fingertips against the burns on my chest. And just like that, that smell is back; the sulfur of match-heads, the slightly sweet hint of tobacco, burnt hair and flesh.
summer in the city
I walked through the new Washington Square Park, expecting to be disappointed, or at least…
happily never after
I don’t know about little boys, hell, it becomes more and more apparent each day…
that was then: 1979
I open my eyes to a greasy tin ceiling & the smell of oil and gasoline.I’m…