An Irregular Column
by Mykel Board
You know how when you're getting an enema, you crouch on all fours. Stretching your legs, you lower your head and raise your rump. Gravity then works with you. Pulling downward, visceral deep, defying peristalsis.
You watch though your legs, as your new employee uses a KY-ed finger to probe and loosen. Soon the plug replaces the finger. You've outgrown that toddler penis of a plug. You're tough enough for the big one, the vaginal size, with water spraying from all over. But it's not vaginally you'll be using it.
A shiver thrills up your spine as the plug slowly inserts.
You touch yourself to stimulate what has already been stimulated.
Then, the clamp opens. The warm water slowly seeps into your body. Moving up, to the left, down. Your belly expands allowing more and more to flow inside. A soft moan catches in the back of your throat. More. More. You feel like you're going to explode. A delicious erotic explosion. An anal orgasm. But instead of exploding, the water continues to fill your bowels.
The bottle empties. Slowly the plug comes out. Release?
"No, not yet!" comes the voice. "You'll hold it until you're told to release it."
You frantically play with yourself. The pressure inside changes to pure sexuality, to be released when you're told you can do so. You're ready to explode from two holes. You make little squealing noises, like the old Godzilla, ready to destroy Tokyo.
Whack! A ruler comes down on the back of your hand.
"Not yet! I said wait for me to give you permission."
You beg. "Please! Please! I can't wait any longer."
Then, a nod. All at once, a brown and viscous explosion of ecstacy. POW! FFFFFFFFFFrrrrrrrrrrrrtttttttttttttt! Uh! Uh!
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! A piece of heaven takes over your body. You shake, collapse exhausted, experiencing that petit mort. Then it's over for today. You've already paid your hundred and twenty dollars, and now you realize it's worth every cent.
Jennifer Blowdrier calls sex work "what you do when you have no place else to go." Jennifer is poetic, and may even be right occasionally, but she doesn't have to be. Some sleazy guy paid her $200 to appear in a porn movie-- and she got herpes. That was awhile ago. Nowadays women in porn make between ten and fifteen times that-- in a day. Intelligent sexual prostitutes, including those who never have intercourse with their clients, earn hundreds for much less physical effort than your average clerk in a video store.
I write this column at the beginning of June. Thousands of students are soon going to begin work at Starbucks, McDonalds, Kinkos, or Wal-Mart. They're going to earn $5.00 an hour...
before taxes. Meanwhile feminists complain that prostitutes and porno participants are exploited.
You've heard it before.
"Sorry, we can't hire you because you're not experienced."
"Well, how do I get experience if you won't hire me?"
"Come back when you're older."
Sex work is one of the few well-paying jobs where you don't need a lot of professional experience. It's on the job training.
In fact, you can earn more if act like you've never worked in the industry before.
Fresh out of high school? Yes! Your eighteenth birthday?
Bring your birth certificate, sign on the dotted line, bend over and smile for the camera.
Stripping, porn, prostitution, it's wide open and ready for you. Let's look at the arguments against it, and then destroy them.
Argument number one: You're selling your body.
The scene: Kinkos. You stand behind the counter. A thin man in his thirties comes up to you. He wears a blue suit. His tie, yellow with little black dots, hangs loose around his neck. He holds his hands in your face. Tiny dirt smudges discolor his finger tips.
"See this?" He shrieks. "This black? I don't pay good money for blackened fingers."
You pull your head away from his fingertips.
"Don't like it, do you?" He shouts. "Well then, fix your goddamn machines. The paper's stuck and I'm getting this...
this... stuff all over me."
"Yes, sir," you say. "I'll see what I can do."
You walk over to the self-serve copy machine. You see the guy was trying to feed in thick slick paper despite the sign that says No card stock. You have to get down on your hands and knees to open the machine and fish out the mutilated paper. Toner sprinkles down, covering your arms. A few particles stray up your nasal passages, making you sneeze.
"Ewww yuck!" says the businessman, "that's just what I need.
First this cancer-causing blackness, and now your disease.
Where's the manager? I want to complain."
Selling your body? Of course the sex biz is selling your body. So is ANY work where you body finds itself in a place it doesn't want to be, suffering things it doesn't want to suffer.
WORK is selling your body. If you're going to do it, you might as well get a good price.
Argument number two: Sex work demeans other sex.
Do waiters hate eating? Do obituary writers hate great literature? Do the guys who draw the "How To Use A Condom" pictures hate Rembrandt? Do Kinko workers hate zines? In this society we work and we live. If you can eliminate the former, great. If you can't, then you separate them. Just because something brings you financial reward doesn't mean you have to hate all aspects of it.
Your work is different from your life. Many sex workers enjoy their work. They like being so desirable people will pay for them. They like being worshipped, admired. But even if you don't like your work-- who does? You realize it is work and, though what you do at home might involve the same organs, it is not the same.
Argument number three: It'll come back to haunt you.
A Cleveland judge watches porn videos at a bachelor party.
He's arrived in the middle. He grabs a beer and sits his corpulent self on the couch in front of the TV. Other friends of the groom squinch to either side. Popping the beer tab, the judge bends it forward and back and sips from the can.
On the screen, is an oreo cookie of sex. A well-endowed colored man (pleonasm?) lies on his back. Lying face down on top of him, the man's well-endowedness inserted in her vagina, is a white woman. On top of the white woman lies another black (tan, actually) body. His tubular appendage penetrates her tighter aperture. The view is from the back. Double pumping, those black gonads hang and bounce like black gonads tend to do. The judge smiles and sips his Heineken.
The scene shifts to the front. Three faces appear in simultaneously staged ecstacy.
The judge coughs, spraying foam out his mouth and nose. He springs forward to attack the VCR.
"Turn that off! Turn that off!" he yells.
"Come on." says the groom to be, "you're no prude, are you?"
"That... that... that's my daughter!" says the judge.
You've heard the story before. It's as much a part of urban mythology as the poodle in the microwave or Richard Gere's gerbil. It may be true, for all I know. But what of it?
When Jennifer decided to do porn movies a friend convinced her by asking, "What's there to loose? You're not going to be Miss America, are you?"
What he meant was that she didn't have to worry about ruining her reputation because she had no reputation to ruin. If you're planning to work for The Moral Majority or some feminist group, maybe you shouldn't get into sex work. (Though it sure didn't hurt Linda Lovelace!) If you plan to work for the government or someplace where you can't bear an arrest record, maybe you should think twice.
But thinking twice doesn't mean you should reject it.
Especially if you're American. One out of 5 Americans has an arrest record. (I've been busted twice.) One out of 20 Americans is now in jail. You won't be unique. Besides, there's nothing like reforming from a "sordid past" to bring immediate love from Christian and governmental scum.
But ultimately, does it matter? Do you think sex is bad? Do you think using your body for hundreds of dollars is worse than using your body for $5 an hour? Are you proud of your sexuality?
If you've got convictions, nothing is going to haunt you. You can only be haunted by ghosts of guilt. If your conscience is clear, the worse that could happen is a rejected rsum. You wouldn't want that job anyway.
Argument number four: It's dangerous.
Perceived danger from sex work comes from four places, police, customers, bosses, and disease. Let's look at them.
It's true that police often arrest sex workers, especially prostitutes. Nevada is the only place in America where coital prostitution is legal. Stripping, dominatrixing, porno-acting, and other sex work is safer, but even there, folks get busted.
BUT, penalties for consensual sex crimes (except kid-sex) are mild. Usually no more than a fine. Like taxi drivers, sex workers consider fines as a business expense. Given the gender sensitive atmosphere of today's society, its more dangerous being a customer than a prostitute. In New York, they take your car and read your name over the radio in the morning. Other places are doing the same-- going after the Johns rather than the whores.
All-in-all, the cops aren't much of a threat.
Then there're the customers. This is a real risk, though no greater than for cab drivers or 7-11 cashiers. The answer to this risk isn't to avoid it, but to reduce it.
In the peep show, stripping or movie business there's no problem. Prosties who work in massage parlors also have little to worry about. Just press that hidden button and BANG! Here comes a very big guy with a baseball bat.
It's a summer night in 1974. I'm young and good-looking.
(True! I've got pictures!) I stand outside The Ninth Circle, a homobar on Tenth Street. Having failed in selling my four hard inches for the night, I leave the bar and start to walk home.
Behind me, I hear footsteps. I quicken my pace. The steps behind me speed up. I head for the Sheridan Square subway stop. There's a newsstand there-- well lit and always peopled.
When I get to the cone of light around the newsstand, I stop quickly and turn around. He almost runs into me.
Short, about my height, his skin is brown. His features are white, though-- like an Indian's (turban, not feather). Black spots mottle his face, like a smallpox victim. A mole nestles itself in the right side of his bulbous nose.
"You want something?" I ask.
"Jew." says the guy.
"That's right," I answer, "now what do you want?"
"I wan jew!" he says, pushing his index finger into my chest. "Jew!" he repeats.
"OK," I say, "I really like you an' all and think you're a dream boat an' all, but I'm only a poor college kid. You got any money?"
"I no have money," he says, "I no need money. I lub jew."
I look at the desperate tears puddling in his eyes. "I'm sorry." I tell him. "Really, I'm sorry."
I start walking South, home. I hear the steps behind me.
Slow, stumbling steps. I figure it'll be no problem to reach my apartment way ahead of him. I figure wrong.
I don't know how he gets in the building, but he's right behind me when I open the apartment door. I turn to close it and his hand slams against it. He holds it open.
"I lub jew. I lub jew." he says.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I say, pressing my hands against his chest, moving him backwards.
He gets a foot inside the door, preventing me from shutting it. He's forcing the door open. Putting one hand directly on his face, the other on his chest, I push him hard. He falls back, hitting the brick wall opposite my apartment door. THUNK! He's flat on the floor. Did he hit his head against the wall? I don't care. I slam the door.
Hours later I take a peek. He's gone. There is a stain on the wall.
Sure prostitution can be dangerous. But so can life. Would the scene have been different if I hadn't tried to get some cash out of the guy? I don't know, but it sure is exciting in the retelling, huh? Danger and risk are there in sex work. There's no getting around it. But danger and risk are there in racecar driving, and high school teaching. You don't completely avoid them-- at least not if you want your life to be more than flipping burgers. You try not to take foolish risks. You look before you leap. But you still leap.
So am I advising MRR readers to go into sex work? Yes! Where else is youth and inexperience a value? Where else can you choose your own customers, hours, and work location? Where else can you earn a few thousand during a summer vacation? But you better do it quick, or be very good at it. It ain't a job for a 50 year old. Ah well, no fifty year olds read this zine anyway. We only write it.
--> If I've convinced you to enter the sex biz, you can get details on porno wages and other fun stuff on porn goddess Nina Hartley's website at: http://www.nina.com/sofar.html. You might also check out her incredibly intelligent interview in BNI porno review zine. (130 W. Limestone, Yellow Springs OH 45387) Enclose $4 for the two issues with her interview. Make sure you ask for those specifically, though most any issue is a good one. (Sorry, no pix.)
--> Holding the torch dept: Last month wrote I about "Adult Check" access to porno websites. But not all of them require it.
A few sites stand alone in the sexual freedom fight. One of them is at: http://18.104.22.168/free/ It's a great no-nonsense free sites with lots of arousing stuff, though it's all het. Enjoy yourself.
--> Site of the month dept: Well, maybe not the best site, but at least it's got the best name: www.bowelmovement.com
-->My pal Joseph Gervasi sends me good videos in exchange for the crap I send him. What he really wants is a plug in my column.
What he doesn't know is that I'd give it to him anyway. His BIZARRE VIDEOS (with a porno supplement) are among the best. To find out, you need to send him a dollar. You'll be glad you did.
(Joseph Gervasi, 142 Frankford Ave, Blackwood NJ 08012-3723).
-->With fans like these dept: Some idiot subscribed me to EASTBAY (POB 8066, Wausau WI). Eastbay? In Wisconsin? Is this a move by the Greenbay bands to become more accepted by convincing people that they, too, are Eastbay? I don't know, but the catalog is sports equipment and sneakers. With enough swoosh to get to ten Hale-Bops and back. For fans and friends who REALLY want to entertain me, (those Polaroids and videos have stopped coming!) I'm still at PO Box 137, Prince St. Station, NYC 10012 USA. You might also want to visit my fledgling website at: http://www.freeyellow.com/members2/seidboard/. Don't forget to sign the guestbook.
-->Stupid science tricks dept: Speaking of prostitutes, here's another example of the stupidity of scientific research.
You might know that a chemical compound called nonoxynol-9 is a spermicide added to many condoms. Previous research found that this chemical helps reduce the spread of sex-related diseases.
Investigators for a journal called Sexually Transmitted Infections decided to test this. How? They gave Malaysian prostitutes condoms, half treated with N-9, half untreated. They then let 'em alone for six months and checked the results.
Surprise: both groups had the same rate of STD infections. Thus, the researchers concluded: "the hypothesis that N-9 added to condom lubricant will confer additional protection from cervical gonorrhea, chlamydial infection, or both is not supported by these data."
What's wrong with this conclusion?
The dummy scientists didn't figure that many prostitutes are not educated and don't use condoms at all. Some customers pay more for not using condoms. So... what did the test prove? NOT using N-9 condoms has the same risk as NOT using untreated condoms. For that they probably got a government grant.
-->BFD dept: So the Spin article on MRR comes out and what?
Nothing. It's factual. Maybe it tells something to a few folks who don't know. But there's nothing controversial, ugly or special about it. The only thing that made me laugh is that the author says Spin cut some of the original text to make room for the graphics... Huh? The story starts halfway down the page. The top half is blank. Seems like the cutting had more to do with legal fears than graphics.
Former MRR writer Ms. Lily's also has something in that Spin. It's more interesting.
-->Not the place to start dept: An internet legal resource reports that in the state of Washington, there is a law against having sex with a virgin under any circumstances. This includes your wedding night. They don't explain how the law is enforced.
It is also not clear if it applies to both men and women virgins.
-->Irony of the month dept: My pal Kesha write that her girlfriend complains about Maryland Rednecks: "shaven heads, chain wallets, cut off jeans, tattoos..." Wowie zowie, times and redneck fashions sure have changed. For me, rednecks were beards, longish hair, a gun rack and a beer belly out to here. The 90s version sounds like a NY hardcore matinee goer. But there are no rednecks in New York. Then again... New Jersey....
--Mykel (mykelB@ix.netcom.com) http://www.freeyellow.com/members2/seidboard/
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