Alice. Alba Opera Hotel, Paris 2014. Photo: Tony Ward, Copyright 2024.
The French kiss—a symbol of romance, intimacy, and affection—is one of the most iconic forms of human expression. Its origins, however, are often shrouded in mystery. Despite its name, the act of a deep kiss, with tongue involvement, is not unique to France but has become closely associated with French culture and allure. The history of the French kiss is a fascinating journey through human evolution, cultural exchanges, and the perception of love.
The origins of the French kiss likely date back to ancient times, even before recorded history. Anthropologists suggest that it may have evolved from a natural instinct. Some theories propose that early humans shared food mouth-to-mouth, which may have led to the eventual connection of kissing as an intimate gesture. Evidence of kissing appears in ancient civilizations like Mesopotamia and India, where lovers are depicted embracing in intimate poses.
The term “French kiss,” however, is much more modern. It didn’t enter the English lexicon until the early 20th century. During World War I, American and British soldiers stationed in France observed how French women kissed their lovers—more passionately and with tongue, something that was less common in the English-speaking world at the time. When these soldiers returned home, they began to talk about this type of kiss, dubbing it the “French kiss” due to its association with the sensuality and perceived sexual liberation of French culture.
By the 1920s, the term gained widespread popularity. France, already viewed as a country of romantic passion and artistic expression, embraced the reputation. The French kiss became synonymous with Parisian romance, further fueling the stereotype of France as the heart of love and passion. It started appearing in popular culture, from literature to cinema, and the image of lovers exchanging a French kiss beneath the Eiffel Tower became an enduring symbol of romance.
Today, the French kiss remains a universal gesture of affection, transcending borders and languages. It represents more than just physical connection; it signifies trust, closeness, and deep emotion between two people. Whether as a form of playful flirtation or a profound expression of love, the French kiss continues to be a powerful and enduring symbol of human intimacy.
In essence, what began as a natural instinct evolved into a culturally defined act that now embodies the art of romance across the world.
Slater. From the Vixens Series. Photo: Tony Ward, Copyright 2024
Vixen: Redefining the Empowered Woman
The term “vixen” has evolved significantly over time, shifting from a derogatory label to one of empowerment and complexity when applied to women. Historically, “vixen” originated from the Middle English word for a female fox, connoting slyness and cunning. Over the years, this term morphed to depict a woman who is perceived as flirtatious or deceitfully alluring. However, in contemporary culture, “vixen” has taken on a multifaceted significance, encapsulating both strength and sensuality.
In today’s lexicon, a vixen is often seen as a woman who exudes confidence, assertiveness, and independence. She is unapologetically herself, embracing her sexuality and using it as a form of personal empowerment rather than allowing it to be used against her. This modern interpretation aligns with feminist ideals, where the vixen embodies a break from traditional gender roles and stereotypes. She is not confined by societal expectations but rather defines her own identity, pursuing her desires and ambitions with tenacity.
The transformation of “vixen” from a negative to a positive descriptor parallels the broader movement of reclaiming language that has historically been used to oppress women. Much like terms such as “bitch” or “nasty woman,” which have been reappropriated to signify strength and resilience, “vixen” now celebrates a woman’s right to be fierce and formidable. It underscores the idea that embracing one’s sexuality and assertiveness is not only acceptable but also powerful.
Cultural representations of vixens further illustrate this evolution. In media and literature, vixens are often portrayed as complex characters who challenge the status quo. They are not simply seductresses or villains; they are multidimensional figures who navigate the world with a keen sense of agency and autonomy. These portrayals encourage women to see themselves in roles that are bold, dynamic, and self-assured.
Moreover, the vixen archetype challenges the conventional dichotomy of women being either pure and innocent or wicked and corrupt. Instead, it acknowledges that women can embody a spectrum of traits—being both nurturing and assertive, compassionate and ambitious. This nuanced understanding fosters a more inclusive and realistic portrayal of women, one that celebrates their diversity and complexity.
In summary, the term “vixen” as it applies to women today signifies much more than its historical connotations. It represents a woman who is empowered, confident, and unapologetically herself. By embracing the qualities traditionally associated with a vixen—such as boldness, independence, and sensuality—women are redefining what it means to be strong and self-assured in modern society. This redefinition not only challenges outdated stereotypes but also paves the way for a richer and more varied understanding of women’s identities and roles.
Simone With TV on at Hotel Village, Hamburg Germany. Photo: Tony Ward, Copyright 2024
Text by Bob Shell, Copyright 2024
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A Vast Wasteland
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I grew up in television. My father, Jim Shell, was the news anchor for WSLS TV Channel 10, the NBC affiliate in Roanoke, Virginia, and I used to hang around the TV station as an obnoxious kid.. So it was natural for me to go to work in television after college. In 1971 I worked for WRFT TV Channel 27, in Roanoke, the ABC affiliate. My boss there was Adrian Cronauer, the man Robin Williams portrayed in the film ‘Good Morning Vietnam.’ It was a very small TV station, so everyone did everything. I did newscasts, weather reports, hosted late night horror movies, produced, directed, ran the soundboard, was staff artist and photographer, etc. It was a great learning experience.
Back in those days the man who headed the Federal Communications Commission, the FCC, was a fellow with the amazing name of Newton Minnow. I always thought he must have been teased in school for being called Newt Minnow, named for two little aquatic critters.
Anyway, after assuming chairmanship of the FCC, Mr. Minnow watched a lot of TV and famously called TV ‘a vast wasteland.’ In those pre-cable days, the FCC had near absolute control over TV. For example, there was an FCC rule against portraying superstition as factual. This resulted in the cancellation of ‘The Sixth Sense,’ a program I liked, because it portrayed psychic phenomena as true. It always bugged me that this rule wasn’t enforced against TV preachers. The worst I ever saw was Billy James Hargass who performed miracle healings on his program. Don Imus did a wonderful parody with his Billy Sol Hargass character.
When I watch TV today on cable, I ask myself ‘Where is Newt Minnow now that we need him?” TV today has sunk to depths he could never have imagined. But the FCC, by law, has jurisdiction only over broadcast TV and radio, it lacks any authority to regulate cable TV or cable radio. The results are obvious.
One thing the FCC did was regulate the amount of time commercials could take up in programs. When I worked in TV, we never ran more than two commercials in a single commercial break, only two breaks per half hour, and both commercials were thirty seconds in length. Today there are so many commercials in a break that I lose count! This, in my opinion, dilutes the value of them all. And it disrupts the continuity of the program. This is why old TV programs must be reedited to make room for all of the additional commercials, often disrupting the story.
When TV was broadcast-only we watched TV for free. The programming was paid for by the advertisers. Why today do we pay for cable TV and still suffer through commercials? It’s like double-taxation!
I’m an admitted news junkie. I watch NewsNation a lot to stay informed. But I’ve become burned out on repetition of the same commercials ad nauseam.
For example, if I see Jonathan Lawson hyping Colonial Penn life insurance again I may start pulling out my hair. I’ve noted that he says your rates will never increase, but he does not say that your coverage will never decrease!
Or the jewelry company called Pandora. Anyone who knows a bit of Greek mythology knows that Pandora was the first human woman. In Greek, Pandora means ‘All Gifts.’ After Zeus created her, he gave her a beautiful box, but strictly ordered her not to open it. Pandora could not restrain her curiosity and opened the box, releasing all evils upon mankind. Name your company after the person who unleashed all evil? What were they thinking?
I could go on about the stupidity of commercials, but I’ll spare my readers that vitriol. My point is that there are too many commercials, and too many of them are just plain stupid. Advertisers must believe the famous quote variously attributed to P. T. Barnum and F. W. Woolworth; ‘No one ever went bankrupt by underestimating the good taste of the American public.’
Model: Kasheem Peterson. Photo: Tony Ward, Copyright 2024
The Benefits and Dangers of Using Viagra
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Viagra, a little blue pill introduced by Pfizer in 1998, revolutionized the treatment of erectile dysfunction (ED). For many men, Viagra has provided a renewed sense of confidence and intimacy in their relationships. However, while its benefits are widely celebrated, the potential dangers and side effects warrant careful consideration. Understanding both the positive and negative aspects of Viagra use is essential for anyone considering it as a solution for sexual enjoyment or health issues.
The primary benefit of Viagra is its effectiveness in treating erectile disfunction, a condition affecting millions of men worldwide. ED can result from various factors, including age, stress, health conditions, or psychological issues. Viagra works by increasing blood flow to the penis, facilitating an erection in response to sexual stimulation. This physiological assistance can significantly improve sexual performance and satisfaction.
For many men, Viagra has transformed their sexual health and relationships. It not only restores the ability to engage in sexual activity but also enhances overall confidence and emotional well-being. Couples often report improved intimacy and communication, contributing to healthier relationships.
Moreover, Viagra has been studied for potential benefits beyond ED. Research suggests it may help with other conditions like pulmonary arterial hypertension and Raynaud’s phenomenon, showcasing its versatility in medical applications.
Despite its benefits, Viagra is not without risks. The most common side effects include headaches, flushing, indigestion, nasal congestion, and dizziness. While these symptoms are generally mild, they can be bothersome and impact the user’s experience.
More serious, though rare, side effects include sudden hearing loss, vision problems, and priapism, a prolonged and painful erection that requires immediate medical attention. These potential risks necessitate caution and proper medical guidance when using Viagra.
Viagra can also interact with other medications, particularly nitrates used for heart conditions, leading to dangerous drops in blood pressure. Individuals with certain medical histories, such as cardiovascular diseases or severe liver impairment, should avoid Viagra due to heightened risk factors.
Additionally, the psychological dependence on Viagra can pose a concern. Some men may become reliant on the medication, feeling unable to perform sexually without it, which can lead to anxiety and diminished self-esteem.
Viagra’s introduction marked a significant advancement in the treatment of ED, offering substantial benefits for those struggling with this condition. However, its use must be approached with caution, considering the potential side effects and interactions with other medications. Consulting with a healthcare provider is crucial to ensure safe and effective use. Understanding both the benefits and dangers of Viagra allows individuals to make informed decisions, prioritizing their health and well-being while enhancing their sexual enjoyment and health.
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Model: Kasheem Peterson. Photo: tony Ward, Copyright 2024
Being Kissed. Alex Foxe from Obsessions. Photo: Tony Ward, Copyright 2024
Text by Alex Foxe, Copyright 2024
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In a Holding Cell
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The one and only time that I’ve been arrested truly, was one of those moments of wrong place wrong time. I was completely innocent of the crime that I was arrested for. I had the day off work from Rick’s club in Seattle, Washington, but it was near my birthday and a couple of girls had asked if I was going to come in and work that day. No, I wasn’t scheduled to work, but they really thought I should. They said we would have a little party and besides, I would make money on my birthday.
Washington state has a law that if you’re fully nude, you cannot serve alcohol. I did not partake in cannabis, but I assure you that the dressing room was very fragrant at times. I assumed someone was bringing in a flask or a small bottle of liquor which some girls did. For one they needed a lot of liquid courage. I’m sure there were pills involved with some girls, it’s easy to conceal, but I am in no way insinuating these girls were addicts. Most were from other states with different laws, and they were used to having a couple of cocktails when they danced.
I was so excited and nervous that girls were starting to warm up to me. I was brand new at the club and I knew no one. I knew there was a hierarchy, as there always is. I kept my mouth shut, head down, was super respectful and kept to myself.
So, I threw my gigantic gym bag filled with the usual stripper basic kit, (which includes several outfits, shoes, makeup, wipes, deodorant, fragrance) into my car and went on down to the club. Now the way that Rick’s club runs, and a lot of clubs nowadays, (it was very new to me at the time) is you have to pay their fee called “house” to work at the club. The house fee was $70 the minute I walked through the door. It was super anxiety provoking, being brand new at a club with no established customers and having to get seven dances right off the bat. I was already struggling to pay for my house and then come home with any amount of money. Sometimes it was only $30- $40 after house and there was no way I could live on that.
I was new so customers were more than willing to get a first dance with me. The dances were $10 a pop and I was successful a lot of the time getting one dance, maybe two, any more than that and the guy and I were having a good conversation and he knew he should pay for my time. Funny side story, my landlord came in a few times to the club. I gave him a few dances and was hopeful he would become a regular and this would pay my rent. We had a great conversation, and he was very nice. He soon realized that he was spending more money than he planned and one day he told me he would not be coming in anymore because he was spending too much. I wasn’t the only girl giving him dances.
I was really struggling to figure out why I couldn’t get any more dances. Well, it didn’t help that I didn’t really like asking for a dance. The thing I hated about asking for a dance was not so much asking for the dance, it’s the way that some of the patrons acted and the way they looked at you up and down, like you were beneath them, and they would decide whether you were worthy or not. Mind you most of the guys that look at you like that, look like a turtle with their sweatpants or gym shorts on with no underwear. Still grosses me out thinking about it now.
The “absolutely beautiful” girls were making money, the “not too beautiful” girls were making money, but I was not making money. I was hired for dayshift starting out, which traditionally means you make less money because there aren’t a lot of people that go to the club during the day. But the people that do go into the club during the day are supposed to be working, or running errands, at hardware stores, etc. these guys had a limited amount of time and a specific set of money that they could blow. They were usually only in the club for maybe an hour or two, and they were gone. Of course, we got the occasional group of daytime bachelor parties, golf buddies, etc. Night Shift is a different ballgame. You can feel the energy in the club. There’s usually double the number of girls and in my opinion, I would say the night shift is where most of your hustlers’ work. Sure, you have a couple of hustlers dayshift, but dayshift is definitely way more chill. At this club anyways.
So, back to why I wasn’t making money. The pieces of the puzzle all came together when I turned the corner from the DJ booth where there was a large room with sofas lined up for private dances.
Let me describe how Rick’s was set up when I worked there:
when you first walked into Rick‘s to your left was the dressing room, on the right a second office, then walk into a big room with tables and chairs all around, four tops and a lot of two tops, a stage right in front of the DJ booth and a smaller stage closer to the table dance area.
The manager on the day shift was a very short, older, close to 70’s, Italian man. He was really nice, and I’m quite sure he knew what was going on because whenever he would come around the corner to make sure nobody was “dirty dancing”, he made a lot of noise before walking to the dancing area.
So I come around the corner from the DJ booth to ask for some dances, (the club was always very dark in my opinion but I wasn’t in charge of lighting so I went with it) and one of the strobe lights was shining just right, and as soon as my eyes adjusted, I see this really nice bodybuilder type girl named Tammy (who was ripped and very masculine in her build and she was always super cool to me) was given this guy hand job. And then there was this dancer who I think went by Barbie, (with the bleach blonde hair super fit like a fitness model, tan, who drove a convertible yellow mustang, and always carrying wads of cash) was bent over with her hands on her knees, like she was playing an outfield position for a baseball team looking out towards the stage, with her customer directly behind her in a Johnny Bench position, her yellow G-string pulled over to one side and the turtle is finger banging way.
Barbie smiled at me with a look like she was bored out of her mind.
I was shocked. I had never seen anything like that at any of the clubs I worked at. I’m not saying it didn’t happen, I’m just saying I didn’t see it. To this day, when I look back, I think how gross this guy’s hands were, probably so dirty she could get an infection. It was one of those scenarios where once you see it, you’ll see it every time. So when I worked after that, I saw it going on with a lot of different girls. Not all the girls, but a good percentage.
I knew two things; I was never going to make a lot of money at that club because I was not interested in that type of sex work. Number two, I was going to have to get a different job.
Back to my birthday celebration at the club. I can’t remember for the life of me what the girls had brought in for my birthday… Anyway, I had just gotten off stage and I was walking towards the table dance section when, all of a sudden, all the house lights came on and these men stood up and said, “THIS IS A RAID!” It happened just like it does in the movies. I know it sounds cliche’ but this was just like the movies. When the raid began there were girls, screaming, and crying. You could clearly see the policeman’s firearms. They were not in a mood for small talk. But I guess the part that gets me is that, apparently, this was some sort of sting operation for prostitution. So, these guys, the cops, paid by the local government, by your tax dollars, try to get hand jobs and who knows what else for the “case.”
One of the things that surprised me the most was the fact that the officers let us go into the dressing room, a few at a time, to get dressed with clothes. They did not make us go downtown half naked. There were a few girls really upset and scared and trying to stash marijuana and alcohol so that they would not be charged with anything else.
There were 13 of us and we rode in one of those paddy wagons, with our hands zip tied behind us, off to the police station. You really find out about a persons’ nature when you get arrested with them. Some of these girls were so dramatic, it was really hard to not lose my cool and ask them to please shut up. They’re crying, pleading, begging…It was getting boring at this point.
We all stood in line to get booked and placed in a large holding cell where there was no private bathroom. There was a toilet with a three-quarter wall on one side and benches up against the walls. A tiny sink to wash our hands. Some ladies were creative and cleaned a lot more than their hands. I was cool with it because I didn’t want to be hanging out with stinky chicks. The place had concrete floors, metal benches and white walls. It was cold and loud. Very echoey and had sort of that damp Seattle cold feeling. This was an experience I did not want to repeat ever again.
One of the really pretty dancers threw up a couple times and one of the other girls had some GI issues. Two girls made a sort of makeshift door in front of the toilet to try to give her some privacy. She looked like the kind of girl who only poops at home. She would never poop at a lovers’ house, and especially not if the lover was home.
So, you can imagine it was a crazy mix in this holding cell. Most of the girls looked like models, or cheerleaders. One of the problems was, there were other ladies in the holding cell with us. Now, some of these ladies looked like frequent flyers to the joint, so they were looking at us like we were aliens in their cell.
I remember one lady with long chestnut color hair and fair skin, looked to be about 32-ish? Hard to tell. She most likely was wearing a concert T-shirt and some jeans. Well, she reminds me of my old neighbor growing up, so we’ll call her Laura. Laura was fascinated by us and our situation. She wanted to know if we all knew each other, what we did to get arrested, but she mostly wanted to tell us how she caught her boyfriend cheating and instead of bashing his headlights out with a baseball bat like a normal girlfriend, she took the baseball bat and hit him in the knees, repeatedly. If I remember correctly, he was sleeping at the time of the attack with his mistress. So, she’s talking to a couple of the girls, who, mind you, it’s probably a little early for all the makeup, and glitter, and big hair, with lots of perfume, so yeah, we were the stars of the show.
We had a payphone in the room and one lady was on it for a very, very long time. I can’t remember what she was talking about, if it was one long conversation or several. I was worried that if I paid attention, it would have some sort of reaction with my body, or my resting bitch face, plus, with all the crying and retching on and off, and the flatulence, it got pretty stinky in there I will tell you. Even with the hairspray and perfume. But I remember being fearful of her. Not only was she about 5’10”, 185 pounds, she had a tough looking face. But the eyes. Eyes that you knew she had seen some shit and she has very little regard for human life so yeah, I kept the fuck away from her.
She is talking to somebody on the phone, and she says “You ain’t never gonna believe this”, as she counts with her finger saying out loud, “how many of you?” and she counts 6, 8, 9-10…13. Then into the pay phone “13 bitches! They look like models. Well, not all of them. Most of them do.” Without missing a beat, she says, “I don’t know what these 13 bitches did, but I’ll tell you what, I know these bitches did it together”. Everybody sort of laughed and then went back to feeling sorry for themselves.
Pretty soon, we were alerted that we would be fed. A guard delivered us each a sack lunch consisting of a Bologna sandwich on white bread, some of us got oranges, some got chips, and everyone got a carton of milk. So, you can imagine there was some trading going on. I ate my chips, took a bite out of my sandwich and could not even finish, plus from all the stress, I had lost my appetite. I drank my small carton of milk and put my bologna sandwich back in the paper sack and placed it underneath the bench I was sitting on.
All of a sudden, I hear the payphone lady screaming across the room, “Hey, you!” I’m looking down, minding my own business. I look up because one of the girls is tapping my leg and several girls are looking at me. I look at the payphone lady, “yeah?” “Are you going to eat that sandwich? I said, “no.” She said, “Well, I want it.”, and she was off that bench, in what seemed like half of a second, and over to me. Before I could pull the sandwich out to give it to her, she had it in her hand and was already back to her seat. That sandwich was gone in just a couple of bites. Thinking to myself maybe that was really stupid I didn’t force myself to eat because maybe, it was going to be a long time before I got out of this place.
Next thing I knew, they said we’re all being released. That was it. We were free to go.
The one and only time that I’ve been arrested truly, was one of those moments of wrong place wrong time. I was completely innocent of the crime that I was arrested for. I had the day off work from Rick’s club in Seattle, Washington, but it was near my birthday and a couple of girls had asked if I was going to come in and work that day. No, I wasn’t scheduled to work, but they really thought I should. They said we would have a little party and besides, I would make money on my birthday.
Washington state has a law that if you’re fully nude, you cannot serve alcohol. I did not partake in cannabis, but I assure you that the dressing room was very fragrant at times. I assumed someone was bringing in a flask or a small bottle of liquor which some girls did. For one they needed a lot of liquid courage. I’m sure there were pills involved with some girls, it’s easy to conceal, but I am in no way insinuating these girls were addicts. Most were from other states with different laws, and they were used to having a couple of cocktails when they danced.
I was so excited and nervous that girls were starting to warm up to me. I was brand new at the club and I knew no one. I knew there was a hierarchy, as there always is. I kept my mouth shut, head down, was super respectful and kept to myself.
So, I threw my gigantic gym bag filled with the usual stripper basic kit, (which includes several outfits, shoes, makeup, wipes, deodorant, fragrance) into my car and went on down to the club. Now the way that Rick’s club runs, and a lot of clubs nowadays, (it was very new to me at the time) is you have to pay their fee called “house” to work at the club. The house fee was $70 the minute I walked through the door. It was super anxiety provoking, being brand new at a club with no established customers and having to get seven dances right off the bat. I was already struggling to pay my house and then come home with any amount of money. Sometimes it was only $30- $40 after house and there was no way I could live on that.
I was new so customers were more than willing to get a first dance with me. The dances were $10 a pop and I was successful a lot of the time getting one dance, maybe two, any more than that and the guy and I were having a good conversation and he knew he should pay for my time. Funny side story, my landlord came in a few times to the club. I gave him a few dances and was hopeful he would become a regular and this would pay my rent. We had a great conversation, and he was very nice. He soon realized that he was spending more money than he planned and one day he told me he would not be coming in anymore because he was spending too much. I wasn’t the only girl giving him dances.
I was really struggling to figure out why I couldn’t get any more dances. Well, it didn’t help that I didn’t really like asking for a dance. The thing I hated about asking for a dance was not so much asking for the dance, it’s the way that some of the patrons acted and the way they looked at you up and down, like you were beneath them, and they would decide whether you were worthy or not. Mind you most of the guys that look at you like that, look like a turtle with their sweatpants or gym shorts on with no underwear. Still grosses me out thinking about it now.
The “absolutely beautiful” girls were making money, the “not too beautiful” girls were making money, but I was not making money. I was hired for dayshift starting out, which traditionally means you make less money because there aren’t a lot of people that go to the club during the day. But the people that do go into the club during the day are supposed to be working, or running errands, at hardware stores, etc. these guys had a limited amount of time and a specific set of money that they could blow. They were usually only in the club for maybe an hour or two, and they were gone. Of course, we got the occasional group of daytime bachelor parties, golf buddies, etc. Night Shift is a different ballgame. You can feel the energy in the club. There’s usually double the number of girls and in my opinion, I would say the night shift is where most of your hustlers’ work. Sure, you have a couple of hustlers dayshift, but dayshift is definitely way more chill. At this club anyways.
So, back to why I wasn’t making money. The pieces of the puzzle all came together when I turned the corner from the DJ booth where there was a large room with sofas lined up for private dances.
Let me describe how Rick’s was set up when I worked there:
when you first walked into Rick‘s to your left was the dressing room, on the right a second office, then walk into a big room with tables and chairs all around, four tops and a lot of two tops, a stage right in front of the DJ booth and a smaller stage closer to the table dance area.
The manager on the day shift was a very short, older, close to 70’s, Italian man. He was really nice, and I’m quite sure he knew what was going on because whenever he would come around the corner to make sure nobody was “dirty dancing”, he made a lot of noise before walking to the dancing area.
So I come around the corner from the DJ booth to ask for some dances, (the club was always very dark in my opinion but I wasn’t in charge of lighting so I went with it) and one of the strobe lights was shining just right, and as soon as my eyes adjusted, I see this really nice bodybuilder type girl named Tammy (who was ripped and very masculine in her build and she was always super cool to me) was given this guy hand job. And then there was this dancer who I think went by Barbie, (with the bleach blonde hair super fit like a fitness model, tan, who drove a convertible yellow mustang, and always carrying wads of cash) was bent over with her hands on her knees, like she was playing an outfield position for a baseball team looking out towards the stage, with her customer directly behind her in a Johnny Bench position, her yellow G-string pulled over to one side and the turtle is finger banging way.
Barbie smiled at me with a look like she was bored out of her mind.
I was shocked. I had never seen anything like that at any of the clubs I worked at. I’m not saying it didn’t happen, I’m just saying I didn’t see it. To this day, when I look back, I think how gross this guy’s hands were, probably so dirty she could get an infection. It was one of those scenarios where once you see it, you’ll see it every time. So when I worked after that, I saw it going on with a lot of different girls. Not all the girls, but a good percentage.
I knew two things; I was never going to make a lot of money at that club because I was not interested in that type of sex work. Number two, I was going to have to get a different job.
Back to my birthday celebration at the club. I can’t remember for the life of me what the girls had brought in for my birthday… Anyway, I had just gotten off stage and I was walking towards the table dance section when, all of a sudden, all the house lights came on and these men stood up and said, “THIS IS A RAID!” It happened just like it does in the movies. I know people always say it doesn’t happen like the movies…this was just like the movies where I’ve seen dancers get arrested in a raid before, but you get my drift. Of course, there were girls, screaming, and crying. You could clearly see the policeman’s firearms. They were not in a mood for small talk. But I guess the part that gets me is that, apparently, this was some sort of sting operation for prostitution. So, these guys, the cops, paid by the local government, by your tax dollars, try to get hand jobs and who knows what else for the “case.”
One of the things that surprised me the most was the fact that the officers let us go into the dressing room, a few at a time, to get dressed with clothes. They did not make us go downtown half naked. There were a few girls really upset and scared and trying to stash marijuana and alcohol so that they would not be charged with anything else.
There were 13 of us and we rode in one of those paddy wagons, with our hands zip tied behind us, off to the police station. You really find out about a persons’ nature when you get arrested with them. Some of these girls were so dramatic, it was really hard to not lose my cool and ask them to please shut up. They’re crying, pleading, begging…It was getting boring at this point.
We all stood in line to get booked and placed in a large holding cell where there was no private bathroom. There was a toilet with a three-quarter wall on one side and benches up against the walls. A tiny sink to wash our hands. Some ladies were creative and cleaned a lot more than their hands. I was cool with it because I didn’t want to be hanging out with stinky chicks. The place had concrete floors, metal benches and white walls. It was cold and loud. Very echoey and had sort of that damp Seattle cold feeling. This was an experience I did not want to repeat ever again.
One of the really pretty dancers threw up a couple times and one of the other girls had some GI issues. Two girls made a sort of makeshift door in front of the toilet to try to give her some privacy. She looked like the kind of girl who only poops at home. She would never poop at a lovers’ house, and especially not if the lover was home.
So, you can imagine it was a crazy mix in this holding cell. Most of the girls looked like models, or cheerleaders. One of the problems was, there were other ladies in the holding cell with us. Now, some of these ladies looked like frequent flyers to the joint, so they were looking at us like we were aliens in their cell.
I remember one lady with long chestnut color hair and fair skin, looked to be about 32-ish? Hard to tell. She most likely was wearing a concert T-shirt and some jeans. Well, she reminds me of my old neighbor growing up, so we’ll call her Laura. Laura was fascinated by us and our situation. She wanted to know if we all knew each other, what we did to get arrested, but she mostly wanted to tell us how she caught her boyfriend cheating and instead of bashing his headlights out with a baseball bat like a normal girlfriend, she took the baseball bat and hit him in the knees, repeatedly. If I remember correctly, he was sleeping at the time of the attack with his mistress. So, she’s talking to a couple of the girls, who, mind you, it’s probably a little early for all the makeup, and glitter, and big hair, with lots of perfume, so yeah, we were the stars of the show.
We had a payphone in the room and one lady was on it for a very, very long time. I can’t remember what she was talking about, if it was one long conversation or several. I was worried that if I paid attention, it would have some sort of reaction with my body, or my resting bitch face, plus, with all the crying and retching on and off, and the flatulence, it got pretty stinky in there I will tell you. Even with the hairspray and perfume. But I remember being fearful of her. Not only was she about 5’10”, 185 pounds, she had a tough looking face. But the eyes. Eyes that you knew she had seen some shit and she has very little regard for human life so yeah, I kept the fuck away from her.
She is talking to somebody on the phone, and she says “You ain’t never gonna believe this”, as she counts with her finger saying out loud, “how many of you?” and she counts 6, 8, 9-10…13. Then into the pay phone “13 bitches! They look like models. Well, not all of them. Most of them do.” Without missing a beat, she says, “I don’t know what these 13 bitches did, but I’ll tell you what, I know these bitches did it together”. Everybody sort of laughed and then went back to feeling sorry for themselves.
Pretty soon, we were alerted that we would be fed. A guard delivered us each a sack lunch consisting of a Bologna sandwich on white bread, some of us got oranges, some got chips, and everyone got a carton of milk. So, you can imagine there was some trading going on. I ate my chips, took a bite out of my sandwich and could not even finish, plus from all the stress, I had lost my appetite. I drank my small carton of milk and put my bologna sandwich back in the paper sack and placed it underneath the bench I was sitting on.
All of a sudden, I hear the payphone lady screaming across the room, “Hey, you!” I’m looking down, minding my own business. I look up because one of the girls is tapping my leg and several girls are looking at me. I look at the payphone lady, “yeah?” “Are you going to eat that sandwich? I said, “no.” She said, “Well, I want it.”, and she was off that bench, in what seemed like half of a second, and over to me. Before I could pull the sandwich out to give it to her, she had it in her hand and was already back to her seat. That sandwich was gone in just a couple of bites. Thinking to myself maybe that was really stupid I didn’t force myself to eat because maybe, it was going to be a long time before I got out of this place.
Next thing I knew, they said we’re all being released. That was it. We were free to go.
I think I ended up being in that holding cell for about 10 hours.
