I’m going to start this off by saying yes, I know. I know I’ve made some decisions that really should have led to my demise years ago. The fact that I’m still upright and moving about the world (mostly) unencumbered by shit that, statistically, should have taken me out is something I marvel about. If not every day, at least a few times a week. I should not be alive with all my parts intact.
While unemployed, I basically handle the whole “getting back to work” thing much like I handle every other “project” I take on: I procrastinate like a seven year old at bedtime, spend a lot of time online arguing with knuckle-draggers, playing so many video games that I start to see orcs on the inside of my eyelids, and, at times, when it’s particularly ridiculous, forgetting that I can’t sit my fake elven ass on my fake magical, flying horse in front of the fake bank and cast Temperance (hit points, baby) for cash (not kidding, it got bad for a bit. I’m ok now) to pay my rent. Ultimately, at the very last moment possible, I eventually get my shit together, finish “the project” and end up in a better place/job/situation than I was when I started.
I also get super-fucking-bored. I should NOT be unemployed, really. I should not be without structure because when I am, I do things like this:
One day, I was sitting in front of my computer and fucking around in a chat room, and I see some dude posting over and over to alert women about an opportunity to make extra cash, no sex involved, for realsies, just message him.
My initial reaction? Sure dude. Whatever you say lol, I’m going to end up in the back of a van with a bag over my head and impaled by a syringe and/or unwanted penis. No thank you, sir.
But then I quickly recall that yes, there are non-rapey opportunities to make money without losing consciousness or a kidney, for instance when I became the welcoming voice of an escort agency. And sometimes you even get free sushi out of the deal! And man, I was craving some free food.
So of course I contacted this guy.
After I sent him a private message asking, “Hey, what creepy shit are you asking women to do for money and is it illegal and will I end up dead?” he replied to me with a smidge of indignation, which I always find hilarious. Yes, by all means, be snotty to me when you’re cruising for women online, tell me how that’s going for you. Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re “advertising an “opportunity.” Sure, anyway, tell me more, I’m still listening.
“Ok here’s the offer. I just don’t want to go to the sex store alone to watch movies. All I want is you to come into the booth with me and watch movies, no sex, no touching, nothing creepy, I just want you to be there with me,” he explains. “I’ll pay you $75 just to sit there with me. No strings, just watch movies with me.”
Haha oh, is that all. Also: lol @ “nothing creepy.”
After I don’t respond immediately, he messages me. “You still there? What do you think?”
Well, what I THINK is that this is MAYBE on par with being asked to be the voice of an escort service. Except maybe it’s actually MORE of a commitment since my presence is required for more than just agreeing to make a recording and getting free sushi. He’s actually made zero mention of food, and goddammit, I have standards, you know?
I click on the link to his online profile. Hmm. Well, he’s at least kind of cute from what I can tell from his profile, which, of course, could be totally misleading, I know mine is, but it says he’s 34, his name is John, and he lives in Gresham, OR. That’s all it says though. But I guess I don’t really need more than that, I’ve gotten naked for people knowing a lot less than that.
“Ok, John, how much time are you planning on taking of my day? I’m a pretty busy woman,” I lie as I stumble over to my fridge to grab a hard lemonade. “We talkin’ a half hour? An hour? What?” I ask as I pop the lid off my refreshing adult beverage.
“I don’t know, a half hour maybe, no more than an hour I guess. Like I said, we’re just watching movies,” he says before adding, “and how did you know my name was John, do I know you or something?”
I explain that his name is on his public profile and if he doesn’t want people to know that, he should probably delete it. He apologized and said he has reason to think people are spying on him and maybe wire-tapping him, but he didn’t want to get into that now and would I meet him in like an hour or so at The Peep Hole on 122nd?
I snorted hard lemonade through my nose at reading the location for this rendezvous. Man, I had driven by there many times and wondered who actually went to that place. Well, now I know. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been in a lot of skeevy places including but not limited to D-list strip clubs and underground swingers’ clubs. I love that shit, the people watching is AMAZING. So I’m actually even more interested in this because now I get to see the inside of this place and someone’s going to pay me for the pleasure of doing so. Fantastic!
I tell him “Yeah, cool, I’ll meet you at 3.”
“Really?? You’ll meet me to watch movies? You’re saying yes?”
Well, now I feel like this is a twisted marriage proposal, but I tell him yes, really for reals, but only if he pays me and it needs to be upfront and in cash or the deal is off. I’ve written off getting free food. That’s fine.
He agrees. I down the rest of my drink and go change into something that says, “Yes, I’m a fancy bitch but not down for getting arrested on prostitution charges.” i.e. I put on my normal black top, skirt, and boots, i.e. my uniform, i.e. what I wear literally every day I leave the house, and I go hop into my car and head down the road.
When I arrive to The Peep Hole, I find a spot to park in the lot that’s located, for discretion’s sake, in the back of the building out of sight of the main drag. I’m never worried about having my car spotted at a strip club, but a lot of dudes worry about that kind of shit, and mostly because they are watching naked bodies gyrate to AC/DC when they’re supposed to be “working late” or “going out for a gallon of milk.” To me, it seems like a lot of cloak-and-dagger bullshit just to get off. But then I remember that I’m a relatively conventionally attractive woman who bathes and not a greasy dude with a combover and halitosis for days, so maybe I shouldn’t be so judgmental of these poor schmucks who actually have to pay someone to pretend they like their genitals.
I’m not out of my car more than fifteen seconds when some dude who looks like my brother’s coke dealer gets out of his car and walks over to me. He asks if I want to go inside with him. Aww. Sweet. I politely say no thanks, he winks and says, “Well that’s a shame,” and I inform him that yeah, it probably is for at least one of us, and I go inside.
I glance over at the person working the cash register. She’s got long dark hair and bangs like mine, and she’s wearing an “Expose Yourself to Art” shirt, so I love her immediately. She notices me and half smiles while rolling her eyes at the guy counting out pennies and nickels to exchange for quarters so that he get his porn fix. I smile back, chuckling as I move past them. I’ve also been “that guy” recently because, you know, broke. So I can’t throw stones.
Being as I’m a few minutes earlier than I promised since, at that time, I lived about a five minute drive from there, I killed some spare time by perusing the wares they had for sale there: vibrators, anal beads, a few different kinds of lube. This wasn’t a very big shop, so they didn’t have the big selection that, let’s say, Fantasy Adult Video or some of the bigger chains like Castle had, but I got the impression that it would do in a pinch for some of the local sex-workers and people in the neighborhood who found themselves lubeless and this was their closest option. The thing about Portland, though, was that it was CHOCK FULL of strip clubs, sex stores, etc. People had their favorites, and this was, I’m sure, some people’s favorite. It had a certain charm.
Dude who looked enough like my eigth grade history teacher to make me do a double-take walked up to me and smiled.
“You look mighty lonely over here by yourself, you busy, darlin’?”
Jesus, if WAS ever to be that lonely, apparently all I need to do is come hang out at the goddamn Peep Hole. “No, not lonely, waiting for a friend.” My teacher’s twin shrugged and said, “Your loss.” I doubted that.
A few minutes later, a sandy-haired, average but pleasant looking dude in a baseball cap walked in. I knew it was John as he actually somewhat resembled his online presence, so I waved at him to grab his attention.
He made eye contact and immediately averted his eyes as he shuffled over to me.
“Uh, hey…uh….I’m John. You Betty?” he asked looking down at his sneakers.
I confirmed that I was, in fact, Betty, and he looked at me again, briefly catching eye contact with me and smiled, “Cool. Uh…you showed up.” Aww, cute little shy weirdo.
He turned and pointed to a dark hallway and asked if I was ready, and I put my hand out.
“Almost ready,” I said.
He stared at me for a minute, and I lifted by eyebrow as moved my open hand palm up towards his chest.
“Oh that,” he mumbled grumpily. Haha nice try, dude. Fool me once…
He had four twenties. “Uh, do you have change?”
I laughed, “No, no I do not.”
He grumbled something about just keeping the change he guesses, and then headed down the hall to the “movie rooms.”
I caught the attention of the gal working behind the counter, “Hey, if I’m not out in an hour, come after me, cool?” She shook her head and laughed, “I haven’t lost one yet, don’t worry, I won’t let him murder you.”
John is not amused, something I could easily ascertain when he looked back in what appeared to be a mix of anger and embarrassment. I tell him to lighten up and get moving because I’m on the clock. “Tick tock, John.” He turned back around and proceeded a little more hurriedly. We get to the row of doors and he starts jiggling doorknobs. After each of the first three knob jiggles, we were met with a variety of greetings such as “OCCUPIED!” or “FUCK OFF!” or “CAN’T YOU SEE THIS ROOM IS FULL, WHAT THE FUCK MAN?!”
Jiggle number four was met with a door that opened into a small but empty room with a TV screen on the far wall. He stepped inside the room and held the door for me as I entered the room after him.
The “room” was the size of a mostly empty closet, about six feet wide, six feet deep, and it had a stained (ew) white screen up on the far wall. It smelled of some sort of cherry air freshener or cleanser. There were two, metal folding chairs side by side, and there was a small, black coin-operated box in front of the chairs and directly under the screen. The floor was a vinyl of some sort and I mentally applauded them for steering away from carpeting of any kind.
John reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handful of quarters and starts loading up the machine. It’s seventy-five cents for five minutes of playtime. I guess that’s not so bad to have the five minute increments. If you blow your load early, you haven’t wasted any money. I know I have never personally never finished an entire porno, so it really does make sense.
On the box is a big, square, illuminated button you can punch to move to the next movie until you find one that tickles your fancy. Once John shoves about thirty minutes worth of quarters in there, the screen automatically lights up. He hovers his hand over the button.
Immediately the screen clicks on and we’re greeted with a close-up shot of a giant, hot pink dildo being jammed into someone’s ass.
Next movie is three platinum blonde ladies with tits so bulbous and obviously artificial with the skin containing them so strained that they looked as if they might actually explode if someone accidentally bumped them. They were all kissing and fingering each other, moaning as exaggeratedly as their cup size. John watches for a second, but then mutters something under his breath about big fake tits.
Up on the screen now is an extremely muscular hairless man in a strappy, black, leather number. He’s ramming his giant dick into the ass of another smaller man wearing nothing at all. They’re in what looks like a dungeon, and there are three more small, nude men standing at attention in the background in what appears to be a queue, waiting patiently for their turn to have their tiny asses plowed by Mr. Leather Daddy.
John flips out and starts yelling at the screen, “NO! NO! GODDAMMIT, WHY DO THEY PUT THIS SHIT ON HERE, NO!”
This time, we have another dude-on-dude scene pops up, this time with two men wearing speedos kissing sensually with a very stern-looking, bespectacled woman in the background directing them on what to do next.
“GODDAMMIT, I’M NOT A HOMO. WHAT THE FUCK?!?”
This is great. I’ve already been giggling at the odd spectacle of all this, but now I’m audibly laughing, and John turns to me, spewing, “HOW IS THIS FUNNY?” I’m like “Dude, you’re the one who’s funny, chill out. You’ll find something you like.”
He grumbles and hits the *next* button a few more times and finally settles on a very “nonthreatening” vanilla porn scene with a red-haired, freckled woman with diminutive breasts. She’s on her knees in front of the comically hung leading man and being very nice to his terrifying penis. Apparently penis in this presentation is acceptable, and John finally seems pleased. I sat there and watched the movie with John for a few seconds, uneventfully.
On the screen, the man lifted the woman from her kneeling position and bent her over the arm of a couch, her head right cheek down on the cushion, her ass up in the air. The man starts working her clit and telling her she’s been a very good girl so now she gets a reward.
John is watching intently and he leans over to me and asks if I like what I see, and I reply to him that sure, this isn’t a bad one. He scoffs a little, saying something about how I didn’t sound too enthusiastic. I shrug. We continue to watch this woman receive her reward, and John puts his hand on my leg. I reached down and plucked the hand from my thigh. “Not allowed,” I said gently. John grumbled again and pouted a little.
The woman’s reward now included being drilled from behind by her fuck buddy, and I sat there wondering how that giant cartoon dick was not completely displacing her internal organs because Jesus fucking Christ, when I notice something out of the corner of my eye off to the left.
I am completely unsure how I missed this in my initial perusal of the room, but about three feet up from the floor is a hole about the diameter of a Pringle’s can in the wall. And now there is a penis poking through it like a curious rodent. It’s like a little bald gopher.
I bust out laughing. It’s the first glory hole I’ve seen in the wild! This is amazing. Tears start rolling down my face at the comedy of it all. It looks so needy down there. Poking in, withdrawing, poking back in, shaken a little by the hand guiding it through the hole.
I am fucking dying.
John, who had been fully engrossed in the movie, alerts to my laughter, startled. Then sees what I’m laughing at. He is PISSED. He jumps out of his chair, knocking it over in the process.
“GODDAMMIT, NO! NO! GET THAT OUT OF HERE. SHOO!” He actually said “shoo” as if it was a fly or a naughty puppy, and I am officially hysterical. Tears are rolling down my face, and John stares at me in disbelief and annoyance.
The penis-gopher withdraws quickly. John starts ranting about how disrespectful people are, and who would do such a thing? He reaches over to pick up his chair and starts to sit down.
Penis-gopher is back. It’s poking through the hole a little more tentatively. It has adapted, it’s wary of danger now.
John flies past me and starts swatting at it with his open hand. “NO! I SAID NO, YOU GET OUT OF HERE. YOU STOP!” He continues to swat at it. “SHOO! YOU GET OUT!” The penis-rodent retreats to safety.
I’m now this close to peeing myself. An angry rapping of knuckles comes from wall on the other side of our closet-booth. A muffled, “Hey, keep it down in there!” leaks through the thin walls. Still laughing, I shriek an apology and receive a muffled acknowledgement.
I look back at John and he’s red-faced and pissed. He looks to me, then to the movie where that lady is still being rewarded with a cervix-bludgeoning and seeming rather happy about it, then to the glory hole to make sure the coast is clear, then back to the movie. He sits down again, breathing heavy – from the gopher attack, not the movie I’m sure – and focuses once more on the screen – the woman is back on her knees in front of Captain Monterschlong to finish him off I guess. I get ahold of myself, taking a deep breath and wiping the tears from my face.
John reaches over and starts rubbing my leg, and quickly correct him, swatting at his hand like it’s a penis-gopher, and say, “Dude, I said no, this wasn’t the deal. Cut the shit.” John withdraws his hand and grumbles something about spending money on nothing. I chuckle because I don’t give a fuck, and then…
Hey, guess who’s back?
I start crying with laughter again. John jumps out of his seat again, the chair flying back and hitting the wall to the right this time. Our neighbor to the right starts pounding on that wall furiously, “SHUT THE FUCK UP IN THERE!” John LUNGES at the intruding penis-gopher once more and screams something unintelligible at it.
I hear a filtered-by-plywood, “Come on man, please? Just a little,” coming through the wall above the glory hole. John keeps slapping at the gopher.
But then out of nowhere, John’s demeanor changes, sort of an impatient acquiescence to the current situation.
“FINE,” John exhales and starts to rapidly stroke the penis while looking fully annoyed.
After his earlier negative reaction to the lovely gay pornos, I am stunned.
I hear some more murmuring from whomever is attached to the now-seemingly-welcome intruder, and John sighs and again he says, “Fine…FINE.”
John kneels down and starts kissing and sucking on the penis-gopher’s head. And he seems annoyed the whole time. It’s as if he’s come to some sort of realization that it must be done? He seemed so put out, like a small child being forced to eat his green beans before he gets any ice cream.
I’m gobsmacked. I can’t look away, this is amazing.
Penis-gopher apparently is superbly pleased with life now and, as a result, he throws up in John’s mouth. That didn’t take long.
John jumps upright and starts spatting on the floor (again, the no carpet thing was a good call) and cussing, “GODDAMMIT, THAT WAS NOT PART OF THE DEAL, MAN. NOT COOL!” John starts swatting at the penis-gopher again, but missing as the penis-gopher quickly fled, avoiding angry slaps from the man who just gave him mouth-hugs.
I hear a door open over to the left, the door slams, and I hear footsteps quickly walking away, removing penis-gopher from the scene.
John looks at me out of breath and red-faced. “I’m not gay,” he declares once again, post-blowjob this time for some reason.
I just laugh. “I mean I think you might be a little gay, and that’s ok, dude. Own it. I am, too.”
“I SAID I’M NOT A HOMO.” He’s wild-eyed with the closing credits of a porn movie playing behind him. Damn, I missed the finale. Ah well.
As the screen goes black, I say, “Well, I think that’s my cue.” I get up to leave.
John looks angry and dejected. “What? You can’t leave yet, I didn’t get to come,” he whimpers.
I open the door partially and slip out saying, “Gotta go, time’s up. I’ll leave you to it.”
I hurriedly exited that part of the store in a pace equally or greater to the penis-gopher and made my way up to the front of the store where the cashier was standing.
She spots me and starts laughing, “You ok?”
I smiled and told her I was fine, just glad to be out of that booth and chocking the afternoon up to yet another weird fucking “day in the life.”
The cashier says to me, “I actually came back there once to see if everything was alright, but you were laughing so loud, I didn’t want to interrupt. That’s a sound I don’t usually hear coming from back there. Sort of made my week.”
“Glad to brighten your day,” I laughed as I verified that my $80 paycheck was still safely in my pocket and I made my way home, stopping for sushi as MY reward for being a good girl.