The Daily Rumpus
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From Stephen Elliott
When I met Elle in San Francisco, we were sleeping with the same tattooed Puerto Rican stripper in AA. Ten years later, she contacted me on Facebook and asked if I’d like to work with her. “Work” would mean erotic sensual massage: naked strangers, happy endings, making out with Elle and cash.
If I’ve learned anything from interviewing JT, it’s that “no one ends up in the adult industry by accident” and “when you fall, you have to land somewhere.”
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“They thought to use and shame me but I win out by nature, because a true freak cannot be made. A true freak must be born.” –Geek Love by Katherine Dunn
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Viva Las Vegas’ saucy new memoir Magic Gardens is about stripping in Portland, Oregon during the 90’s when the “stripping as performance art” trend was taking hold and pro-porn feminism was a fledgling idea.
I met Mandy Morbid while working at Cheetahs in Hollywood, a bikini bar that attracts broke slackers with a soft spot for suicide girls and strippers who don’t think they’re strippers.
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Dancers always want to quit but rarely do. The cliché is that sex workers are stuck. But, it’s more complex than that. Dancers quit for years but always come back because leaving the sex industry is difficult.
