SMUT STAND REPORT: Oct. 25, 2014 (New Orleans)
WHEN: 7 hours (7:30pm-2:30am), Oct 25, 2014. WHERE: Bicycle Michael’a, Frenchmen Street, New Orleans. OUTPUT: seven custom works, including a face-to-face missionary with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist; some hiking shorts around the ankles, mere steps from the path; and a beautifully intimate blow job for a couple celebrating their 25th anniversary (they had been high-school sweethearts!).
I tell you, Frenchmen Street is weird, has gotten weirder over the last few years, and Halloween? Is just a bunch of weird icing on that big ol’ weird cake. The Bourbon Street crowd is not doing good things to that neighborhood, and it makes my shifts with the smut stand feel riskier than before. I have to keep my eyes peeled more widely for potential physical clashes between my typewriter table and some drunk veering fucker. I have to watch for large groups of people stopping in front of me, just talking among themselves and blocking the sidewalk like it doesn’t fucking matter, and I have to decide whether I’m going to deal with them or let them organically melt away. I want to install a plexiglass shield over my typewriter, in case of booze spillage. It is terrifying! I am going to be watching the rhythm of the street carefully over the next few nights, and if the vibe goes seriously pear-shaped, I will happily close up shop at midnight, rather than stick around for when the bars push their people out at 2 or 2:30.
In the middle of the mindless debauchery, I always meet amazing people, though. This is part of the magic of the Smut Stand. The people who really need or want me… they find me. If I’m busy, they get on the wait list, and come back and check, and STAY on the wait list, even if I’m running behind. And I meet the people I need to meet, too! The first customer I worked with last night, she mentioned that she and her husband would sometimes use Taoist sex practices, and I was like, WHAT. There are Taoist sex practices? She said, “Yeah, it’s basically like tantric stuff, breathing and orgasm control.” See? Even I learn new things all the time out there!
There was one couple, who… well, I don’t know if they needed to find me, but it was one of the weirdest interviews I had ever done. The husband wanted to go for it, the woman was both resistant and engaged at the same time; she was actively pushing back. First she said he should just do it by himself, and then she begrudgingly agreed to join the interview. But THEN, neither of them would answer any of the questions, hardly any of them, at least. I emphasized that I was not psychic, and I got a few details, one position and a couple of sensations from them, but mostly they withheld. I offered to give them their money back at one point, when I had almost finished the interview, but she just shook her head and said, “Now I’m intrigued. I want to see what you’ll make of us.” Fucking skeptics, man. They were very pleased with their semi-public story set near a hiking path, but I mean, it could have come to me SO MUCH MORE EASILY WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM YOU FUCKERS, GODDAMN.
Now that I’ve made it a conscious goal, to end the shift on a high note, I think it’s happening, more and more predictably so. My final client last night was a stocky young man, I think he said he was with a bachelor party? For a nice change of pace from the usual stag do, none of his buddies came out with him, or hovered around to leer at my tits. It was just this guy, and he was so eager! He must have checked back with me three times to make sure he hadn’t lost his spot or missed the time. “I don’t know why I’m nervous,” he said on the third visit. “I’m just so curious. I’ve never had erotica written just for me!” Very few people have, I said, trying hard not to laugh at his puppy-dog enthusiasm.
Well. When I interviewed him, I could see a little more why he was so excited. His turn-ons are not common. He’s submissive, and enjoys seriously being beaten up by an aggressive woman. That kinda porn is out there, but it’s not easy to find, so I could see why he might really want to get something done specially for him.
I wrote him up a fem-dom piece full of psychological restraint and blowjob-as-reward and hissed commands right in his terrified face and a backhand across his cheek that hurt even worse because she had neglected to remove her ring. He jumped up and down to hear it, hugged me several times, and then when his younger brother came up, he was all, like, NO WAY ARE YOU READING THIS, and laughing the whole time from sheer joy.
Good man, I thought, peeling the signage off the typewriter table and turning off the bike lights. Don’t share that piece. Just because I have no boundaries, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have them.