Tales of Times Square: Expanded Edition by Josh Alan Friedman Read Free Book Online

the stage and it’s falling apart. The pink paint is peeling, there are gashes in the walls, and stacks of marquee letters are stored to one side. A sign is posted for the benefit of the “Live Love Teams”: ALL TEAMS: PLEASE !! KEEP THIS AREA CLEAN. USE THE GARBAGE CANS . DON’T BE A PIG.
    “This gets my vote for worst dressing room,” says Jeanie.
    The object of her feigned aggression on tonight’s program is one David Christopher, Submissive. The theater rented him from Mistress Candice for the week.
    “I don’t pay for slaves,” Jeanie explains.
    David is fiddling with his shackles on the bench and assures Jean that he killed some more cockroaches, not to worry. It wasn’t easy, considering his own cockroach-like position in life as a pro submissive. But then, he assures me he’s appeared in over a hundred regular porn flicks, and remains baffled as to why he hasn’t reached star status.
    “What you’ll see tonight isn’t hardcore S&M. I’m into sensual dominance. Worshiping. Not receiving pain. Have you ever seen Jeanie as a dominant? She’s awfully good.”
    “This isn’t my real gig,” says Jeanie. “Next week I’m going to Rhode Island and Pittsburgh to just strip.”
    I suggest what she does in little theaters like this around the country is a continuation of American vaudeville, but Jeanie’s built-in shit-detector won’t buy it. David, however, does.
    “Long Jean is the first major porn star that the Avon has ever booked,” he asserts. “I may have done over a hundred films myself, but they haven’t caught on to me yet.... Have you ever seen the movie Long Jean Silver? ” he asks. “It’s a classic!”
    Haven’t seen it, I say.
    “You’re lucky,” says naked Jeanie, putting on leg warmers. “I hated it.”
    I ask which, if any, of her films she likes.
    “None of them. They all suck... except maybe House of Sin . I usually hate working, but I liked House of Sin because all I had to do was watch sex—and get head from Honey Stevens.”
    It’s getting awfully hot and humid in this dressing room. Jeanie keeps wishing she could take a bath, as the time for the next show approaches. She assembles a tight black spiderweb-type dress around her body, directing her moves in the mirror. She’s a knockout now, a blond, peg-legged Vampirella. She shackles up her slave, who trudges out onto the stage ahead of her.
    The crowd of fifty sits insanely silent as Jeanie ambles down the aisle. The tortured voice of Marianne Faithfull’s comeback record howls dirty words over the PA, ideal for an S&M act. Once onstage, Jeanie captures her slave and descends on him like a spider, but unfortunately only mildly assaults his body during the four-song, twenty-minute set.
    She peels off her own clothes along the way. Her tits are champagne-perfect. She straddles his face, disdainfully slaps his pecker, which rages harder the more she tugs it. He groans and grovels under her splendid rump. Then the leg comes off. A few audience members perk up, not yet sure of what they see. She bats her stump against his cock, then has him suck the stump. She quickly reattaches the artificial portion, pulls on a warmer, and that’s all she wrote. A solid gig.
    The audience responds with quirky applause. Jeanie hobbles off during the clapping, pausing momentarily by my chair to whisper a highly sarcastic “Hooray!”
    Old Flesh Agents
    The several remaining booking agents for strippers in this country are somewhat bitter, quick-tempered men in their seventies—vaudevillian artifacts who resigned themselves to booking strippers after variety shows perished. They were likewise forced down a notch by representing porn starlets in their old age. Irv Charnoff, who left his Times Square Brill Building office in 1972, continues to book girls into clubs nationally from his Queens apartment, taking time off only when struck by heart attacks, of which he’s had a few. Charnoff books the big-tit stars, nonexclusively,