A Wonders of My World Story

Based on the true story of Aroslav’s erotic journey around America as told to Devon Layne

©2018 Elder Road Books

Not so long ago: Los Angeles

Well, it’s been a while now and that is supposed to get me past the point where I’m too embarrassed by a situation to write about it. There are no fools like old fools!

It started the day I woke up and realized that no matter how peripheral it was, as a writer of erotica I was part of the porn industry—an industry that I knew little about. Of course, I’d read Jay Cantrell’s Daze in the Valley, but even he admits this is all fiction and not intended to be a documentary about the industry. So, I decided that since I was spending the winter in the Los Angeles area, I’d go to a few porn ‘events.’ Starting with AdultCon.

This is the LA porn industry show and I was like a kid in a candy store. Lots of beautiful women who would take five dollars to have a photo of them taken with you in any compromising position. Of course, they had to keep their nipples and pussies covered, but that wasn’t really much. One of the most popular booths was the CamGirl booth where a couple of dozen women were ‘broadcasting live’ from the show and doing their normal tease and chat routines while dealing with gawkers and fans.

Another area included hourly burlesque shows that were more entertaining than the average strip. Seminars on all aspects of sex were scheduled every hour. And the toy stores! I never really imagined the use of fucking machines, saddle vibrators, remote control vibrators, leather, lace, costumes, and intimate toys. Dildos? I’ve never seen so many different sizes, shapes, and colors. And masturbators for men.

Imagine this. Beautiful porn star smiles and invites you over to her 8x8 booth where, like many of the girls, she is selling photos, videos, and used panties.

“Hey, cutie. I’m running a special on my pussy,” she says.

“Uh...”

“See? It’s an exact mold of my little sugar lips and it usually goes for $99, but my special is just $79. You’d like to fuck me, wouldn’t you?”

“Uh...” She held up a rubber model of a pussy and demonstrated pushing her finger into the hole.

Yeah, faced with the reality of the porn industry, it was a little overwhelming. I realized what a neophyte I was in writing stories where a loving couple make love as the highlight of an involved plot. I needed a place to sit down. And sanitize my hands yet again.

There was a crowd gathered at one end of the show floor and I discovered an array of about eight stripper poles with dancers from various clubs around town doing their thing. Another couple of dozen dancers were circulating and doing lap dances on the sofas that surrounded the improvised club. There were probably also about fifty men and a few women standing around watching the show. I joined the group and just stared at all the eye candy.

Not that all of it was great. Strippers earn their money by being available, not by being beautiful. There were a few who had so many tattoos that you couldn’t see clear skin anywhere but their faces. Maybe the palms of their hands. There was one who had piercings and chains running all over her body, including a three-point that ran from under both sides of her bra and down into her panties. She was offering customers a chance to jerk her chains. Literally.

And then there was Savannah.

Of course, I didn’t know that was her name yet. What I knew was that this tall shapely brunette was stalking across the room and through the other men with her eyes locked on mine. I know what a rabbit feels like when it is about to be eaten by a wolf. Absolutely everything about her screamed PREDATOR, and I was the prey.

“You need to relax,” she purred as soon as she reached me. She embraced me in a hug that made me think she must have mistaken me for someone she knew. Her lips came to my ear and I shivered when she whispered, “I’m Savannah and I’ve been waiting for you all day. Why don’t you come over to one of the couches and let me massage you for a few minutes?”

“That’s nice to know. I’m Ari.”

I followed. A massage sounded good, if unlikely, but she pulled my arm around her waist and made sure I was holding her snugly. She pushed me down on one of the couches—really just padded benches by the wall—and pulled her shoes off. She dropped eight inches in height. Which just brought interesting things more into range. She settled onto my lap and reached around me to begin massaging my neck. Damn, she was good.

“I can do this until the next song starts. If you’d like, you can have a lap dance then for just ten dollars. It’ll be just like the club, except we have to keep our bra and panties on. Would you like to spend ten dollars on me to get the rest of you massaged?”

Oh, hell yes. I figured she’d just move into the routine sit and grind, but first she stood in front of me and removed her top and bottoms. Apparently, they were just a cover over her thong and light lacy bra.

A Long Time Ago: Minneapolis

I wasn’t a complete neophyte at strip clubs. That’s where I met Alice. But it didn’t start out with any indication that I’d one day date a stripper. It was far more mundane than that. I’d had a particularly hard day on set with my newest play, Fishbowl, and decided to just relax at a club in Minneapolis. I hadn’t had good luck recently. That was life with Belle. The dry spell was definitely affecting my mind.

I caught a bus up Hennepin Avenue and got off at one of the clubs I’d seen with its flashing neon sign for topless dancers and stage shows. I paid the five-dollar cover and went in to get an overpriced drink and sit at a table away from the stage a little. The experience was pretty much what I expected from having watched movies and heard stories around the theatre. It was like a cabaret. I’d seen the movies Gypsy and The Stripper, but I suppose their view of the club scene in the 60s was a little out of date.

So, a girl goes up on the stage and in a few songs gets down to a G-string and a smile while she sensuously wraps her body around a pole. Easy peasy. Another girl follows this one to the stage but doesn’t strip. She’s a singer and comedian who struts sexily back and forth across the stage while making suggestive remarks to the audience. Then came the big reveal. Off came the clothes and it was clear to see the bulge in the G-string where her cock was!

I have nothing against gays. They have every right to be married and to be as miserable as the rest of us. But the male equipment package just doesn’t do anything for me. I still tipped the singer, but left the club a little less than satisfied and mildly disturbed.

It wasn’t my last venture into the clubs. I got better at identifying what was a good deal and what was a come-on. I went to clubs in Vegas, Reno, Kansas City, San Antonio, Seattle, New York, Chicago, and Dallas. Over the years, I learned the rules of tipping and lap dances. Limits on hand positions and touching were strictly enforced. The girl could touch, about anything she wanted to, but the guy was safest sitting on his hands. I assumed that was how things were in the industry. Get entertained and get rubbed on. Enjoy the passing brushes of a tit against your lips and trust that you weren’t really kissing every guy in the room once removed.

Back to Savannah

Things here were a little different. Yes, Savannah sat on my lap—facing me—with her legs on either side of me. She returned to gently massaging my neck while she rocked back and forth on my lap and leaned forward to place a little kiss on my ear and whisper, “I like this. I get so horny sometimes.” Then she dragged my right hand, which was away from the crowd at the entrance, up to cover her left breast. “You have to feel how hard my little nipple gets when I’m dancing. Can you feel it?”

God, could I feel! I leaned forward and placed a little kiss at the hollow of her neck and shoulder and the squirming in my lap was intensified.

And then the music stopped. My response was automatic.

“I have another ten. Want to go again?”

“Oh, yes, baby. I like how you think.”

She didn’t lose a beat but lifted enough so I could reach in my pocket to adjust my cock to a more stimulating position. She took my hand again and pressed it open on my thigh, then started grinding on it. I could feel the moisture on her panties.

Neither of us climaxed, but it was extremely stimulating and we were both a little breathless when the music changed again. She turned to sit crosswise on my lap and looked down at her bulging breasts. The bra had been dislodged slightly while I was mauling her tit and the little brown nubbin was peeking over the top.

“Oh!” she gasped. “We’re not supposed to do that.” She raised a finger and began lightly slapping the escaped nipple. “Naughty, naughty nippy. You get back in your house!” The nipple did stand up straighter but made no independent move to return to her bra. She handed me her discarded top. “Help me with my top, please, Ari. Maybe you can push that naughty nipple down inside my bra while you’re at it.”

I did. Help her. And push the naughty nipple into her bra. After I’d given it a few little squeezes. It took a few minutes for Savannah to get her ensemble together and her shoes on. I handed her the twenty dollars and she handed me a card for free cover at House of Dolls.

“I work weeknights after ten. Why don’t you come see me?”

“I think I’ll do that, Savannah.” We sat and chatted for a few more minutes, asking where we were from and she found out I was an author, which made her squeal. I discovered she was a single parent of a ten-year-old girl and found working nights at the club helped her make more money than a regular job, so she could spend more time with her daughter.

Eventually, she stood up and took my hand to help me up. She kissed me on both cheeks. “Please say you’ll come to see me at the club,” she said.

“Definitely. If not tomorrow night, then soon. I’ll check the website on the card to see when you are performing.”

“Sunday through Thursday nights. Friday and Saturday are too chaotic, even for the money I could make. Monday is pretty quiet and I get to spend more time with guys. Come Monday if you can. That will work out best.”

I agreed.

A long time ago: London

As familiar and comfortable as I am in the porn world today, it wasn’t always so. In fact, it isn’t always necessarily so today. I try to know when I’m being played and when a woman is serious. I’ve fallen into the trap more than once. And that brings me to London.

There is one thing you need to know about strip clubs in London: DON’T!

It was another business trip to attend another conference I was to speak at. The rest of the conference, however, turned out to be incredibly boring. I found myself visiting some of my favorite places, like Kensington Gardens, the British Museum, and the Tate. But I didn’t take cabs. I walked everywhere. It was part of my assurance that I could always find my way back to the little hotel I’d gotten a room in. And I needed the exercise.

One hot afternoon, I passed a club with the obligatory pretty girl in skimpy clothes at the door handing out coupons for £5 admission to the show. I was hot and could use a drink so I went in, paid my cover and sat near the back. There were no women on-stage. Soon, a nice young woman sat beside me and got to chatting. I asked what the program was and she said they only came out when people sat up front.

I was a rube. I followed her to the front and sat down. A waitress was immediately at my side and presented me with a bill for £400. You have got to be kidding me! This was the price of sitting up front for a show. Plus drinks.

I got up to leave and was stopped at the door with a demand for payment. It could have gotten hairy but I think the guy at the counter recognized that neither he nor I were going to budge. I couldn’t. I didn’t have £400. Nor was I carrying a credit card. He took the £35 I displayed and the bouncer escorted me out. I’ve never been to a strip club in London since.

(Hint: At that time, you could get a pretty hooker delivered to your hotel room door for £100.)

Back to Savannah

I don’t go out much at night. I can see fine; I just don’t like driving at night. Especially late when all the crazies are on the road. I’m just at that age.

Which brings up the point of why a crotchety old man was going to a strip club fifty miles away late on Monday night to watch a twenty-something single mom take her clothes off. Old fools.

But the fact is that something had stirred when Savannah danced on my lap and when something down there stirs, I sit up and take notice. So, I walked into the club a few minutes past ten and handed in my free pass, signed my name on the register as the bouncer took down my license info, and found a seat. I looked around and there were only about twenty guys in the club. Nearly half of them were watching a football recap on a big screen TV. I didn’t see Savannah anyplace, but I relaxed and ordered a sparkling water from the waitress.