So what was I doing there you ask?

I knew a guy.

My friend worked there and got bored at night.  I was introduced to the owner and eventually recognized as one of the hosts.  I didn’t really do anything but I knew how to get things if someone needed it.

After a few weekends I started redecorating the place in my head.  I had great plans.  The rooms upstairs were designed to entertain fetishes.  For example, the room with the screen door for peeping toms or the bed out in the hallway for exhibitionists.  Of course, that happened everywhere.  At any given moment you could turn your head straight into the line of sex; sometimes it was in a dark corner, sometimes on a bar stool. 

But the place looked like it was decorated out of a garage sale.  Leave it to me to be in a crowd of sex and I notice that the drapes don’t match.  But they didn’t.  It just was not classy.  The patrons had money.  They came from nice homes and nice jobs but due to privacy issues they were forced to fuck on out of date couches and against 1980’s wood paneling.

I had dreams of bringing in more black vinyl and lots of zebra print.  Also a sex swing would have been a big hit.  Some nice contemporary color on the walls and real commissioned nude paintings…beautiful!!  But the owner would never go for it…the cheap bastard!

One thing that really bothered me about the décor was the porn playing on a TV above the bar.  It wasn’t the content of the show but the location.  No one else seemed disturbed by this.  No one even watched the porn, really.  Why would they when it was live on the bar stool next to them?  But I couldn’t take my eyes off of it.  I watched in disgust as I imagined tiny pubic hairs fluttering from the grinding groins into the drinks below.  They fell into the pretzel bowl and upon a pile of napkins and no one even cared.  I guess they were into that sort of thing.

* PHOTO - Folk Eroitca: Celebrating Centuries of Erotic America, By Milton Simpson, October 1994