By Howard T. Brody

While the Dominican Republic, Thailand, Brazil and The Netherlands all have notorious reputations as places to go when you want to get down, there are plenty of places right here in the good old U.S.A. where one can get away just to get jiggy with it. So, go online to your favorite travel website or open your Google maps if you want to take a drive and get ready to visit these six sex-crazed cities for a truly hedonistic experience.

Las Vegas

Could there even be another city that would top this list? As they say, sex sells and when the tourism board came up with the slogan “What happens in Las Vegas stays in Las Vegas,” they were pretty much serving up sexual getaways on a silver platter. Vegas is a city where as a visitor you don’t  have to wait for the weekend to have the time of your life – any night of the week will do. And since everyone seems to be on vacation when gallivanting around town, they’re all looking for a good time and why shouldn’t they be? With a steady stream of alcohol, a sea of shapely ladies in micro and mini skirts, hard bodied guys on the make, and a mixture of high-end hotel rooms, world class restaurants and a second to none nightlife making the sexual energy flow like an infectious river, Las Vegas is the ideal setting for the perfect sex storm. In addition to the casual hook ups, the city is just an hour away from Pahrump, Nevada, where legal prostitution is available at the world famous Chicken Ranch as well as Sheri’s Ranch and the Love Ranch Cathouse. As one hotel in town puts it in their advertising, it’s just the right amount of wrong. They don’t call this town Sin City for nothing.


Nicknamed “The Magic City,” Miami oozes sexiness from the clear blue waters and white sand beaches of South Beach to the vibrant sights and sounds of Little Havana. Miami is a 

great destination for hot days and even hotter nights. South Beach has been called the American Riviera and an Art Deco Playground. Though not technically legal, because of the large number of European and South American tourists, topless sunbathing is socially acceptable and very common on the beaches in the area. Also it’s not unusual for some of the hotels in the vicinity to allow topless sunbathing by the pool. Yet there's more than sand and colorful buildings to South Beach’s fantasyland. The area offers a diverse mix of world-class boutiques, galleries and stores. It's also a culinary hot spot for everything from gourmet to casual beachside cuisine. Some of the best Cuban restaurants north of Havana are located in Miami and things really heat up when the sun goes down as the city comes alive with an eclectic array of intoxicating beautiful bodies reveling at nightclubs or poolside parties to the wee hours of the morning. The upbeat atmosphere and casting aside of inhibitions – thanks to the alcohol and addictive beat of the Latin rhythm that fills the air – makes Miami the perfect place for a sexual tête-à-tête. Considering there are 9.6% more women than men, four bars per every thousand people, and a population that’s 37% single, it’s The Magic City indeed!

New Orleans

In a city like New Orleans, which is the home to the world’s biggest party in (Mardi Gras) and is nicknamed "The Big Easy" – given when the city was in open violation of prohibition and considered one big speakeasy – one would expect sex clubs to be readily and easy to find. They’re not. N’awlins, as tourists call it, is one of those cities where although there are a number of sex shops with names like Suzette’s Romantic Boutique, Dynamo and Mr. Binky’s Superstore, much of its sex tourism is underground, which is strange considering the debauchery that occurs during Mardi Gras. You can eat sushi off naked dancers at the Penthouse Club, Get Naughty in N’awlins with the world's biggest swingers convention each July, or if you are part of that particular lifestyle, a club called Colette is known to be one of the finer swingers clubs in the city. From “Wicked Wednesdays” to “Pantiless Fridays,” Colette always promises a sexy good time. If that sounds too involved, perhaps club Jasmine is more your speed with special events like lingerie parties, sexy corset parties, pajama parties and more. Still, what's arguably the most exotic and erotic city in the south is charming and seductive all year-round thanks to its amazing Cajun cuisine, trendy and sophisticated jazz and nightclubs in the historic French Quarter and the non-stop high jinks that take place on Bourbon Street.


There's way more to the nation’s number-one ski destination than slaloming down slopes. Sure, the downhill action is great, but so is the going down action. As freezing temperatures make everyone bundle up and hide beneath layers of clothing during the day, the cool mountain air makes it easy to strip down and cuddle up in front of a warm fireplace once the sun goes down. Some of the more self-indulgent locations mix traditional ski lodge essentials with colorful, ultra-modern designs that attract both style-savvy tourists and locals looking for a good time. Since downtown Aspen consists of about a half-dozen city blocks, changing scenery and changing partners is as easy as changing the street you’re on. Sure the white-hot après ski scene makes the city sophisticated and sexy, but whether your preference is lean and athletic, outdoorsy, or alcoholic, Aspen offers plenty of places to hook up. Some of Aspen’s oldest restaurants are home to its liveliest bars and in an old-world setting, the old-school pick up still works. Patios are also a great place to meet as there’s no better backdrop to exchanging smiles with strangers. But underground clubs jamming with big beats are the prime pick-up spots before last call. Because cover charges rarely exist, there’s no disgrace in hitting all of the spots before circling back to one you think has the most promise.

San Diego

San Diegans consistently rank among the most athletic and attractive people in the county; No. 2 and No. 1, respectively, according to a Travel + Leisure poll. In addition to having a famous pier, famous zoo, and Southern California’s most infamous nude beach – Black’s Beach – San Diego’s warm weather, idyllic beaches, and active bar scene makes the city appealing to those looking to get lucky. And while guys outnumber girls five-to-one, there are still plenty of women to go around, especially so if you’ve got a British accent . . . girls will just drop their panties at the first sound of your voice. There’s also plenty of diversity as women in the city are like samples from an international buffet. In addition to European Au Pairs being all over the city, if Asian women are your thing, the University of California at San Diego is the place to prowl. But if you prefer slutty white sorority girls, head over to the San Diego State University area. Mexicans? You’re 20 minutes from Tijuana. And as STRIPLV mentioned in a previous issue, if you can’t get laid in Tijuana, you can’t get laid. In some cases, you don’t even have to leave your hotel. There are some swanky, sophisticated, and seriously sexy hotels in San Diego with amenities that include complimentary wine tasting bars, rooftop pool decks, open-air nightclubs and guest rooms that feature see-through showers, adults-only king sized bunk beds, mirrored ceilings, and stripper poles.

New York

Rounding out our six sexcation destinations is the city never sleeps, and for good reason: Sex is at the very core of the Big Apple. New York City's unique combination of celebrity, creativity, prestige, and power gives the city a distinct energy and appeal to all who are welcomed by Lady Liberty, whether you're a Greenwich Village hipster or a member of the Upper East Side’s high society.

The diversity with the city’s five boroughs (Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx and Staten Island) is part of its allure to the millions who live there and the millions more who visit there on an annual basis. It’s the perfect mixture of upscale sexiness and wild, unhinged grittiness, which provides all the ingredients of making a sexually explosive Molotov cocktail. The city's gentlemen's club scene is virtually second to none, and that includes Las Vegas, with nearly 70 clubs catering to both men and women as every major chain has a presence in the city. But it's the unabashed sex scene that puts NYC on the list as it is the place that gave birth to Studio 54 and Plato’s Retreat and today boasts more than a dozen swinger and underground sex clubs with names like the Labyrinth, Bowery Bliss, Submit, Lip Service and Intimate to name a few. And then of course, there is the Museum of Sex, also known as MoSex, located right on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, dedicated to “the history, evolution and cultural significance of human sexuality.”


While arguments can certainly be made for other cities that did not make our dirty half dozen list, there is something else to keep in mind. These days you don’t necessarily have to travel away from your home town to get a little nooky. In today’s world of smart phones, it seems that all you need to do to get laid is download an application like Tinder, swipe right, and voilà, the local Motel 6 that sits two blocks east is a sex destination. But is it really that easy?

Under normal circumstances would you ever consider Columbus, OH, Austin, TX, Seattle, WA or Pittsburgh, PA to be sex destinations? Of course not. Nobody would! However, these cities are among the Top 30 in the U.S. where Tinder users are finding members of the opposite (and same) sex for a close encounter of the horizontal mambo kind. If you were to go by sheer numbers, you would think that the Top 6 Tinder cities would match the Top 6 population centers in the U.S. In some cases they do align, but not all of them.

Top 6 population centers in the U.S.A. 1. New York, NY 2. Los Angeles, CA 3. Chicago, IL 4. Houston, TX 5. Philadelphia, PA 6. Phoenix, AZ Top 6 Tinder cities 1. Los Angeles, CA; 2. New York, NY; 3. Chicago, IL; 4. San Francisco, CA (#13 in population) 5. Boston, MA (#23 in population) 6. Phoenix, AZ.

But there are some things to consider in the numbers. For example, in New York 40% of the population is single, and there are 15.9% more women than men (39% more between the ages of 22 and 29), which gives men a clear advantage in the Big Apple. However, in San Francisco 60% of the population is single, and men outnumber women by 12%, meaning that in The Golden City the ladies get to pick and choose.

At the end of the day, what does it all come down to? Wherever you are, wherever you go, whether it's a well-known destination of decadence and depravity or a wholesome little hole-in-the-wall where rainbows and butterflies are commonplace, if you have an itch, one way or another, you will be able to scratch it. And you’ll be smiling the whole time you do.




Chapter 1

I knew that there was no way that I would travel over 8,000 miles from Las Vegas to Bangkok in coach, so I cashed in my miles and bought a first-class ticket since I didn’t pack any Xanax, Ambien, Valium or other sleeping pills for the trip.  Besides, Sing, Wonder
, and My Cousin Rachel were all playing on the in-flight movies that month, so it was a good enough reason to stay awake.

Arriving close to midnight (our flight was wonderfully late, more champagne for me), I met up with my buddy from New Orleans, and we took a limo to my hotel. We arrived around 12:30 a.m. at the hotel, and what can I say? For a hotel that I booked online for $67 a night, wow! I got a full apartment suite! Complete with kitchen, full bathroom, tub, shower, dining room, office, the works. It overlooks a courtyard (you’d think you were in Hawaii, book ‘em, Dano).  Gym, steam, sauna, pool, whirlpool, I was totally blown away. I looked at major hotel chains (5 stars), and none of them were as nice as this. Right off Sukhumvit Road and Soi 10 is where the main action is. My buddy was one block over from me on Soi 8. He got his hotel for $28 a night. A real shithole! His room (the A/C was broken) was as big as my bathroom. For all of you travelers out there, when heading to Bangkok, don’t go cheap! If all you can afford is a $28 room, don’t bother going! BTW, my buddy isn’t poor, just cheap! By the way, did I mention that I get a free buffet breakfast included in my $67? It rivals most Vegas hotel buffets!

Of course, what trip to Thailand would be complete without a trip to the red light district? And everyone knows that with a 30-to-1 Thai baht to U.S. dollar ratio, you can live large at the bars (hint-hint)! Okay, so a night at a Vegas strip club is as follows (the following is tourist pricing). Cab: $30, entry into club: $30, 2 drinks: $30 + $10 tip, 3 table dances: $100. One hour later, you leave with $200 less in your pocket, replaced with blue balls. Or, if you go big-time, $500 for a bottle, lots of dances (up the ante of $100 to $500) and you’re living large in Vegas. So let’s see, our new total is $1,100, and you’re still leaving with blue balls! But hey, we’re a big-shot, right?

So that night our plan was to visit Nana Plaza. I’ll let you Google why the name is Nana. It’s a rectangular three-story shit hole that contains about 20 red-light bars. SPOILER ALERT: Unless you are into plain-looking, short, flat-chested brunette Asian women, don’t bother visiting. All the girls look the same, with a few exceptions. If you’re looking for hot Vegas-style women, tits and ass, then head to the far corner of the second floor. All the transvestites are the hottest women (the correct term is “ladyboy”), so if you don’t know any better, you’ll end up like Stu in Hangover II. But hey, I’m from Vegas! I know the difference, right?

We made it to our third bar. It’s twice as large as the last two, but the difference is there were 10 times the number of girls on stage— which is pretty impressive, considering the other bars were packed to capacity with girls on stage. Apparently, they don’t believe in lap dances. It’s almost like Lake Mead. When you head out on the docks, the fish are trampling over each other to get some popcorn from the tourists passing by. Same thing here, except the women are on stage above you with numbers so that you can pick them out like rubber ducks.

Of course, we were living large. We were buying drinks, throwing down cash, tipping everyone, giving girls tips while they’re onstage (unheard of), spending thousands and thousands of bahts. I calculated that we blew through 3,000 baht in this one bar! I was freaking out until I pulled out my iPhone and ran the number through my currency calculator (they have an app for that!) and realized that we only spent about $50 each! Fuck me! Is this great or what? So thenit was time to blow some real hard cash and pull some girls legally out of the club. I was trying to figure out how the clubs made any money just selling drinks. In Vegas, the girls are the hook to get guys to buy drinks. In Thailand, it’s the opposite. It’s the clubs that exist, to get the guys to buy the girls. They make more money that way. Each girl costs 600 baht, a fee that you pay the club (costs to the girls for services rendered are extra, we’ll discuss that later). My buddy pulled a tiny 35-year-old experienced girl out of one club. It costs him 500 baht (he got a discount for a slightly used model). I found one girl who was pretty hot, but when I realized that my cost in USD was only $20, I decided that it was my job to support industry (hey, I’m from Vegas, we support industry), so I pulled out another two smokin’ hot girls (definitely models) tall, slender, natural large tits and ass, 25 and 27. Remember, I spoke earlier about exceptions? Well, these were three exceptions, and we all headed back to my suite (I wouldn’t be caught dead in his shit hole and besides, we wouldn’t all fit)!

Then one of my girls tells me that she’s hungry (of course, we only passed 50 restaurants on the way to my hotel), and another girl tells me that she’s shy and 

see anything wrong with this picture? In Vegas, this is definitely getting played, but, this is Thailand, where honor in the service industry means something.

While we’re working out the details, my buddy had already been going at it for the last 20 minutes, hardcore! So I gave each girl 300 baht for food and a cab and sent them on their way. Then the shy one started working on me. This girl was even more beautiful than she was on stage. It started off with a full body oil massage and then, don’t ask. It looked like the Las Vegas Fire department had put out a fire in my room. Foam, water, soaked everywhere. My buddy had his hanging upside down from the rafters. It was, by far, the best cardio exercise that I’ve had in a while. It was so good that I forgot to take my Viagra and Cialis cocktail! And as soon as the referee rang the bell, sounding the end of the match, my other two companions returned from their feast ready for their bout.

So four to five hours later and it was time for them to say goodbye.  Even though I wanted them to stay, it wasn’t going to happen. The hotel would need to call in a hazmat team to clean up the suite. No nook was left untouched by the six of us. It was a glorious first night.  

Chapter 2

My goal was to lose 20 pounds while I was in Bangkok. I didn’t think that it would be too difficult since I was down to one meal a day, breakfast. My schedule is pretty simple: eat breakfast, work out at gym, take a nap poolside, shower, shave, head out to the red light district, pick up a girl, take her back to the room, spend two hours of cardio exercise with her, receive massage, sleep, and repeat, starting with breakfast.

It’s day number two and we’re headed out to Soi Cowboy (again, you can Google the name and understand its origins). Now, this place was totally different than Nana Plaza, where Nana Plaza looks like a scene out of West Side Story (you know the beginning where the Jets and Sharks rumble), this place looks like a shrunken down Fremont Street in Las Vegas, with neon lights and light bulb lit clubs on each side, complete with 100% authentic Vegas style food vendors, riffraff bums, and tourists. Girls are dressed in outfits (cowgirls, school girls, yellow taxi driver right out of Michael Jackson’s The WIZ, etc.) beckoning you to enter their establishment.

They even have Vegas names. Cowboy, Sahara, Susie Wong, Limelight, and a host of others I can’t remember. Every club looks like Sassy Sally’s on Fremont or a replica of a Las Vegas Hotel: small, made larger by mirrors, stages that are four feet off the ground, 100 girls on every stage in matching outfits, tiny little booths, bench seats, and a host of older women pushing drinks at 150 baht! (Remember, that’s only $5, but it’s the principle of the thing, dammit!) By this point, we’re experts on these types of clubs. We had one simple rule. Make that two simple rules. If a club had less than 200 girls on stage, or simply put, if there was enough space between them where you could see light, then the club was considered dead and we wouldn’t stay for a drink. Oh yeah, I forgot rule two. Stay out of Ladyboy clubs or any clubs where super hot tall Asian women were hanging around outside,  especially if the super hot girls had husky voices. A big no-no!

We decided to leave no stone unturned, so we went into every club (utilizing the two rule exception) and checked out what each one had to offer. These clubs are similar, but actually quite different. Some are two-story (don’t even talk about the stairs, any U.S. State Fire Marshall would shut them down in a minute) with see-through plastic floors, some are dimly lit, some are bright, some play house music, some retro, some country western, some cool Vegas club music.

I have no idea how we found this place, but the long and narrow stage (three feet wide) had 100 naked girls on it when we walked in, and as soon as we sat down, they disappeared. Then five girls took the stage, in matching costumes, and performed an act where they took yellow golf balls (I know that these were definitely not Ping Pong balls) holding their legs together, pushed them in between and dropped them into a cup. No, wait! I’m wrong! The first act was the girls who took cigarettes and smoked them through their lips (the other ones, not the ones on their face – now I know why some girls smell like stale cigarettes down there), next was the golf balls. But save the best for last! The new batch brought out unopened beer bottles. Needless to say, they did things to these beer bottles that I wouldn’t do to farm animals. The act ended with a gushing climax of beer all over the place. By the way, did I mention not to get too overdressed for these clubs? Shorts, a ripped T-shirt and sandals are top-notch attire.

One of the first clubs that we entered had the prettiest women. I met this one girl, 32 years old (a great-grandmother by Thai standards) who had the most beautiful face I ever saw. Couldn’t speak a word of English, but that face. I decided that no matter what, she had to be mine by the end of the night. Speaking about Asian 

women, I have a friend back home who loves Asian women. I could never really get into them, but as they say, “when in Rome.”  I now understand the fascination for Asian women.

It gets pretty exhausting traveling from club to club to club. The 10 steps in between each one was just too exhausting, so it was time to grab a girl, grab a cab, take her back home, have sex and call it a night! Of course, we forgot what club my 32-year-old worked, so we put on our Sherlock Holmes face and went on a trek to find the Holy Grail. Or was that put on our Indiana Jones hat in search of the Holy Grail? Not important, you get the drift. I found her; her name was May (yes I know, she probably made it up, but it was a better than October), we fell in love instantly. We locked lover’s eyes. I’m very particular in my choice of women. It has to be the right body, right height, right breasts, right ass, right lips, right smile, right face. My buddy picked up some young hot chick in about 10 seconds (he’s into quantity), not a bad choice considering the time he spent looking.

May told her sister (the older ugly waitress, did I forget to mention her?) that she would not be gone long and that we were going to a shithole hotel (probably owned by a friend, similar to my buddy’s place, only worse) at the end of the street for a quickie (this was all in Thai and we don’t speak Thai). When we got into a taxi, she was quite upset, but it was either: put out at The Palace (my hotel), or get out! Of course, at this exact moment in time, my baby from the previous night calls me on the phone begging me to come and get her from work (which consists of swaying side to side with 100 other girls on a stage. Who would blame her?) I think that May got a little jealous when I said the word “Baby,” and reluctantly got into the cab. May was not into group sex (like the group from the previous night) so it just became a very private close encounter of the third kind. 

However, there was a huge obstacle that occurred. Let me explain this from their point of view. Asian women love Asian men because of their small size. They slide in easy, come quick, and 10 minutes later, the girls can leave. A quick DISCLAIMER: this is not to say that all Asian men are small. Some of my best friends are Asian porn stars, and they can go toe to toe with the best of them. However, the small size was not the case with my buddy and me. To them, we were like Godzilla, a monster that they could only tame with their golden throats (am I mixing this up with King Kong? I could never get the two of them straight). For if Godzilla entered the cave, well, you saw the movie didn’t you? For all of you that didn’t, Godzilla enters New York City and destroys all the skyscrapers. Did anyone ever ask the skyscrapers if that hurt? 

Poor thing was in so much pain, she could barely speak, let alone walk. You do understand the analogy, don’t you? I felt terrible because I caused the destruction of New York City, and I still had an arsenal of weapons that I had yet to fire! So being the person that I am, I carried her limp body to the lobby, waited for the taxi to arrive, brought her all the way back to the club, hopped into another cab and headed back to Nana Plaza. What? You actually think that I’d head back to my hotel room? I’ve got weapons loaded and there are more monsters out there! It’s closing time at most bars when I get hit by a mob leaving the area (just like trying to walk in the wrong direction when the stadium lets out). I search frantically for my loved one (last night’s conquest) but all I see far and wide are ladyboys. So, I have to make a quick decision. Eat some shit food on the street while looking for my baby, or grab a taxi and head back to the hotel. If you remember, I am trying to lose 20 pounds, so the decision was easy.

It’s 4 a.m., I’m asleep having a wonderful dream (as I could tell by the pup tent in my sheets) when my phone rings. It’s my baby. She’s back at her apartment and asked what happened to me. I explained that I was there, but couldn’t find her in the crowd. Our cell phones don’t work one block off the main road. (Hey, it’s Thailand.) We setup a date for the next evening, very early, and if all goes well, it will be a battle between Mothra and Godzilla that will soon to be remembered. Of course, she doesn’t speak very good English, and I speak no Thai, so we could have been talking about the upcoming election or erection or whatever.

Chapter 3

I forgot where I was; it must have been the sleep deprivation. Oh yeah, I think I remember.  Well, it’s another night and we decided to switch off of our alternating between Nana Plaza and Soi Cowboy, so we just said, “Fuck it,” and headed off to Nana Plaza, since it was closer and the road heads off in that direction (if we were in the U.S., following the same course of action, we’d be heading to Soi Cowboy. But in Thailand, they drive on the opposite side of the road). We first hit a bar called Spanky’s, located on the second floor. The reason why they call it Spanky’s is because they hit you with a folded over tube of pipe insulation (you know, the stuff you buy at Lowe’s or Home Depot to keep your pipes from freezing during the winter) and it makes a whipping sound like the snap of a rope the lion tamer uses at the circus. I always wondered why Lowe’s is out of stock during the summer months. Now I know where it ends up!

Spanky’s, being a smaller bar, (the stage only holds about 20 girls, 40 if they’re performing their cheerleading routine), tends to do these specialty shows. Up to four girls do some type of act. This one was a hot lesbian act (however, I don’t believe that this one was an act) where one girl would strip and lick the other girl everywhere on her body, including the areas that weren’t visible (which is why I believe it was real), bring her to climax, and then it was repeated onto the girl still clothed). Ok, I know what you’re saying. We’ve seen that before in a hotel room, but this was actually choreographed! The girls stripped, licked and even climaxed all at the same time! Like when the elephants turn around during the center ring at the circus, totally choreographed! As with most shows, the star is usually the hottest girl in the show.After all, no star wants to be upstaged by a chorus line dancer. And since we’re going large in Bangkok, throwing Benji-bahts (that’s a Thai Benjamin... 100 bahts, or USD $3.33), we were not willing to accept just any chorus line girl. Of course, my buddy still had his high school age rule in effect. 

The star of the show looked young enough (we find out later that she’s actually 25, with a four-year-old), so we picked her up and then proceed onto other clubs, using her as bait to catch other fish. Oh wait, back up. I almost forgot. There was this really cute, slightly heavy, no scratch that, voluptuous girl, with dirty blonde hair beaded on one side, that was looking at me with those sexy eyes and beautiful natural large breasts, that it just got me in the mood to go to my wild side and that I had to have her! We were leaving in the morning to head to Pattaya, so we had made a pact to accept no girl short-term (meaning two hours), they had to stay “long time” (all night). Hey, we were living large, remember? So this voluptuous sex kitten comes over and sits by us, and when we find out that she could only do “short time,” we bowed our heads in sadness and parted ways. But we remembered where she worked and told her that we’d be back next week. She left with some fat Asian dude. Broke my heart.

While Spanky’s was a very nice club, the slowness of the dancing shows was putting me to sleep and I needed a caffeine fix. So since they didn’t serve coffee, I left my friends and headed over to the next club, AngelWitch. The very cool thing about this club was, not only did they have really hot women and played great music, but they also served great coffee. So while I’m drinking my coffee, I’m carefully undressing the girls with my eyes, trying to find my next victim (I know now how it feels to be a vampire, without all of the side effects). I believed that I’d found the one I wanted, when my buddy walked in with the girl (who was the star of the last club’s show), joined me, and started examining my choices. His girl turned down all of my picks as not being wild enough and told me that there are better girls on the third and fourth floors. Strange, I’m intrigued. I had been to Nana Plaza three nights and I didn’t remember the fourth floor. So we headed out and started checking other clubs, working our way down from the fourth floor.

It turns out I wasn’t going crazy. There are only three floors. Some of the clubs on the fourth floor are two stories, hence the fourth floor interpretation, but in actuality, it’s only three floors. We checked them out, but they were dead (15 girls or less), so we skip them and move on to another. The last club on the third floor looked familiar somehow, but by this time, the three cups of coffee (Stop, they were small cups, equal to one medium Starbucks) was causing a diuretic effect and it was time to drain the vein in the closest bathroom. I walk in, unzipped my fly, pull it out and breathe a sigh of relief. Before I could even close the tap, a girl came up to me screaming, “Hello! Hello!” jumps into my arms and starts kissing me passionately. Apparently, she was my buddy’s girl from the other night and had recognized me.  

I’m sorry, I forgot to explain about the bathroom. Bathrooms in Thailand clubs are unisex. Urinals are on the walls leading up to the toilets. And the sinks are on the opposite walls with mirrors. So the girls can fully see the guys urinate while they wash their hands. While this may not be the ideal solution for sanitary settings, it does save on room, since these clubs are quite small. I brought her out and show my buddy who I found in the bathroom. I wasn’t ready to pull her out quite yet, since we were on a scouting expedition, so I told her that I’d be back later to get her. However, if someone else wanted her, she should go with them, and I wouldn’t be upset.

So then we were back down to the second floor where we started but on the opposite side. The next club, by far, on this side, is Rainbow 4, and since it was the only club we hadn’t been to that night, it was our last choice. However, there was a big problem. Since this was the club where I pulled out girls from the previous nights, there was no question that I would be recognized by everyone once we walked in. Since our objective for the night was to find new talent, this presented a real problem. I was worried that the previous night’s conquest would be all over me, hindering my objective. So we snuck in, keeping our heads low, heading over to the back wall opposite from our normal seating area. Of course, being far back, we couldn’t see shit! Kinda defeated the purpose, don’t you think? I spotted this girl, a Kim Kardashian wannabe, who was on stage with the other sardines, swaying to and fro, with the worst attitude I have ever seen. She looked miserable as if the monthly monster has arrived for a visit and had been kidnapped by a rich Arab sheik against her will (think of that scene in Taken). I just had to have her! I walked up to her, gave her 100 baht, and asked her to join us. She took the money, but brushed off my advances, instead sitting on a stool in the back by the bar. Maybe this was Kim 

Kardashian? I told the house mom to bring her over. She reluctantly says hello and tells me that she can’t leave and once again blows me off. No wonder why I never liked that show.

As we leave the club with the three girls in tow, wait a damn minute! I forgot to tell you about the other two girls that I picked up. Let me back up. Where did I leave off? Oh yeah, the Kardashian thing. So I sat there after being brushed off by her, my buddy’s girl tells me to get up off my ass and start looking for a new girl or two. I think that’s what she said, after all, she was talking to me in Thai. She grabbed my hand and dragged me around the bar several times until she stopped in front of a girl who she believed was right for me. While she was a stripper, this girl looked more like a librarian and the idea of doing a librarian got me excited. Unfortunately, there was this wild, exotic girl next to her that I had to have as well, so being the pig that I am, I took them both.

We returned to my hotel and decided to hit it up big since it was my last night in town. We all headed up to my room and I realized that there was no way that I would have enough bath towels for five people, and room service being very poor at night (this is not a typical Vegas style hotel, it is a managed apartment condo), I decided to swing upstairs to the gym (where they always have plenty of towels) and grab some for the room. Wouldn’t you know it, NO TOWELS the night when I need them!  When I returned, my buddy’s girl is in tears and I’m wondering what he did in such a short period of time to hurt her. Apparently, she thought it was going to be some type of orgy (why not?) but she was only interested in doing him. So he says, “No problem,” and they picked up their stuff and head back over to her place. I gave her two lollipops to take with her, which seemed to brighten up her mood (girls always like lollipops, don’t ask me why, but they do).

Ok, so here I am with two hotties: the wild child and the Librarian. Now, just in case you think you know what’s going on, guess again. After spending many, many years going to the library, I can honestly say that Librarians are the wildest women in bed that I have ever had. I think that it has something to do with their being so quiet and demure, that when they have a chance to let down their hair, watch out!

I could go on and on and on about the sex we had that night, but if you would take the time to the read the Kama Sutra, well, that’s what we did, only not in that order! four hours later, they kissed me, leave, head out, while I’m just about to pass out. I get a good solid two hours of sleep, and then it was down to breakfast, check out, and travel to Pattaya for the next leg of my trip.




By Howard T. Brody

While the fashionisters (the male version of fashionista) debate over whether or not they should wear lace shorts or rompers this summer— and yes they really do exist, and yes, people really do wear them—  STRIPLV tackles the one really hard fashion question that sooner or later every man must decide.

“Should I shave?”

While some cultures around the world interpret beards and mustaches as a sign of wisdom, honor, masculinity and virility, we must face the fact (pun intended) that Americans are obsessed with facial hair. We have an entire industry built on male grooming, which generated $21 billion worldwide last year, $9.1 billion of which was from U.S. consumers. What’s more, online sales of men’s barbering products continue to grow. In 2016, men’s shaving products reached $826 million in sales through internet retail outlets, about 9% of the total sales in this space. The biggest online seller in this category, Dollar Shave Club, which has more than 3 million subscribers and whose annual sales topped $200 million in 2016, was sold last year to Unilever for $1 billion.

Americans are so obsessed with facial hair that each year a three-day event is held, sponsored by major corporations like Remington (Spectrum Brands), Lone Star Beer (Pabst Brewing Company) and Just For Men (Combe Incorporated), called the World Beard and Moustache Championships. This year the event will be held in Austin, Texas from September 1–3 at the Long Center for the Performing Arts, which can accommodate more than 2,000 people. The event will attract facial hair enthusiasts from around the world including more than 1,000 competitors and fans, and will feature live entertainment, food vendors, family-friendly activities and dozens of competitions.

So, how did we go from the old barber shave for five cents to the multi-billion dollar industry of today where we have clubs, organizations and competitions?

Well, a lot of it has to do with how Americans like their faces to look and so we have to go back about 200 years to trace America’s history as it pertains to beards and mustaches.

The Early 1800s

Right around the turn of the 19th century, American men typically had clean-shaven faces. For a good reason. America had won their independence from the British crown only three decades prior, and those who were in leadership positions were feeling a sense of authority and freedom, which in itself was odd because slavery was still very much a reality at the time. However, it was commonplace for black men who weren’t slaves to serve as barbers during this time and become independently wealthy by listening to the secrets that were shared by the scholars and power players who frequented their barbershops.

As the 1800s moved forward, racial tensions in the U.S. mounted. By 1848 the government grew from 13 colonies to 30 states, and many of them wanted to end slavery. As friction continued and we moved closer toward the Civil War, many white men began fearing the position of power black barbers held. Because of this fall from grace by the black barbers and since white men ran the risk of contracting tetanus (or even something that would lead to death if their razors were not properly sterilized when they shaved), facial hair and an unkempt look came into fashion.

The Mid-1800s

By the start of the American Civil War in 1861, all facial hair was extremely popular in both the North and the South, but heavy sideburns and Shenandoah beards seemed to dominate men’s grooming habits. While today we think of sideburns as hair down the side of one’s face – popularized during the clean shaven era by men like U.S. Presidents John Quincy Adams and Martin Van Buren and which had a resurgence more than 100 years later during the late 1960s and early to mid-1970s – in those days sideburns included a mustache that would connect the two. The term was named after Civil War Union Army General Ambrose E. Burnside, who after the war served three one-year terms as Governor of Rhode Island, was elected to the Rhode Island Senate as a U.S. Senator and who was the very first president of the National Rifle Association.

As for the Shenandoah beard, also called a chin curtain, look no further than  your wallet and the portrait printed on the five dollar bill. Oddly enough the 16th President of the United States of America, Abraham Lincoln, didn’t grow his beard until late 1860. A few weeks before Lincoln was elected, an 11-year-old girl named Grace Bedell from Westfield, New York, wrote him a letter urging him to grow a beard to improve his appearance. The suggestion turned into the iconic look we know today. The chin curtain grows along the jaw line and covers the chin completely. This is not to be confused with the chinstrap – a similar beard style that also grows along the jaw line but does not cover the chin fully. Also, many chin curtain beards do not extend far below the jaw line, if at all, whereas all chinstrap beards normally do.

The Shenandoah remains common even today among married Amish men. Male members of this religious sect generally grow a beard after baptism but shave off their mustache. To the Amish, the mustache is associated with the German military fashion that was prevalent at the time of their community’s formation in Europe. The exclusion of the mustache serves as a symbol of their commitment to pacifism.

The Early 1900s

As the 20th century came about, men once again began to fancy a more clean-shaven look, except this time there was the occasional mustache thrown into the mix. Instead of politics and power playing a part in the pronouncement, advertising, sex and science were the deciding factors. With viruses discovered in the 1890s on the heels of the work done by bacteriologists like Louis Pasteur and Robert Koch, beards were thought to carry germs, including influenza, which of course was still a major cause of death in the early 1900s.

In addition to the fear of kicking the bucket, there was only one thing that could perhaps motivate men even more than dying – the prospect of getting laid. By 1910, The Gillette Company, which was founded only nine years earlier, began encouraging men through advertising campaigns to shave daily, claiming that women appreciated and preferred a clean-shaven face.

That didn’t stop the 27th President of the United States, William Howard Taft, from sporting a much-revered handlebar mustache, aptly named after the shape of bicycle handlebars. While Taft wasn’t the first well-known American to rock that style of ‘stache – Wyatt Earp, Buffalo Bill, and J.P. Morgan all wore it before him – from 1909 to 1913 he was the last POTUS to do so. As a matter of fact no presidents since Taft have worn any facial hair, and perhaps that might be contributed back to the notion of women preferring a clean-shaven face. After all, on November 2, 1920, more than eight million women across the U.S. voted in elections for the very first time.

The 1930s and 1940s

While various forms of facial hair were fairly common prior to and during World War II, the most dominant mustaches of the era were the pencil mustache (a thin mustache that outlines the upper lip, neatly trimmed so that it takes the form of a thin line, as if having been drawn using a pencil) and the toothbrush mustache (shaved at the edges, except for about an inch and a half above the center of the upper lip with the sides being vertical rather than tapered). The pencil mustache, called that because it was “pencil-thin,” stretched across the upper lip with a space between the top of the mustache and the nose. Many classic Hollywood stars of 

the era wore pencil mustaches and were considered quite handsome, including Errol Flynn, Clark Gable, and William Powell. Other notable people over the years who have worn the pencil mustache include actors David Niven, Vincent Price and Sean Penn, director John Waters, and musicians George Benson, Prince, Little Richard and Sammy Davis, Jr. In 1974 Jimmy Buffett wrote and sang “Pencil Thin Mustache,” where he wishes he had a pencil thin mustache like the titular film character Boston Blackie.

Before the start of World War II, toothbrush mustaches were also prominent among men. Living in the U.S., comic actor Charlie Chaplin was an iconic wearer of this mustache, showcasing it in such well-known classic films like Modern Times and City Lights. Another such iconic wearer of the toothbrush mustache was Oliver Hardy of the famed comedy team Laurel and Hardy. Unfortunately, the most nefarious wearer of this mustache style was German Chancellor Adolf Hitler, who pretty much ruined it for everyone. By the end of the war, this facial hair fashion was out of style for obvious reasons.

In 2010, under some ill advice, former basketball legend Michael Jordan wore a toothbrush mustache for a Hanes’ underwear TV commercial. Reaction from the public and the press was quite unfavorable and it prompted Jordan’s close friend and legendary basketball player in his own right, Charles Barkley, to tell Yahoo! Sports at the time: “I have got to admit that I don't know what the hell he was thinking and I don't know what Hanes was thinking. I mean it is just stupid, it is just bad, plain and simple.”

The 1950s

While most of America was clean cut during the happy days of the 1950s, which included sock hops, poodle skirts and the birth of rock and roll, the goatee, which had been around for about 100 years, came back into prominence. It was reintroduced into the mainstream consciousness via the counterculture movement, worn by free-thinkers called beatniks, as well as soul and jazz musicians like Dizzy Gillespie, who had been around since the 1940s.

A variation of the goatee was called the Van Dyke, named after 17th-century Flemish painter Anthony van Dyck. A Van Dyke typically consists of hair growth of both a goatee and mustache with all hair on the cheeks shaved. This particular style itself has many variations, including a curled mustache versus a non-curled mustache and a soul patch, which is explained below, as opposed to no soul patch.

Oddly enough, some of the most famous Americans with goatees are fictional characters, including Uncle Sam, who first appeared shortly after the War of 1812, Maynard G. Krebs from the old TV Show "The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis", Shaggy Rogers from the Scooby-Doo franchise and Tony Stark (aka the Marvel Comics superhero Iron Man).

Along with the goatee, the soul patch, came into prominence during this time and into the 1960s, when it was common among African-American men, most notably jazz musicians. Also known as a mouche or a jazz dot, it's a small patch of facial hair just below the lower lip and above the chin. It became popular with beatniks, artists, and those who frequented the jazz scene and moved in literary and artistic circles.

The goatee made a big comeback in the 1990s as a lot of athletes and rappers donned the facial hair fashion, and it has stuck around ever since.

The 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s.

While most of America was still clean shaven and clean cut when the ‘60s began, by the middle of the decade, all that started to change as long hair became fashionable and facial hair was a wild, free for all, with many men sporting full beards. Beatniks were replaced by hippies, and while some of the greatest music was being created, the unkempt look among young people became the norm.

However, like all things, that fashion statement didn’t last, and by the mid-‘70s most of America’s males were once again well groomed. Hair remained long, but it was styled and while people were out at the discos, the horseshoe mustache, also called the biker mustache, and often confused with the handlebar mustache, was picking up popularity, especially among modern cowboys and rodeo performers. Lasting well into the ‘80s, the horseshoe has vertical extensions grown on the corners of the lips and down the sides of the mouth to the jawline, resembling an upside-down "U" or a horseshoe. The facial hair grown along the sides of the mouth in the horseshoe are sometimes called “pipes.” Perhaps the most well-known personality to sport this type of mustache is former pro wrestler Hulk Hogan. Not surprisingly, this type of facial hair was also commonly seen on adult film stars of the day and is one of two mustache styles that is universally referred to as a “pornstache” with the other known as the chevron.

First making a big splash in 1969 on Robert Redford in the film Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, the chevron covers the area between the nose and the upper lip, out to the edges of the upper lip but no further.

The chevron was popular throughout the ‘70s and ‘80s and was solidly embedded in virtually every area of American culture – TV journalist Walter Cronkite, music Freddie Mercury of Queen, sports racecar driver Richard Petty, baseball star Reggie Jackson and Olympic swimming gold medalist Mark Spitz, and even politics Nixon administration liaison G. Gordon Liddy. Notable adult film stars of the day that sported the chevron included John Holmes, Harry Reems and “The Hedgehog” himself, Ron Jeremy.

But all those personalities can thank a trio of actors for bringing the chevron mustache into mainstream fashion during this time, which included Billy Dee Williams as Lando Calrissian in The Empire Strikes Back, Tom Selleck as the title character on the ultra-popular TV show Magnum, P.I., and Burt Reynolds of Deliverance and Smokey and the Bandit fame who also posed nude for Cosmopolitan in 1972, which was the inspiration to launch Playgirl magazine.

In the late ‘80s, while women were busy at the mall wearing big hair and shoulder pads, the five o’clock shadow look on guys was around for a hot minute thanks to Don Johnson and Philip Michael Thomas on the hit TV show Miami Vice, which mixed action and fashion like no other show before it or since.


With the exception of the metrosexual arriving on the scene about 10 years ago (a young, urban, heterosexual male with liberal political views, an interest in fashion and a refined sense of taste), not much had really changed in male facial hair until the beard trend of the late 2000s.

Associated with “hipster” culture, the bearded, plaid shirt-wearing look has become so popular among American men these days that they have been nicknamed “lumbersexual,” which is defined as a young, urban man who cultivates an appearance and style of dress suggestive of a rugged, outdoor lifestyle.

Today, virtually every style of facial hair is commonplace both here in the U.S. and across the globe. About 33% of American men currently have facial hair, compared with 55% of the men worldwide.

A 2013 study by the official journal of the Human Behavior and Evolution Society found that men with full beards are seen as more attractive, healthier, better at parenting and more masculine. That study was reinforced last year.

In 2016, researchers from the University of Queensland in Australia explored male facial hair on a global scale to determine what role it had in sexual attractiveness, masculinity and both short-term and long-term relationships.

More than 8,500 women were shown photos of men with varying amounts of facial hair. The images, manipulated by researchers to show the same men, showed the men with clean-shaven faces, light stubble, heavy stubble and thick beards.

According to the results, published in the Journal of Evolutionary Biology, women said the sexiest men were those with heavy stubble, followed by those with short stubble. Men who were clean shaven and those with full beards were rated the lowest on the overall sexiness scale.

So what’s the next trend along evolutionary trail of facial hair in America? It all depends on what women like. Just like in the early 1900s, there is only one thing that could motivate men to do just about anything when it comes to facial hair – the prospect of getting laid.

Facial hair may come, and facial hair may go, but some things never change.




By Lainie Speiser

The other day I had to go to Craigslist to put out an ad for the podcast I rep, The SDR Show. We are looking for ladies who will walk around Union Square Park topless with The SDR Show logo across their brave boobies, and I got nostalgic for my days when I used CL to satisfy my need for sexual adventure. I did it so often in fact that my friends started to worry that my life would be ended by the Craigslist killer, which I told them that would never happen because I’m not a victim type or a hooker. Nope, even though I should have been paid for my excellent performances I never charged anyone a dime, unless you consider cocktails and the occasional request to bring a large pepperoni pizza to my home payment.

These were the days before everyone started swiping right and left on their phones aka Tinder and when you had to sit at a computer to get some delicious, objectifying sex with a stranger. Now when I hear people talk about Tinder, I point out how I believe 80% of the men and women who are swiping are probably sitting on the toilet taking a big dump while they scan for partners and that idea is not appetizing to me. I don’t know how I started using Craigslist as my own personal single’s bar, but I do know when I left Penthouse Magazine the office manager must have found a lot of dirty emails and dick pics on their hard drive. What can I say? Some people enjoy taking a break by looking at cuddly, cute cat videos on YouTube, but I found my oasis by planning lunch time nookie for myself.

Nothing scary or bad ever happened to me from meeting strangers, like Anne Frank, I have a firm belief that most people are good. I also am good at reading people, even via emails, and never got hurt, conned or catfished, except for the 

one time I was sent a photo of a cute, geeky white guy sitting at his computer, but when I met him at Starbucks I discovered he was a geeky, middle-aged, bad moustache wearing immigrant from India wearing a wedding ring. “Absolutely not,” I said when he introduced himself, and turned around and left. He later sent me an email saying I was even prettier in person and thanked me for not leading him on. “Leading YOU on?” I wrote, “How the heck in god’s green earth did you think you could get away with this? Did you think I’d forget you sent me a photo of someone who was not you?” Now you can take these photos and do a Google search to find out if the person is legit, of course. But even when that happened, I didn’t get angry. It’s all part of the gamble, and the odds for a woman on Craigslist back then were in her favor.

It was a veritable boy buffet, and when I didn’t see anything I liked I would post (without my photo) what I was looking for: a big, blonde corn-fed boy next door, a long hair hippie with an edge, an older, bolder, DILF going through a divorce, whatever I was in the mood for, and I would always get a ton of responses. It was thrilling to see who was going to respond; that was a lot of allure. Of course, I’d meet men organically too, walking down the street, at parties or bars, but those men were no better than the ones I met online, and the experiences tended to be boring, the dates tedious with me at times thinking, “I’d rather be home eating wings and watching True Blood” (to give you a sense of the timeline). Back then people thought all you met were uglies, losers, weirdos, and murderers on such a forum, but except for the weirdos, and I’m just generally a weirdo magnet, none of that was true.

I remember meeting one man during my lunch hour who looked like a movie star, tall, blonde, built, gorgeous face – and he was nice too. He opened the door wearing a Brooks Brothers bathrobe and a big smile, we had a lot of fun, and afterward, his pillow talk was giving me some pointers for doing this. “You have a nice body, you should send photos where we can see it,” he said. “That way they know you’re not a beast and will reply faster.” While women are scared the men they were meeting off Craigslist were serial killers, men worried that the women they were meeting off Craigslist were in real-life 20 years older and 60 pounds heavier, a fate worse than death.

Even now, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve channel surfed and discovered a guy I hooked up with on Craigslist was on The Millionaire Matchmaker or guest starred on 30 Rock, or a chef on the Food Channel or an actor on the soap opera One Life to Live. For quick, horny hookups it’s rare to learn their last name, and it’s even questionable that they were using their real name. Some of these potential paramours would Google my name though, as I had no shame about it, and find out I worked in adult entertainment and think I was a hooker or a scam-artist, while others would email, “Can we have a three-way with a Penthouse Pet?” One French pilot got very angry that I wasn’t into girls and was offended when I said, “If I was looking for a three-way I would have said so right away,” to which he replied, “Okay goodbye, Stupid, goodbye!” Some men who Googled my name didn’t want to meet me when they saw I was a writer. “You’re very cute Lainie, but I don’t want to be the subject of an article.”

Not everyone wanted to meet up and screw, some wanted to have a proper date and see if there’s chemistry for a possible ongoing relationship, although it would always be sexual in nature of course. A New Yorker editor met me at a bar. He was just adorable with that tousled, curly hair I love so much, and a writer, working on a historical novel. I thought we had a pretty good time, there was definitely a lot of flirting, but before I even got home he emailed me that he thought I was attractive and sexy, but he had Googled me before the date, already knew I was in adult entertainment and was disappointed I didn’t tell him about that when we met up. I usually don’t tell people about my job when I first meet them because I don’t want to spend an evening answering questions about it. He emailed, “I think this kind of deception is not the way to begin a possible relationship and besides that, you seem to have a lot of energy, and I’m worried I won’t be able to keep up with you. I’m not a swinger.” I emailed him back, “Neither am I.” and that was that.

I met a cellist who worked for the Broadway musical, Wicked, in the orchestra pit. After some drinks we went back to his place where he asked me to take off my clothes and lie down on the bed. After I did he did the same, laid down next to me, and finger banged me into a decent orgasm, then reached under his bed, produced a bottle of baby oil, ask me to rub him down and jerk him off, which I did, feeling like I worked in a massage parlor. He wouldn’t fuck me. He was afraid of disease even though I brought my Lifestyle condoms, and when I left, it was one of the rare times I felt empty from my sexcapade. I didn’t contact him again, and he didn’t contact me, until six months later when he emailed me saying he jerked off thinking of me that morning and wanted to see me again. I should have left it there. I didn’t want to see him, but instead, I emailed him back that although I found him to be very attractive, he was rather robotic and cold for someone like me, so thanks, but no thanks. He emailed me back that I was a nasty bitch who smelled like cigarettes and told me to go fuck myself. “I already did an hour ago,” I replied. I thought that would be the end of that, but he emailed me again a month later with the same message about jerking off thinking about me, etc. I think he completely forgot our last exchange, but this time I just didn’t reply.

When I was telling my friend, comedian Josh Accardo, the host of The Broken Tailed Podcast about my Craig lusty past he asked me if I was a sex addict and what kind of place was I at during this time.

I could tell you that I was bored and lonely, but mainly I was horny. I wanted dick, and I don’t think love and sex are the same things. While I do think they can exist happily together, and they do with my husband now, I don’t think it’s necessary.

I told the young, beautiful producer Shannon of The SDR Show who hasn’t had sex in two years, “If I waited until I met the right person to have sex, I too would have gone that long without sex, and that is not an idea I could handle to explore.”

“I wanted dick,” I said to Josh during his podcast, “I was a vampire for dick, I needed it, I wanted it, and I was going to have it.” Masturbation is just a snack between well-balanced one-on-one sex meals to me. I don’t see why I have to do without the one thing I love that is free and safe and makes me happy if I don’t have to.

There were, of course, some jackasses here and there. Men who were obviously married or fake and didn’t want to meet up. They just wanted some email sex, 

some masturbation material. I wasn’t going to give that away for free, and as far as I’m concerned that’s as much cheating as having sex in real life. When the emails continue for days with no plan of meeting up, or they keep hedging the subject, do not continue, it’s not going to happen. He’s either a total troll or he’s married and wasting your time. I would engage in a limited amount of emails and if there was no plan being made I stopped engaging. Or if I kept being asked for more and more photos, I would also stop engaging; I see no reason to give away jerk off material and dick picks, for me, like with most women, are boring. I would also get annoyed by the double standard.

One handsome, stacked young man in finance, who turned out, lived in my neighborhood, kept asking me for more photos so he could gauge what I looked like better. But he in turn only sent me one single photo, that was obviously his work ID picture. “I’ll send more photos when you do,” I said when he asked me for more photos of my body. He enjoyed my feisty nature, and we did meet up. When we were making out on his couch, I stopped, removed my top and said, “I’m sorry I hope this is up to your high standards. Should I go?” He laughed and said, “No, no, stay I was an idiot, stay, stay!” I felt better after that, and we hooked up several times after that until he moved to the West Coast.

Of course, there were a whole lot of men who I wouldn’t want to sit next to on a subway much less get busy with. When I got a response from someone I did not find attractive, unless he was a dick or sent me an unsolicited dick pick when I clearly wrote in my post, “No dick picks please,” I would always respond. I think it’s rude not to reply to a person who put themselves out there for you. I would email back, “Thank you for your response, and while you are certainly a nice-looking person, unfortunately, you are not my type. Good luck and have a great day.” And more often, than not, I’d receive a polite thank you, or no response at all. No matter what you’re doing, I always believe in being polite in respectful, whether you’re in a business meeting or buying an eighth of weed, everyone deserves to be treated politely and with kindness.

I can’t remember the last person I met on Craigslist; I just know I abruptly stopped because the pickings were getting slim and I started my own business and didn’t have that kind of time and interest to Tom Cat around the web. The thrill was gone, plain and simple. I had bigger fish to fry, and I had enough “repeat customers” to serve my needs anyway. The last time I went on the web, was when I finally listened to my big sister and made a profile on, where I met my husband David, who was the only man I went on a date with. I posted a pretty but modest photo of myself because my sister said I should project a look that said relationship, not lunchtime dalliance. I received David’s profile on the Match daily “suggestions” and sent him a cute, but short note (never respond with more than a paragraph, or you’ll look like a lonely, sad person). David responded right away with, “Interesting,” which is never a good response. So, I let it go and decided to post the photos I sent on Craigslist which were sexier and the real me, which made David reach out again and email me, “Hey thanks for the new pictures, they are great, I love your cleavo! How about we meet up and kick the tires and see where this can go?” Five years later we got married. The lesson to be learned: don’t be afraid to get what you want, don’t worry about what other people will think of you and always send photos showing your best attribute, which in my case are, my two best attributes, my boobs.

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