The Peepshow
December 17, 2011 § 14 Comments
I knew nothing about sex. My sexuality had been stunted because logic told me that as a poor person I could not afford to get pregnant or diseased. I was gang girl with brass knuckles on both fists. A real tough cookie, but in some ways I was still very naive.
It was my first month working at Show Follies Peepshow Palace. I was 19 and it was also my first look at adult sexuality. I was looking through a Plexiglas window and it was looking back at me.
A man would whisper in my direction “I got a diaper on.”
And I would laugh, “Oh you’re so funny!” Not understanding the man was actually wearing a diaper and was sexually excited by this.
I was starting to become accustom to how things work. Protect your money, give as little as possible, take as much as possible, don’t touch other people’s wigs, lipstick, or boyfriends.
The girls took a liking to me. They had names like Pebbles, Snowy, CoCo, and Star. Just like all the prostitutes and clowns I had ever seen on television! This was exciting! I even changed my name. I became Domino. Like the sugar. Like the game. Domino.
The girls talked me into buying a wig to cover my shaved head. The first time I put it on, they fought in the dressing room over how shitty it looked and who would help me fix it.
I had never had hair and knew nothing about looking like a woman. When I was about to break down in tears, Snowy dropped a tiger striped barrette in the damn thing and sent me out to my booth.
I want you to understand there is a lot of competition between these women. Everyone wants to look the best and make the most money. I must have looked pretty fucking pathetic for everyone to chip in and try to make me look like a woman.
Later that night Snowy showed me how to roll the wig up and turn it inside out to keep it from getting tangled. Once she had set it so nice, I never once took the barrette out or combed it again. The wig developed dreadlocks on the underside. It got nasty. One day I just threw it in the trash on the corner of 47th Street. Bought a new one.
I am a woman now and I’ve seen thousands of men jerk off. They were all slightly shielded by that layer of Plexiglas that separates a live peepshow girl from her client. It was interesting to see the various techniques the men used. The thumb at the topside of the penis shaft and the hand wrapped around like a fist. Most times they would use a smooth, constant pumping action and then end with a few fast strokes. Others got a bit more spastic.
When they would erupt – the sperm – the spunk would sometimes billow out the little hole and roll down their hand. Other times it would shoot straight out and melt down the glass… It was like lava to me. It really scared me.
They would wipe their hands and penis on their shirttails and tuck them back in to their pants, as though nothing had happened.
(Photo: Times Square, circa 1985. From the Bob Fingerman archives.)
I wish I could have seen you with a shaved head!
you are one very talented lady an author doll x
Short and sweet and fascinating. Definitely leaves me wanting more. Can’t wait for the new book!
Btw, have I missed the other 5 days of streaming, or are you still searching for a new client?
Much love, Domino…
I love your words
You are one of the few women that leave me speechless. That was very sad, was it supposed to be sad?
It is not meant to be anything other than what it is. If you feel sad, then it is sad. For me it is about fear and my inability to navigate. I meant to show what is in the heart of a young woman who is thrust into a world that is bigger than her.
Fingerman Archives? That’s a bit grandiose, but I like it. Your tales of Times Square are always fascinating. Jesus, men are effing gross. I don’t know what skeeves me out most, the endless parade of jacking off, the billows of “issue,” or — and I think this is the worst — the wipe and tuck of shame. So unhygienic. You have seen some shit.
really enjoying your blog. everything a blog should be. thank you.
you sure can tell it sister…i likey…x0x0x0x0x0x00x0x00xx0x0!!!!!!
I love you for being you – that you share your story with all of us, that you treated your peepshow clients like a research project, that your skills of observation and taking it all in with little judgement are well sharpened tools in your lab bag.
It’s like your whole life has been one experiment after another.
I love your honesty and ability to communicate your memories so vividly. It’s a very interesting…and terrifying…and enlightening look into a world I know nothing about.
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