Skip navigation

Category Archives: don’t make me punch you in the asshole

Three words for you. The most terrifying combination of words I’ve had to use in this blog so far:

Crossdressing trucker’s escort.


The Bouncer, my friend Momo, and Momo’s brother were all in the store. The Bouncer was returning some movies and browsing for more, and he always ends up staying for like a half hour longer, minimum, to just hang out. He is one of the few customers I don’t mind doing this, as he’s one of the sane and one of my favorites, much like Latin Queen. Momo and MomoBro, I’ve known for probably just short of a decade, and they were in town for some reason or another and stopped by to visit. Momo’s met The Bouncer several times before, as she lived with me for about a month and used to visit often.

So it’s about 10:30, and they’re all hanging around the front desk as I’m going about my work. I see someone approaching the front door and, seeing my eyes widen in terror, the others all glance over and look equally terrified.  In walks a skinny man in his fifties. In a tank top and waaaaay too short miniskirt. With a really bad wig and poorly applied makeup. Oh dear god.

Now, let me make it clear- whatever your gender/sex preference is, as long as it’s safe, sane, and consensual, that’s a-okay by me. If you’re a Hell’s Angel and wearing lacy women’s underpants is what tickles your pickle, go for it.  but in this case? This is what we’re looking at here:

oh dear god

Looks like Victoria's having a little trouble keeping her secrets.

I don’t care what your sexual preferences are. If you’re transgender, genderqueer, or a third gender, high five! Seriously, one of my favorite things in the world is people who are comfortable enough to publicly define and be proud of their sexuality.  But if you look like you did your makeup in the dark and your wig looks like you shaved a small dog and taped it to your head, I reserve the right to laugh my ass off at you. Especially if you act like Mr Ma’am here.

So Mr Ma’am flounces in, shortly followed by Trucker Dude. Trucker Dude heads up to the counter while Mr Ma’am sashays immediately into the arcade. Big no-no here. Store policy is that you need to buy tokens before you head back. I immediately lean over the counter and say loudly, “Excuse me! You need to come out and buy tokens before going back.” I hear silence. Oh hell no, bitch, I KNOW you heard me.

I walk over to the doorway and say it again louder. Still nothing. I brace myself, hold my breath and step in to the back room. “EXCUSE ME. THE LAST PERSON WHO WALKED IN HERE, YOU NEED TO COME OUT AND BUY TOKENS.” Mr Ma’am peers out from a booth, all “Who, me?” , heaves a big sigh and follows me out. Then the following exchange happens:

PSG: “Thanks. As the sign says on the front desk, you have to buy the minimum tokens before you go in the back.”

Mr Ma’am: accompanied with a hair flip and a flourish, “OBVIOUSLY you’re new here-” Oh hell no. Don’t you even try to pull that shit. “-because this trucker here is going to buy my tokens for me.”

I look over at Trucker Dude with eyebrows raised, as it didn’t appear they were together when they walked in. He nods and hands me six dollars.

PSG: “That’s fine, but regardless, you need to have purchased tokens in your hand before you go back. Store policy.”

Mr Ma’am rolls her eyes and sashays back again, Trucker Dude in tow and tokens in hand. The Bouncer, Momo, and MomoBro are all sitting there stunned. The Bouncer, since he’s seen a lot of stuff like this before, recovers first with probably the best summary: “Welp, just another night at the circus, I guess.”

Fifteen minutes later, Mr Ma’am and Trucker Dude walk out and start wandering the store. While Trucker Dude peruses the magazines, Mr Ma’am grabs a bottle of warming lube and heads up to the counter.

Mr Ma’am: cheerfully now that she’s clearly gotten her rocks off, “So what’s your pretty lil’ redhead name?”

PSG: Fantastic. “It’s pornshopgirl. What’s yours?”

Mr Ma’am: “Well hello! I just love that song!” My real name is one of those that’s featured in a popular song from back in the day. She started singing. Badly. “I’m Jack, but when I’m dressed like this I go by Jill. Here, I’ll let you see what I look like!” Begins to take off wig.

PSG: That’s really not necessa- okay, that’s terrifying. This isn’t awkward, not at all. “Ah, thanks?”

Mr Ma’am: resettles wig, perches head on hand like we’re BFFs at a slumber party. “So when did you start working here? I’ve never seen you. I normally come in during the day when Neoboss is here, though.”

PSG: “I’ve been here a couple months.”

Mr Ma’am: “That’s nice! Say, do you know anybody named Lauren that comes here?”

PSG: “Nope, sorry.”

Mr Ma’am: “Darn! I’ve got an ad in a back of the men’s magazines here-” Gag. Did not need to know that. “-and somebody named Lauren keeps calling and saying she saw my ad here. Oh well. When my truckers are in town, I like to bring them by here since it’s so nice.” Turns to Trucker Dude. “Isn’t it nice, sweetie?”

Trucker Dude: Nods and goes back to his magazine. Apparently Trucker Dude doesn’t like to talk.

Mr Ma’am: “Well, we better get going! Nice meeting you honey, see you soon!”

And she flounces out the door again, Trucker Dude following.

Welp. Just another day at the circus, I guess.


Late Friday night, an old dude walks in. Big guy, suspenders, pushing 60. He walks over to the DVDs and pokes around for a half hour or so when I heard a loud BANG. Next thing I know, he’s standing front of me with his hand covered in blood.

Edward Bloodyhands: “Sorry, I bumped into your DVD rack over there. Do you have a bandaid?”

PSG: HOLY FUCK HOW DOES HE HAVE MORE THAN A STUMP WITH ALL THAT BLOOD “Yup, here ya go. Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?”

Eddie BH: cheerfully, “Nope! I’m on blood thinners, it looks a lot worse than it is.”

PSG: Awesome, so you’re just gonna shrivel up and die here. Great. “Okay. Let me unlock the bathroom for you so you can clean up.”

Eddie BH: taking out a handkerchief, “Oh, no thanks, I’m fine. This’ll do.”

PSG: Don’t you walk around my store with bloody hands, old man. “Are you sure? That’s an awful lot of blood…”

Eddie BH: walking away. with bloody hands. motherfucker. “No. I’m fine.”

He walks off, and as I watch from the counter, he shoves the bloody handkerchief in his pocket. His hand, though bandaged, is still covered in blood. He proceeds to PICK UP A MOVIE. WITH HIS BLOODY HAND.

Eddie BH: “Can I preview this, please?” Sets the now blood-spotted DVD case on the counter.

PSG: Oh god so much blood oh god “Okay, you NEED to go wash your hands off, I CAN. NOT. have you walking around my store touching stuff with blood on your hands.”

Eddie BH: Looks at me bemusedly, “But it’s dry. It’s fine!”

PSG: You cut yourself A MINUTE AGO. It can’t already be dry. Plus dry blood still has the AIDS in it. “I don’t care. Wash your hands, or leave.”

Eddie BH: Sighs heavily, “Fiiine.”

I walk him to the bathroom and unlock it for him, then head back to the counter and start scrubbin’ that shit like Aladdin rubbing the lamp. Only this lamp is covered in some old dude’s blood, and rather than excitedly waiting for my wishes, I’m trying not to vom.

I’ve usually got a pretty strong stomach. If someone I know is bleeding, I can help them get the sink or hospital and be fine. I watched the scene in Zombie Strippers! where a dude gets his dick chomped off and I laughed merrily (oh, how I laughed. Fuckin’ love that movie.) It’s the fact that I don’t KNOW this dude and he’s tromping around the store putting his possible diseases on my shit. There are at least three patrons I know of who are at least HIV-positive. Since they all hook up with clean people regularly, I have NO idea how many of our customers might have it. We go through hand sanitizer like a motherfuck at that store.

So I’m frantically scrubbing harder than Monk on this counter when Edward Bloodyhands walks out, with hands still wet, dripping water everywhere.  He sees me scrubbing this mother down and honest to god GLARES at me. Oh HELLLLL nah. Don’t you be givin’ me the eye because YOU bled all over the damn place. I am NOT going to let some 28 Days Later shit happen up in here.

PSG: “Thanks. That’ll be six bucks even.”

Eddie BH: Hands me the money, then shoves his hand near my face. Snidely, “All clean, see?”

Whatever, dude. Go pull your pud with your bloody herp hands.  We’ll douse your booth with bleach and set it on fire after you leave.

Waking up at 4am, working day job from 4:30am-7:30am, class from 8am-11am, work day job again from 11am-12:30pm, another class from 1pm-3:45pm, way-too-short nap from 4pm-4:30pm, working at the porn shop from 5pm-12:30am, knowing that  you have to wake up at 4am again tomorrow…………shitty and tiring.

Having two snobby, kind of bitchy former classmates shop in your store, knowing full well who you are and yet pointedly ignoring you…….awkward.

Letting them purchase shitty, uncomfortable vibrators that will probably die within the week…..mildly satisfactory.

Realizing that one has apparently become an anorexic crackho, the other got fat, and you’re still a sassy motherfucker living the good life…..priceless.

A lot of people have asked what exactly I do all night at the porn shop, thinking that every single night involves some crazy shenanigans and hardcore creepers. Honestly, not the case. Here’s a play-by-play of Saturday, June 12th, from 5pm to 12:30am.

5:05pm- Rush into the shop looking frazzled with bedhead, because I woke up late from my nap (Don’t you judge me, I work two jobs, one of which I start at 4:30am. Naps keep me from getting all stabby. Let me nap and you can keep your kidneys.) Start shift change with T-Mama

5:20pm- Finish shift change; spend a good chunk of time talking with T-Mama about her weekend, which involved dislocating her shoulder in a frenzied effort to keep her kids from walking in on her and T-Papa.

6:00pm- T-Mama leaves. I grab an old copy of Penthouse Letters and settle in to read.

6:10pm- Latin Queen and his boyfriend NotEngvall walk in (LQ’s boyfriend is a super nice white dude in his mid fifties. He looks a little like an older version of Bill Engvall, hence the name). The stay and gab for a bit, and buy a Boobie Dodgeball for LQ’s nephew, whose high school graduation party they’re headed to.

6:20pm- LQ and NE leave. Over the next hour and a half, a few of the arcade regulars come in, one or two customers come in and buy stuff, but nothing worth mentioning happens. I read Penthouse Letters for an hour and laugh at the horrible grammar and word choice of the writers….”pooper” for asshole and “mambos” for boobs. Really? You expect your story to be erotic and jerkoff-worthy by writing “I shoved my dick up her pooper and gripped her mambos for leverage”? Not so much.

8:00pm- Bored of Penthouse Letters. I walk the store and make sure nothing needs to be restocked, rearranged, or tidied up, and I notice something awe-inspiring, terrifying, and hilarious: SOMEONE BOUGHT THE RAMBONE. We only had one in stock, and it’s a toy you notice right away is missing. Between my closing shift the night before and the beginning of that current shift, somebody actually bought it. Good luck and happy trails to whoever bought it, I guess.

8:15pm- I call Neoboss to let her know that LQ picked up his Boobie Dodgeball, which we had been holding for him, and to chat for a bit. I tell her about my hellish day the day before that caused me to be late to my shift (which involved being locked out of my car for an hour and a half and getting soaked in Dr Pepper). We chat for a bit, confirming some shift changes. We’ve also gotten a new scent of incense in that for the past couple days, nobody could pin down what the smell reminded us of. I finally figured it out- Pez candy. Exactly like it. I told Neoboss and she shouts over the phone, “THAT’S WHAT THE FUCK IT IS! FINALLY!” Our lives, they are exciting.

8:45pm- I finish Penthouse Letters and move onto Hustler Variations. Same shit, different name.

9:30pm- My good friend Lady Captain stops in on her way home from work, killing time until her boyfriend Captain is off work. We gossip for a good two hours while I work, since the token business is picking up at the night gets later.

10:45pm- A slightly drunk dude walks in. He asks how the arcade and preview booths work, I explain. Somehow he doesn’t get the difference between the two, so I end up explaining about six more times. He finally decides to buy tokens and heads to the cock cave.

11:00pm- Drunk Dude comes back out to buy more tokens. He asks LC and I if we live in town. We say yes, and he immediately asks, “Why the FUCK would you live here? This town fucking sucks.” Dude, you asked. He wanders back into the cave.

11:10pm- Drunk Dude wanders back out, runs to the bathroom, and returns a few minutes later. I’m busy ringing up a customer, so he walks up to LC.

Drunk Dude: “Here, throw this out.”

Lady Captain: “Uhh, I don’t work here, dude.”

Drunk Dude, turning to me, “Hey, I’m gonna set this here, just throw it away.”

He sets down a full can of beer on the counter and walks back to the cave. It was somehow still cold. LC and I are real confused.

11:30pm- LC leaves after we make plans for dinner and booze with Captain and a bunch of our other friends later in the week. I start my closing duties.

11:45pm- I do “last call”- I flip on the light switch in the cave of cocks and announce “The store will be closing in fifteen minutes. Please use the last of your tokens and exit. Store closing in fifteen.” This is to start the process of kicking people out so I can close up, and also ensures that by the time the store closes, I don’t have to walk in on anybody jerking off or getting a blowjob. Drunk Dude answers “Okay.”

11:50pm- The only other dude in the back room, one of my gay regulars, walks out and cheerfully wishes me goodnight as he leaves. My last actual customer leaves, so it’s just Drunk Dude in the back room. I do more of my pre-closing stuff while I wait for him to finish up.

12:00am- Closed. I go to the doorway of the back and say “The store is closed, please exit the store.” Most of the time, when I say this, guys will either immediately leave, or say “Shit! Just a sec, I’m sorry!” If the latter is the case, I can wait- generally, that means they’re quickly cleaning up and straightening their clothes. It usually takes only a few seconds to a half a minute, and they’re always perfectly polite and apologetic about it. That doesn’t bother me; I don’t mind waiting, since I means I won’t have to see your dick.

What bothers me is when they try to pull shit like Drunk Dude, who heaves a big sigh and mumbles “No, I’ve got five more minutes left.”

EXCUSE ME? No. I gave you a fifteen minute warning that you responded to, so I know you heard me and understood. Fuck no.

“NOPE. It’s midnight. You need to leave NOW.”

He heaves another huge “Ugh, you’re such a bitch” sigh and I can hear him shuffling around. He takes another thirty seconds to straighten his clothes and walks out. Glaring at me, he walks out grumbling under his breath at me. I lock the door behind him, and he walks away with no further incident, thank god.

12:05pm- I finally am able to start my actual closing duties and get ready to leave. While I don’t have to clean the back (THANK GOD), I do have to go back there and open two of the doors for the janitor in the morning.  As I walk towards the very back corner by the emergency door and one of the doors I need to unlock, I always look straight down and watch my feet. This corner is the security camera’s biggest blind spot. This is where dudes are usually hooking up. God help the person who shines a blacklight back there, because their eyeballs would burst into flame from the reflection.

I’m walking fast, because I’m eager to get to a friend’s place for boozing after, so I quickly round the corner….and stop short and nearly fall over, yelling “FUUUUCK, THAT WAS CLOSE!”: there’s a pretty big puddle on the floor. It’s not pee, and it’s definitely not water.


I navigate around it and unlock the door, then VERY VERY carefully walk back up front.

12:30am- Finish closing duties, lock up, and leave.

12:35am- BEER.

Such is the life of a pornshopgirl.

When people find out that I work at a porn store, one of the first questions they ask is, “But…is that safe?” My mom in particular hates that I work there because she’s concerned for my safety.

I do have keys to the store, so I can always quickly lock the front door if needs be. There’s also a panic button under the counter, and I always keep the store phone or my cell phone nearby, just in case.

Easily my favorite protection device, however, is….


Made by Doc Johnson Novelties, an excellent company, this is the Dick Rambone. It’s roughly seventeen inches long and weighs about three pounds. RIDICKULOUS. Since it’s hard to tell with just a picture of the toy, here’s a size comparison to an average man:

HE CAN’T EVEN FIT HIS WHOLE HAND AROUND IT. IT’S THAT BIG. For yet another size comparison, what else is roughly seventeen inches long and weighs about three pounds?

A full-grown adult Desert Cottontail. That’s right. This cock is the size of a large rabbit.

Why do I point out the Dick Rambone, you ask? Because you can bet if someone lunges at me, I’m not reaching for a box cutter…nope, I’m grabbing the beast of a dick that could probably knock out a horse.

Readers concerned for my safety, rest easy. Predators, beware: fuck shit up in MY store, you’re going to learn the new, terrifying meaning of the word “cockslapped.”

Every store has regulars. A coffee shop will get the same businessmen on their way to work in the morning who come in and immediately order “the usual”.

Being a porn shop, you can probably imagine that our regulars sway just a TAD off the norm. We’ve got two who come in on a near-daily basis that we know by name: Latin Queen, and Mumbly.

The Latin Queen is easily one of my new favorite people. He’s not a creeper in the slightest, he’s actually pretty cool. A gay Hispanic man in his late thirties, LQ hardly ever even goes in the back room anymore; 99% of the time, he comes in just to chill with all of us that work there, the porn shop crew. He’ll go out drinking with Neoboss, flirt shamelessly with the very straight Bond, and gossip like an old maid with me and T-Mama. Since I’m relatively new at the shop, he fills me in on all the dirty dealings of other regular customers (you’ll be introduced to them eventually, I promise). It’s not unusual for me to be stacking movies or some shit,  hear the door chime, and turn around to see LQ leaning on the counter saying “Hey girlfriend, what’s new?” and for us to have a good half-hour chat about nothing in particular.

Mumbly, on the other hand, is one annoying motherfucker. Like LQ, he’s gay and in his late thirties (and is one of those creepy gingers), and comes in nearly every day.  While everyone in this blog is referred to by a nickname of some sort, this isn’t one- everyone calls him Mumbly, even the other customers. Why? WE CAN’T UNDERSTAND WHAT THE FUCK HE’S SAYING. Seriously, he talks like he’s got his mouth full of food (or dicks, durhurhurrr. Sorry. Working at a porn store means you turn everything into a dirty joke).  He’s perfectly harmless, but like I said, irritating as fuck. He’ll stand by the counter and mumble at you in one long run-on sentence,and it’s the same shit over and over (you can tell by the tenor of his mumbles)- some 20-year-old dude he’s fucking, how he was hungry and got some McDonalds or something, and how some dude is pissed at him and Mumbly wants me to beat him up. Seriously. Every goddamn day.  And he won’t just lurk at the front counter, he’ll go chill in the cave-o-cocks and wait around, trying to start up a mumblesation with a dude to find a hookup. Somehow he magically does, and it’s usually dudes a good ten or fifteen years younger than him. Damned if any of us know how he does it. Usually we ignore him as best as we can; I usually grab an industry magazine and read and pretend to listen while occasionally throwing in a “Mhmm,” “Really?”, or “For sure.” He’ll eventually lose interest or find a piece of ass and be on his way, but some days I’m just about ready to punch him in the asshole and kick him out.

Those are the only regulars that we have conversations/mumblesations with on a daily basis.  There’s a few others that come in regularly:

Spoof- a fairly cool dude in his early thirties. He almost always previews porn parodies (example: Not the Cosbys, Pornstar Superheroes, Octopussy XXX 3-D), hence his name. We have legit conversations about True Blood and other shows we both love, but god help you if he somehow gets started on World of Warcraft or one of his other online games…then he’s almost as bad as Mumbly.

Boozer- Like Spoof, Boozer’s in his early thirties and almost exclusively previews. He generally comes in with a large bottle of Gatorade, but it’s more alcohol than Gatorade. He’ll have us pause his preview every fifteen minutes so he can go smoke, which gets annoying as hell, especially if he’s out smoking too long (the machine clicks once for every new preview. If we have it stopped too long, it clicks again, which fucks up our paperwork.) He gets progressively drunker as the day goes on, and he’s prone to falling asleep in a drunken stupor. For him, other drunks, and hobos, we have a legitimate stick at the front desk to poke them awake with. Haven’t had to use it yet, thankfully.

Lube Cabbie- A dude probably in his forties or fifties, perfectly pleasant, who will usually make polite conversation about the weather. He’s a cab driver, and every week, without fail, he’ll come in for the usual: a bottle of Swiss Navy silicone lube.  A whole four-ounce bottle- which would usually last somebody at LEAST two months- every week. Christ, dude, are you using it for shower gel or something?

Next time: why hitting on the chick who sells you your porn is a stupid choice!