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The Bouncer is easily described in two words: fuckin’ badass. He’s seriously so badass that when I Google’d “huge white security dude”, I got pictures of shark and a dinosaur. Clearly, this means The Bouncer was born when a shark and a dinosaur mated, and he was their glorious and terrifying offspring.

The Bouncer's mom.

The Bouncer's dad.

In reality, he kinda looks like that rapper Fat Joe, except about 150 pounds heavier, white, and doesn’t have a douchey mustache or grill.

Fat Joe does not buy porn at my store. Though that'd be pretty badass.

I’ve mentioned him before- he’s the one who, since he generally comes in towards the end of the night- we ask to stick around after close if someone’s a-creepin’. He sits out menacingly in his truck until they leave, and then gives us a merry wave as he drives off.

The Bouncer is called such because he is one deadly dude. He’s a black belt in several different forms of martial arts, and created and taught a new form. I don’t remember what it’s called, but he and a buddy got it legitimized and had their own dojo.  He was a real bouncer for a strip club nearby, and he didn’t politely ask dudes to leave- he’s the type to pick you up by the scruff of your neck and toss you out on your ass with a swift kick to the ribs for good measure. He is the Chuck Norris of the porn store, except for he doesn’t sell exercise machines with Christie Brinkley on late night tv. And he’s not a crazy Bible thumper.

On angry drunks busting up the strip club: “Back when the strip club opened, dudes would constantly be getting pissed off about shit and go punch up the drywall in the bathrooms. Me and the owner, we got sick of it. We decided to strip the walls down to the concrete and just put wallpaper over it. Many drunks with broken hands later, no more wall-punching!”

On handling dickbags who try to test him: “Every once in a while, we got a dude who was being a doucher, but not quite douchery enough for me to kick him out. That’s when I’d go get the most dominatrixy stripper we had, cos there’s always at least one. I’d point him out to her and ask her to take care of him, and she’d giggle maniacally and prance onstage when her song came on. She’d drag the dude up on stage, use his belt for a leash and lead him around on his hands and knees, then WHIP him with his own belt, and yank his underwear clean out of his pants with her bare hands. Seriously- she would hand him HIS OWN BOXERS. I saw a dude cry once. You don’t wanna fuck around with the scary stripper!”

On working in a mall’s pet store/why he hates kids: “We sold these CRAZY-EXPENSIVE cats, like 700 bucks a pop. They look like Garfield cats, I don’t know what the fuck they’re called. Squishy faces and you want to feed them lasagna. Anyway, we had a policy against kids under 18 coming in without parents, because kids are little shits and I hate them all. It was real early on a Saturday, and this 10 year old walks in. I figure, it’s still slow, so I’ll let it ride as long as he’s quiet, since I can keep an eye on him. He breaks three fucking rules in 30 seconds! He walks in, makes a beeline to the Garfield cage. Opens it up- strike one. PICKS UP A CAT- strike two. PROCEEDS TO SHAKE THE CAT AND DROP IT THREE FEET INTO THE CAGE. Hell. fucking. no. I come up behind him and just flat-out ROAR at him, “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? GO GET YOUR MOTHER AND BRING HER BACK HERE. RIGHT FUCKING NOW.” He nearly shits his pants running out the door. Half hour later, he and his ma walk in. He’s being a perfect fuckin’ angel now, and his ma just looks at me and says hello, which makes me realize- the little bastard didn’t tell her! He just told her he wanted her to come to the store! So I decide to mess with his head. I ask real nice if they need any help, and he gives me this white-faced, wide-eyed look of terror from behind his mom’s back, and she’s all cheery and just looking. He keeps glancing back at me, willing me silently to not tell on him, when I can’t keep myself back. I wait until his mom’s back is turned, then I make the universal “you’re dead meat” motion: glare at him, bare my teeth, and make a throat-slitting motion. He started screaming and crying that he wanted to leave. *The Bouncer cracks up laughing* I got fired three hours later for it, but it was TOTALLY WORTH IT! Little fuckin’ bastard.”

See? Badass.

There’ll be more from The Bouncer in the future- I’ve got more of his stories tucked away for a rainy day.


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.

In relationships, they say you’ll never forget your first kiss, or your first serious boyfriend/girlfriend, or your first time getting laid.

In the adult sales industry, there’s a first you’ll ALWAYS remember: the first customer who brazenly asks questions about your sexual habits.

It’s to be expected that a lot of the customers, particularly the ones who have been coming to the store twice a week for several years, would be curious about the staff.  As with all customers, 99% are normal. While Neoboss was training me, if a (sane) regular came up and started to shoot the usual shit with her, she’d introduce me, and from then on out, we’d be able to have a perfectly normal conversation whenever they came in. The sane ones are a HUGE relief during a long crazy shift; it’s nice to look up when you hear the door open and know immediately that you can chill, that there won’t be any weird shit going down. One of the regulars, The Bouncer, even is the unofficial “bodyguard” for the staff (though, thank GOD, I’ve not had to ask him and hope I never will)- if he’s in the store and a creeper is lurking around, The Bouncer, will stick around until they leave, and will even stand guard in the parking lot while we close to make sure nobody follows us home. The Bouncer, like many of my customers, is a legit nice, normal dude.

For every nice guy, though, there’s a weirdo to keep you on your toes.

I was chilling at the front desk reading a magazine when an older dude came up. By “older dude”, I mean he was probably old enough to be my grandfather. A normal-enough looking big man with glasses, he’s the kind of guy you wouldn’t be surprised to see pulling on a Santa suit at Christmas for the youngest kids in the family. He paid for his tokens, gave a nod and said “Thanks, darlin'” as he walked to the back room. Nothing strange there- while the weirdos will pry for your personal info, the sane ones realize you probably don’t feel comfortable giving out even your name to a customer. As a result, it’s not unusual to hear “Hey doll, how’ve you been?” “Excuse me, darlin’,” “Thanks, little lady,” or “Have a good one, sweetheart” several times each during my shift. Like you’ll hear a lot here, 99% of the time, it isn’t creepy in the slightest; it’s more like how they’d probably address their usual waitress at their favorite restaurant, you know? Only instead of asking for a Denny’s Lumberjack Slam, they want to know if they can rent “A Lumberjack Slams Denny”.

Anyway, back to the old dude, the grandpa type. Normally, once they buy their first set of tokens (we require you purchase a small amount at the front desk before you go to the back room) they’ll stick to the machine that’s in the back room if they run out. This guy, however, kept coming up to the desk instead, and kept making idle chat as I rung him up. Like I said, not creepy behavior, just a little off the norm, if a porn store can have a norm. The last one, he decided to get personal. WAY WAY WAAAAAAAYY too personal.

(Note that anything italicized and in parentheses are my own thoughts, not part of the conversation.)

Old dude: “So, how long have you been working here now?”

PSG: “Just a couple weeks.”

Old dude: “You like it here, the store? Nice place to work?”

PSG: “Yeah, not too bad. Pays the bills and all that.”

Old dude: “I like it here, it’s a good store. I like to watch the movies, you know, ‘cos of the girls.”

PSG: (Odd…most don’t talk about their preferences unless they’re asking for a specific movie or something…) “Sure….”

Old dude: “I like the ones where the girls receive oral sex.”

PSG: “….”(Oh man…old dude’s breathing heavy...)

Old dude: “So, do you like oral sex?”

PSG: “….,……..” (you are the same age as my GRANDFATHER this is WEIRD)

Old dude: (clearly not noticing my complete horror) “You know, receiving it? Oral sex?”


PSG: (in a polite, offhand tone) “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m uncomfortable discussing my personal life with customers.”

Oh yeah. That happened. Grandpa Breather tried to ask about my sexual habits. And then after? TRIED TO ACT LIKE HIS QUESTION WAS AN EVERYDAY CONVERSATION TOPIC.

Old dude: (surprised tone) “Well, it’s just a fact of life, you know. Everyone has oral sex, it’s just a fact of life.”

PSG: (still polite) “I don’t discuss my personal life with customers, sorry.”

Old dude: (starts walking out the door, mildly huffy tone) “….fact of life, everyone has it.”

A few weeks later, we got one of our weekly DVD shipments in, and what’s one of the new releases?

“Barely Legal with Old Men”.

No joke, that shit will HAUNT you.