In this week’s edition of my newsletter, The Reverse Cowgirl Diaries, I’ve got a pole dancing mom, a substance that makes you hotter, a male porn star monologue, and more! Hit the button at the bottom of the newsletter to subscribe and get all the sex news that’s fit to print in your email inbox every week.
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The latest issue of my newsletter is available. Hit the button at the bottom to subscribe and get it every week.
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I’m continuing to experiment with the format of my newsletter, The Reverse Cowgirl. The last format I had was too complicated. The new format is basically like if I was a coolhunter but for sex and culture. Read it here.
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Welcome to The Reverse Cowgirl Diaries, a behind-the-scenes look at my life as a sex writer and all the weird shit that entails. From my recent sexplorations to my current obsessions, this weekly newsletter takes you into the mind of someone who has seen too many porn movies. In RCD #5: I get obsessed with inmates who are looking for love, you can read the first paragraph of my porn novel-in-progress, and what happened when a guy offered me thousands of dollars to promote a sex-related company. Read this week’s newsletter here.
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Welcome to The Reverse Cowgirl Diaries, a behind-the-scenes look at my life as a sex writer and all the weird shit that entails. From my recent sexplorations to my current obsessions, this weekly newsletter takes you into the mind of someone who has seen too many porn movies. In RCD #3: What happens at a virtual strip club? Why is my short story called “The Scopophiliac”? Would you or someone you love wear a lip gloss called Pussyhole Pink? You can find the answers here. Don’t forget to subscribe, like, and share.
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Porn set, Canoga Park, CA | Photo credit: Susannah Breslin
“Two of the [male porn stars] I interviewed have since died.” Read the rest of my latest Reverse Cowgirl newsletter: “The Hard Thing About Being a Male Porn Star.” Subscribe to get it Sundays in your inbox.
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Porn star Jesse Jane, Las Vegas, NV | Photo credit: Susannah Breslin
“Where do porn stars go when they die? I don’t know, but I hope it’s heaven—or something like it.” Read the rest of my latest Reverse Cowgirl newsletter and subscribe: “They (Still) Shoot Porn Stars, Don’t They?”
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“As a child, I was spied on (think: me, in an observation room with a researcher standing on the other side of a one-way mirror); as an adult, I became a spy (think: me, notebook in hand, observing a scene from the view from nowhere).” Read my latest Reverse Cowgirl newsletter here and don’t forget to subscribe.
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“The point is, I started thinking, you know, what if my silicone vagina didn’t have to be lost?” Read the rest of my latest Reverse Cowgirl newsletter here, and don’t forget to subscribe to my newsletter while you’re there.
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“I bought a poster (you can see it in the photo above) for an X-rated 1978 movie called ‘She Did It Her Way.’” Read the rest of my latest Reverse Cowgirl newsletter here. Don’t forget to subscribe while you’re there.
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I sent out another newsletter. (Don’t forget to subscribe; there’s a button at the bottom of the post.)
This one is mostly a roundup of various things that were in my head, from my brief, non-interactive sort-of-encounter with A Famous Man Who Talked to His Penis to My Estate Sale Meanderings Involving a Former Playboy Model to this idea I have for an article that would involve me touring the last remaining adult theaters in Los Angeles.
That last thing, that adult theater tour idea for an article with pictures and such, was inspired by an experience I had writing this article about virtual reality porn for The Atlantic.
To wit:
On Santa Monica Boulevard, near the 101 Freeway, the Tiki Theater was still standing. Years ago, I’d photographed it, but I’d never been inside. “It’s porn movies,” the man in the front booth emphasized when I paid my $14. “I know,” I replied. In the gloom of the tiny theater, four men were scattered around on random chairs. On the big screen, a cheery blonde was performing oral sex on a man who seemed to be appreciating the attention. On the TV set that had been erected next to the bigger screen, a different porn movie was playing. Neither one had sound. It was not quite 9 o’clock in the morning. In this hidden world, the porn was real—almost too real.
That was a bizarre experience. And you know what they say about bizarre experiences. It’s best to repeat them. In any case, I’m not sure where to begin, although it would be cool to present it online as one of those maps, like one of those Eater maps. Let me know if you’d like to design one for me.
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Strip club, Hollywood, CA (Photo credit: Susannah Breslin)
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“They had tattoos and did crazy acrobatics and I think one girl had a tramp stamp that read FUCK YOU or maybe FUCK YOU PAY ME.”
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Dancer with money, Las Vegas, Nev. (Photo credit: Susannah Breslin)
A couple new things:
I wrote a Forbes post about a strip club CEO:
“Pandemic? Fuggedaboutit. Two years of dark news, quarantining, and masks have resulted in a surge of consumers who want to go out and have fun. The strip club business may not be pandemic proof, but according to Langan, it’s pandemic resistant.”
I wrote a newsletter about the story behind that story:
"I had forgotten about that fact, and several other details in the piece, like the dancer who made $800 to $1,000 a night who told me: ‘I have a lot of spunk.’”
Don’t forget to subscribe to my newsletter here.
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Estate sale, Encino, Calif. (Photo credit: Susannah Breslin)
My latest newsletter is out. It features the perversions of dead people’s houses. Read it here. Subscribe here.
I’d assumed the place had belonged to an older gay man who had spent his final years contentedly rendering artistic homages to the penis, but when I got to the bedroom, I realized the deceased resident had been an older woman.
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My latest newsletter is out. It features a walk down sex writer lane. Read it here. Subscribe here.
Interestingly, I’d forgotten many of the things that I’d done and which I’d referenced in the piece. That time I went to a sex dungeon in Van Nuys. That all-girl porn star orgy performance art at a downtown gallery. The ex-prostitute looking to buy the oldest brothel in the country.
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In my latest newsletter, I reveal what happened when I set out to post an X-rated comic I created several years ago online: “My, My Obscene Comic.”
Well, maybe I’ll publish the comic in my newsletter, I thought. But then I started to wonder if doing so would get me banned from Substack. “We don’t allow porn or sexually exploitative content on Substack,” read their Content Guidlines, although “We do allow depictions of nudity for artistic, journalistic, or related purposes, as well as erotic literature.” So, I wasn’t sure.
Read the rest here and hit the button at the bottom to subscribe.
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An excerpt from my latest newsletter: “The Hand Print”:
That scene would star Jenna and a well-known male porn star named T. T. Boy, a short, pugnacious performer with a lantern jaw and a permanent scowl who reminded me of a less-bright Patrick Bateman. (“Within the business, he is known as an untiring performer,” T. T. Boy’s Wikipedia page touts. “In a 2015 interview, he stated that over the course of his career, he has slept with over 10,000 women.”) I knew who T. T. Boy was before I arrived because I had read about him in the pages of The New Yorker. In 1995, Susan Faludi had written about the suicide of a male porn star named Cal Jammer, and during her research in the San Fernando Valley, her path had crossed with that of T. T. Boy’s. In her story, she’d quoted a former male porn star who’d observed of T. T. Boy: “Basically, the guy is a life-support system for a penis.” I found this assessment to be about right. He was smaller than me, brooding, coiled as if looking for an excuse to do something to someone—it didn’t really matter what or who, whether it was fighting or fucking. Maybe it was all the same to him.
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