Pagan Moss' Peep Show Stories

Tuesday, August 03, 2004

The Recipe

It was around Christmas time and the men were coming in in droves--their arms full of brightly-colored packages and bags, brimming with well thought-out (or hastily picked) gifts for wives, sons and daughters. And if the holiday crowd wasn't enough to keep the girls sweating and smiling, there was also a deluge of horny men displaced by the sudden closure of the popular peep show down the road. As delighted as the girls were at the prospect of more customers and the money, which surely accompanied them, the rumors swirled.

There was talk about the girls at the other joint and how they had been turning dirty tricks--doing more for less money. The girls knew they had their work cut out for them when the new guys scoffed at the prices: "Forty for masturbation? You’ve got to be kidding me. The girls at the other place were doin’ it for $20.00." But the girls banded together, deciding not to budge. They circled the wagons around their sexual prowess, knowing this was the last peep show in town, and the men ended up caving in, knowing they couldn't assuage their hunger elsewhere. But the price war wasn't the only battle to be waged. Many of the new customers expected the same types of shows that the other girls were doing. They weren't looking for masturbation or toy shows . . . they wanted a piece of you. We were like little lambs, resting in our fattening pens. We sat innocently, waiting for the wolves . . . waiting for our slaughter. Somewhere, off in the distance, a howl is heard . . .


It was a couple of days before Christmas and I was working with Tulips--the new girl. She stood 5’2 and weighed about 200 pounds--a regular butter ball. She had greasy white skin, which was dotted with red crusted spots. Her hair was long, thin and covered in more grease. Her face was round and trollish with a forehead like a slab of marble. She often donned a peach-colored nylon housecoat, along with a pair of slippers.

Tulips wasn’t just new to our scene--she was fresh to the business. She claimed to be a 40-year-old feminist who believed there was nothing wrong with the naked body. It was something that was beautiful--it provided pleasure and pleasure was healthy. She was bubbling with enthusiasm, claiming she hadn’t gotten any in a while and was looking forward to getting off. I thought to myself--this woman might stand a chance. She wasn’t a beauty-- more resembling a dirty housewife than the sexy girl-next-door type--but for enough men, there are more important things than beauty.

Tulips was horny and eager to please, often acting more like a customer service representative than a shrewd business woman. Money didn't seem to be her motivator as she was happy to make house and bus fare to get home--maybe make enough to order food like the other girls. She just wanted to be included with the girls even if she didn't look like them.

It was around noon and the lunch crowd started to file in. Tulips was dancing on stage when a customer came into my booth. He was short, fat and bald and wore thick black-framed glasses. He wore a plaid button-up shirt and pleated khaki slacks. He picked up the phone.

“Hi, what’s your name?” he asked.

“June. What’s yours, big boy?” I shot back.

“Gary,” he said, nervously.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you here before, Gary. You new?”

“I used to go to the other place, but they closed it down.”

“Well you’re lucky, Gary. This place is so much better.”


“What gets you off, Gary?”

“Well . . . I’m into something a little different.”

“Are you a naughty boy, Gary?”

“Yeah, I am. I used to see this girl at the other place. She was real good. I was actually hoping she might have come over here, but I haven't seen her around. We had this arrangement that worked out pretty good for both of us. I'd give her a list of things to eat for a week and then I'd come back to pick something up,” he said with a wink.

“What did you pick up, Gary?”

His face turned real serious. “She went to the bathroom in a bag and gave it to me.”

“She peed?”

“No, the other one.”

“Oh . . .”

“Trust me, I made it worth her while. I’ll make it worth yours, too.”

“Hmmm . . .”

“If I like what you got, I'll come in at least once a week.”

I wasn’t interested, but morbid curiosity has a way of creeping in. “So what would I have to eat?”

“Just fruit and vegetables.”

Hm, I was a vegan, but no. “Sorry, I don't think I'm gonna be able to help you out."

He seemed prepared for rejection. “That’s OK, I understand. You workin’ with anyone else tonight?”

I was reluctant to respond, feeling I would be offering her to a pariah. “Yeah, she’s a new girl. Her name’s Tulips.”

“Tulips,” he said with a smile. “I like that name.”

He thanked me for my time and left the booth. A couple seconds later, the door to Tulips’ booth opened and closed. I pressed my ear against the wall of the booth. I could hear their introductions, but when the conversation got down and dirty, their voices trailed off in silence. I sensed Tulips was either stunned silent, or was whispering her response--not wanting anyone else to know of their deviant pact. A few minutes later her booth door flung open.

“He didn’t get a show?” I asked.

“No, he’s just checking the place out," she said with a smile. "He likes big girls and said he’d be back next week.”


The next day during lunch time, Tulips decided to forgo her customary trip to the closest fast-food joint. She'd normally return, clutching a couple of grease-soaked, brown paper bags. But today, she gingerly pulled out a packed lunch from the refrigerator and walked directly back to her booth. I couldn’t keep myself from sneaking a peek at what was inside the bag. I wanted to see if she was preparing herself for him. I strolled up to her booth and looked inside. Tulips was leaning over a large spread of freshly cut vegetables and sliced fruit.

“Wow, looks healthy,” I said.

“Yeah, I’m tryin’ to lose a little,” she said, patting her belly.


The days went by and Tulips stuck to her diet--her dedication was a painful display. But she had lost ten pounds and was bathed in a healthy glow.

At the end of the week, her customer finally came back to claim his prize. When Tulips saw him go into her booth, she quickly closed her door. I pressed my ear against the wall. After the initial exchange of pleasantries, the conversation grew silent like last time. After a couple of minutes, Tulips jumped out of her booth with something plastic and shiny in her hand, and locked herself in the bathroom. I could only imagine the horror taking place in there. After some time, I heard a flush and then the water turn on, and then off again. The door opened and Tulips walked out of the bathroom, carrying a small black plastic bag. She opened the dressing room door and stepped just outside--holding the door ajar. She started talking to someone, but I couldn't make out the conversation--just some laughing at the end. Tulips came back into the dressing room without the bag.

As Tulips walked past my booth, I searched her face for any sign of regret. But there was nothing different. Her face still had the healthy glow--she looked better than ever.


The days came and went and Tulips kept at it--eating her veggies and fruit--and delivering the goods at the end of the week. Each week, she looked better, dropping weight right and left. It finally got to the point, where she was getting looks and shows from other customers, too. She even started sneaking trips to the store downstairs to cash in on her employee discount, picking up sexy little outfits--the housecoats slowly went away.

I kept waiting for the day to come when she couldn't take it anymore, thinking she might be passive-aggressive, but that day never came. I finally asked her, "So how are you liking it here? You seem to be really getting the hang of it."

"Yeah, I love it here--the girls, the customers--everyone's so nice. I finally feel beautiful."

Anonymous Anonymous said...
As usual, excellent writing. Kudos.
5:26 PM  
Blogger Tangle said...
Very beautiful, yet somehow sad. It just goes to show that even with the outward veneer of confidence in bodily appearance, there's always that niggling doubt in the back of the mind.

I find it hard to do things for myself, too. I guess, like Tulip, I need outside motivation. Someone to do the work for.

As always, your writing is lovely, and it always strikes a chord.
7:13 PM  
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