Here's a chapter from my new novel "Leaving Seattle." Available for purchase this July!



Chapter 9: Kinks, Queers, and Karaoke

It is truly incredible the amount of money that a man will pay just to be humiliated. Take this poor soul with my heel on his chest for example. He couldn’t score himself a date if his life depended on it. With every twist of my pumps I drain his confidence, both boosting my ego and fattening my wallet at the same time. So I double down, and stuff a pair of used panties in his mouth.
“I’m sorry did you say something?” I asked mockingly before pressing my foot down harder.
“Now turn around!” I demanded.
The middle aged gentlemen obliged, and he breathed heavily in an effort to roll himself over. “Come on fatty, turn around,” I commanded. He tried again, this time squeezing whatever muscles he had in him, before finally rolling over onto his stomach. “Now pull down your pants,” I hissed. He did as I asked, unbuckling himself, and removing his jeans, smashing his uncut penis against the hardwood, and exposing his bare naked hairy buttucks in my direction. I mean there was vulnerability, and then there was this.
“Don’t move,” I instructed, as I lifted his head and placed a big red ball gag in his mouth. Then I grabbed both of his arms and pulled both of his hands together, and tightly tied his wrists behind his back. “Stay,” like a sad abused puppy, I warned him, then briefly left him alone in the middle of my living room to fetch a little something from my drawer. An eight foot bull whip and a deck of playing cards.
I returned and let him watch me as the long whip dropped from my side down to the floor. He looked up at me with hungry eyes as large droplets of sweat dripped down his forehead. I stood over and straddled him, before grabbing the back of what little hair he had left on his head. “You disgust me,” I cringed and released his hair, letting his head hit the floor with a thud.
I walked back over to the playing cards, opened them, and slowly brought out the Queen of Hearts. I then carefully placed the card between his two butt cheeks, and walked a few feet in front of him. He looked up at me and winced as I brought the whip up in the air and back down. I missed the first try, instead hitting the left cheek of his, instantly drawing a sharp bruised line on his body.
I lifted the whip again. Missed. I ended up flicking the whip onto the soft tender bits of his upper inner thigh. He let out a muffled cry through the red ball gag. His cry said “stop,” but his eyes said “More.” But I know, and consent means a lot to me, so of course we had a safety signal. All he had to do was cross his fingers and that showed me the fun was over, and it was time to stop. I looked down at his hands that were in the shape of clenched and concentrated fists. So I kept going.
I lifted up the whip a third time, as the man bit down on the red ball and squished his eyes together. I twirled the long leather rope in the air, making a swooshing sound, and then readied the whip again at my side. I raised the whip up, and brought it down. Crack! The sound exhilarated me, as I watched the Queen of hearts break in two, fly up from his buttocks and was tossed across the room.
The man smiled from his ball gag. So I leaned down close to him, and pulled his head up from his matted hair again. I leaned in close, and whispered in his ear. “Oh you like that huh? I’m just getting started, we still have fifty-one more cards to go,” I sneered and released my hand from his hair, letting his head drop again to the floor with a loud thud.



I gave Leyloo a pet and made sure her dish was full of yummy cat nibbles before stepping out of my one bedroom apartment across from Leary way in the Ballard neighborhood of Seattle. It had been nearly a week since it rained, and as the drizzle fell for the first time in days, wetting the cement under my feet, I caught a unique earthy smell making its way up into my nostrils. Petrichor I think they call it, now my new favorite word.
I never understood the transportation in this city. It took me two buses and over an hour to get to my serving job at the Lusty Lady downtown. Hardly worth it if they didn’t tip so damn well. I’m always bombarded by questions whenever I tell anybody about what I do. No, I don’t get naked. No, I don't do lap dances. Yes, the money is good. Yes, there are a lot of drugs that float around the place.
I got off the bus at Pike Place and walked down first avenue down to the venue. I greeted my favorite bouncer, Steve, at the door. “Heya Steven, what’s cooking?” I asked. Steven was a big black guy that just so happened to have a very white name. At nearly six and a half feet and three hundred fifty pounds, he was incredibly intimidating, but also sweet as peaches to the girls. Definitely someone you’d want around in case of any trouble caused by one of the club’s patrons, which happened more often than I cared to admit.
“Another day another dollar,” Steven shot back, and kindly opened the door for me.
The light was dimmed to near darkness, as the ceiling’s red lights created a mysterious and, some might argue, sexy atmosphere. I always wondered what the place would look like with all of the lights turned on, I also wondered what kind of god awful clean up had to be done during the day, and what kind of pay that the owner of the Lusty Lady would have to offer for a job like that. On the other hand, I’d rather not know.
I made it to the dressing room, where the strippers prepared for their night of, well, stripping. “Hey girls,” I announced myself.
“Hey Erin,” half of them called back to me.
One of the girls had a little pouch that she took out of her tiny purse. She inserted a house key into the pouch and discreetly, or so she thought, brought a white powdery substance on its tip and quickly snorted it up her left nostril. Drug use wasn’t an all too uncommon occurrence here. I mean it kind of came with the territory.
For anonymity, everyone had a stripper name. This way, things were kept private between everyone’s personal life and their place on the stage. There were often new faces every couple weeks or so. Some of the girls did this as their full time gig. Some, maybe once or twice a week for the extra cash. Regardless of the case, just like a bachelor’s night in vegas, whatever happened at the Lusty Lady, stayed at the Lusty Lady.
Barbara Bunny was my favorite. She had my kind of “fuck the man” attitude, but was mature and cordial with her client interactions. She was absolutely drop dead gorgeous, and if it wasn’t for whichever of life’s weights she had that dragged her into this place, she could have been a movie star.
“Hey Beautiful,” I waved.
“Afternoon darling. Are you ready for tonight?” She returned the banter.
“Ready to pay off my credit card!” I was always paying off my credit card.
“Ha!” she laughed out loud. “That makes two of us!”
The door then suddenly flew open, sending all the girls into a brief startle, as Andy, the manager, made his appearance in the room. He always liked to give us his half-assed motivational speech at the beginning of each night. Maybe he thought that doing so would boost the morale of the strippers. Not sure how much of an effect that it had had on the ladies but, at least he cared, or at least appeared to care.
“Ladys,” he began, “Tonight is your big night.” There was nothing particularly special about tonight to be honest. “Tonight will be your chance to make it rich,” he continued. I wouldn’t say any of us were ever going to be rich. “Ladies, tonight will be a night to remember,” he finished. I couldn’t say that any of us were there to make memories.
After Andy had finished his passionate speech, I made my way out onto the floor. The strippers awaited their turn on stage from the dressing room. Steven popped his head into the room to see if we were ready to open up to the public. I gave him a thumbs up, and in a handful of minutes, our first patron entered onto the floor of the Lusty Lady.
It was Gary. Gary was a regular. Like clockwork, every Friday he was there the moment we opened. He was there to see Rosie Rider, the youngest of the group, but also the longest serving. She always went on first in the evening, and he would always be there with a fist full of one dollar bills to send her way.
Guys like Gary were more common than you’d think. Him being the least aggressive on the horny spectrum. But there were guys that were a little more extreme. Some even would go to the extent of waiting around first avenue for one of the strippers to come out. Sometimes Steven would be there to escort them out, other times the girl’s boyfriends, or friends would come to walk them home. There haven't been any incidents since I started working there, but knock on wood.
“Heya Gary, the usual?” I asked, approaching Gary’s table.
“As always, Sugar,” Gary replied and handed me a ten “Keep the change,” he winked.
I left his booth and noticed Steven checking ID’s at the door as more men of varying age demographics began to pour in. I returned from the fridge and handed Gary over a cold diet cola. He tipped the glass back, downing all its contents, handed me another ten, and asked for one more.
“Keep the change,” he said, naturally.
So, on the night went. All evening I served the patrons non-alcoholic drinks and observed as the men nervously went into their private booth and came out a little more relaxed and slightly more guilty than before they went in. Round after round after round. Some stayed only for a few minutes, some stayed what seemed to be the whole evening. Everyone was required to buy a drink, and everyone tipped. It was easy money.
The strippers were paid an hourly wage. Somewhere in the high twenties to lower thirties. Not exactly fair if you think about it. Most of the money that came into the place went directly to the business. I tried doing the math once. For every quarter that a dude puts into the machine, the window opens up for a little less than thirty seconds. There were twenty booths altogether. Which means, on a full night, a quarter times two, thirty second sessions, times twenty booths, came out to a solid ten dollars a minute, or six hundred dollars an hour. Although all of the peepshow money went to the owners, the strippers also were able to give private shows where they were allowed to accept tips. Still not enough for flashing your tits and ass to strangers, in my opinion.
The last lady took a bow on the center stage and left, as Andy announced on the intercom the arrival of the next dancer. “Alrighty gentlemen, if you liked the exotic moves of Sleazy Bree, you’re going to love who’s next. If you’ve got both hands free, please give a round of applause for our next performer, Barbara Bunny!”
I have to admit it. I have such a crush on her. Ever since I started serving here, I have really admired her. She is so gorgeous and confident and she doesn’t take crap from anyone. She’s hilarious and kind, and by god does she have a body. Beautiful and buxom, and not shy to show it off. It was during these times of her performance, that I decided to go on break.
I broke the change from one of the bills out of my tip stash and ran the quarters over to one of the empty booths. I popped one in and waited in anticipation as the one way window slid up. There she was, still dressed, shaking her hips to the music that played on the main speakers. Then the window went down. I popped in another quarter, the window raised again. Her shirt was now off and she was beginning to loosen her bra strap. The window went down again. I threw in another quarter. I could feel myself getting excited down below as the window opened and Barbara Bunny stood topless with her perfect tits exposed nearly inches from my face. Then the window went down again.
I left the booth and continued on with my shift. Another day, another dollar, I thought of Steven as I went about my rounds. As the night winded down, and my shift came to an end, I made my way back to the changing room to clock out. I had been holding in my pee for god knows how long so I went over to one of the bathroom stalls and opened it. It was there I finally saw the lower region of Barbara Bunny’s behind as she stood bent over the toilet with one hand against the wall and the other hand holding a needle that she was shooting into her buttucks.
I quickly and awkwardly apologized, closed the stall door and left the room with a bladder full of pee. I grabbed all of my belongings and I immediately left. It would be the last time that I stepped foot into the Lusty Lady.
I called up Andy and quit the following day. He made no effort to try and keep me on. I feel like he is used to those kinds of phone calls. As for me, of all the people that I could have idolized, it had to be the heroin addicted stripper. But hey, we all have our shortcomings. Barbara Bunny’s got hers, and I’ve got mine.



“How’d the interview go,” Tommy asked as we stepped off the bus and onto the sidewalk of Broadway Avenue. Tommy was my gay bestie. God, was he nothing but drama all of the time, but I sure loved him to pieces. He was kind, and would always show up for me when I needed him most, except for those times that he didn’t. I think he may have had a secret drug problem, but I intentionally choose to not make that any of my business.
I looked at Tommy, then I looked down to the ground, pretending like I was about to cry, before raising my eyes back to him. I gave him a quick wink before saying, “I got the job.”
“Get it girl!” Tommy shouted, startling the pigeons as they flew up from their afternoon street garbage snack. “It’s that barista job right?”
“Yup,” I nodded.
“That’s great news. When do you start?” he asked
“Tomorrow morning,” I answered.
“I hear you. Then let’s not get too faded tonight,” he added.
I agreed. Though, I never really got hangovers to be honest. Nothing that a quick shot of espresso couldn’t remedy. I had to give Tommy the benefit of the doubt, you know. He had just gone through a break up, and an ugly one at that. The only answer to this was a solid night out. Which meant one too many rounds of drinks and possibly ending it with the slurring of lyrics into a mic at the karaoke bar. Maybe Tommy would even get lucky enough to have a rebound tonight. That way I won’t have to listen to his repetitive break up woes anymore.
Capitol Hill had long been a place for sexual liberation and openness. Most of the city's gay and lesbian bars were located here, and remained one of the country’s most predominantly LGBTQ friendly neighborhoods in the country, next to New York’s Chelsea neighborhood, or San Francisco’s Castro. In fact, Capitol Hill was so gay, that even the local Starbucks on East Olive Way, had been renamed “Gaybucks” by the clientele that went there.
We passed the Jack n’ the crack and turned right directly into the Castle Megastore, “Knights and Damsels Welcome.” This Arizona-based sex and costume shop held fifteen other locations in the northwest and southwest that specialized in the selling of sex toys and lingerie. Although it wasn’t the only shop to sell such items in the neighborhood, it was by far the biggest, and the most extensive.
We walked inside, and even though I would consider ourselves to be on the more mature and comfortable side of our sexuality, we still couldn’t help but snicker at some of the items that were on display. Take the American Splendor for example. This two foot tall red, white and blue dildo had an impressive diameter of six and a half inches that slowly tapered towards the tip. Now I know that babies come out of there, but damn, it really is never enough for some people.
We really had no plans to buy anything today, just window shopping really. Weeks before, when Tommy still had a boyfriend, he had purchased an industrial sized one and a half gallon tub of synthetic lube. I know that seems like a lot, but knowing that Castle’s sold up to fifty-five gallon barrels of the stuff, I think he was being rather frugal. At any rate, one day I was over at his apartment and had mistaken his lube for hand sanitizer. Squeezed a generous portion into my hands, and rubbed them together vigorously only to realize later what I’d done.
We quickly chatted up one of the workers there that Tommy knew, and made our way out of the store. The sun was finally setting in the west, and I could feel myself getting a bit peckish, so we stopped over at Julia’s for a quick bite, and a light drink. The food was terrible, but there was an evening drag show happening that we thought we’d stay for. Opening its door at the turn of the millennium, Julia’s Le Faux performances remained the longest running in the city. Each drag performer embodied a different fantasy or illusion, and brought it to life on the stage.
We sat and ordered a drink when the first performer made their appearance on the stage. Britney Spears’s “Baby One More Time” Slowly faded in on the loudspeaker. Then pulling the number two pencil from her long blond wig, The drag performer released and twirled her hair, pulled her skirt from the front, and exposed the shiny exotic silver underwear underneath. We lost our shit and the audience roared into applause. Half way into the piece she tore open her white buttoned up shirt, and exposed her bright red nipple tassels. She then bent down in front of Tommy and I and began jumping up and down, making them twirl like miniature helicopters.
“Fabulous,” Tommy and I cheered in unison, as the audience began throwing one dollar bills at the performer. We ordered a round of cocktails and decided to stick around for the next act. Watching this next act then turned into another round of cocktails, which then led to the next act, which then turned into another round of cocktails.
By the time we left Julia's, it was almost ten, and we were feeling rather tipsy. We figured the only way we were going to be able to make it through the evening is to get some more food inside of us. And what better way to help relieve our boozy hunger than to swing across Broadway for a giant bag of Dick’s. Not the kind that you could purchase at our lovely Castle sex shop megastore, but the longest serving and most popular Seattle fast food chains to hit our taste buds.
Ah yes, Dick’s Drive-in. Founded on January 28th, 1954, by Portland born Richard Jack Spady. The first Dick’s opened up its window in Seattle's Wallingford neighborhood before expanding throughout the greater Seattle area. Featuring fast food staples like the hamburger, cheeseburger, hand-cut fries, and a variety of flavored milkshakes, Dick’s took it one step further by offering its customers the “Dick’s Deluxe.” No substitutions are allowed and all burgers are cooked to well-done. Not only was Dick’s Drive-in a great place to eat, it just so happened to be a great place to work. For several years Dick's has offered employee benefits such as a 50% matched 401k, One hundred percent employer-paid medical insurance, and a college tuition scholarship (up to $28,000) accessible after six months of employment. Thus making Dick's Drive-In "the most life-changing burger joint in America."
It's too bad I’m a vegetarian, as I’ve heard nothing but great things. Tommy grabbed a Deluxe, fries, and a diet cola. For me, I scarfed down on a bag of fries and a vanilla milkshake. We grabbed our order and stood under the awning of the ordering window and chowed down. I have to admit, after getting sloshed on a belly full of mimosas, greasy food never felt so good.
We tossed our bags in the bin and made our way south down broadway. Our plan was a night out dancing to celebrate my new job and to forget about Tommy’s breakup. We were tossed between our two main choices, Neighbours or R-Place. R-Place, down on Pine street, had been a popular gay dance club since the late eighties and poured some of the stiffest long island ice teas that I have ever tasted. Neighbors, however, was closer and Tommy apparently knew the guy who was DJing tonight, so we went with our gut.
Opening its door in 1983 Neighbours has been the favorite dance club of Capitol Hill's gay community ever since, with each night of the week featuring different styles of music. Besides late night dancing, like Julia’s, Neighbours is also famous for its drag shows. Seattle drag Queen legend Crystal Lane, the 19th Empress of Seattle, fostered a new generation of drag community under Neighbours’ roof. Lane helped start the club's tradition of money-raising drag events before her unfortunate passing in 1994.
We made our way to the alleyway of neighbors and paid the meager five dollar cover at the door, got a stamp on our wrist and made our way inside. Tonight was 80’s night, which just so happened to be my favorite music to dance to. Tommy was more of a drum and bass kind of guy, I personally couldn’t stand the stuff. A-ha’s “Take on me” was the first song to hit my ears as we expeditiously maneuvered our way over to the bar.
“Two gin and sodas,” I yelled over the music at the bartender.
He was a young and handsome gay man wearing a bright pink crop top and rainbow suspenders. When he turned around to pour us our drinks I noticed those colorful suspenders attached to his matching rainbow speedo. He was definitely a nice one to look at, for sure. I think the gays call it being a bit “extra.” Nonetheless, boy did he pour us strong drinks. Hoowee!
Tommy decided to chat up the bartender a little longer, so I made my way to the dance floor, holding one hand on the plastic cup and raising the roof with the other. Seattle based, Sir Mix-a-lot’s “Posse on Broadway” blasted into the club and everyone went wild. I joined in on the spirit, dancing and shaking my hips like the white girl that I was.
The song ended, and The Cure then made its way into my ears when a tall, moderately young and good looking, drunk as a skunk, dude came very close to me. “Hey!” he screamed in my ear, “What’s your name?”
It wasn’t too uncommon for straight guys to make their way into the gay clubs of Capitol Hill in hopes to pick up chicks. Maybe they thought it was easier, less competition maybe. Any other club would be full of straight guys, making being a girl in one of those places like being a piece of bread under an awning of pigeons. The girls who come to Neighbours do it for that very reason, to let loose in a relatively safe environment. Yet time and time again, these guys just don’t get it.
Just then, a perfectly timed Tommy came back from the bar. “She’s not interested,” he said, standing between the drunk dude and myself. I could have totally handled this by myself by the way, but said nothing to see where this would head. “Can you hear, dummy. She’s not interested,” he warned again.
“Let her speak for herself,” the guy protested. How chivalrous, I sarcastically thought.
“I’m not interested,” I confirmed.
He looked stunned, like a deer caught in headlights, he didn’t know what to do, but simply stumbled away after saying, “whatever.” We watched him as he made his rounds to the other ladies in the room, becoming increasingly aggressive after being denied by each one. Until the bouncer caught wind and finally kicked him out. Some guys just can’t get a clue.
After another stiff drink and some wild dance sessions, we made our way out of Neighbors and headed down the hill for the Crescent Lounge. First opening its doors in 1948, this popular karaoke bar had become one of Seattle’s longest standing establishments. Gay owned and operated since the 60s, ownership of the business soon transferred to longtime owner Jim Feigley. Feigley was a pillar of Seattle’s gay community, and a pioneer in establishing the city’s gay nightlife scene. Of all the music out there, Radiohead’s “Creep,” 4 Non Blondes’ “Whats up,” and Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart” remained at the top of the Crescent’s most-sung karaoke songs.
As I opened the door the smell of decades full of stale beer immediately wafted up into my face. Of course the smell didn’t hit me as bad as it should have as I was already two sheets to the wind when I entered. I looked to my right at the two girls on the stage, each holding a microphone in their hand. They took turns singing their parts to Sonny and Cher's “I Got You Babe,” to the screaming audience of friends in front of them. It was hilariously awful.
I beamed to the karaoke jockey’s desk, and quickly wrote down my selection on the provided small slip of paper and placed it in the jar in front of his laptop. Tommy approached the desk shortly after and wrote down his. We raced back around, weaving through the drunken crowd to stand in line for our final drinks of the evening.
“What song did you pick,” I asked.
“Duh. Isn’t it obvious? I want to break free,” he answered. A fitting choice as it was both Queen's tribute to Freddy Mercury coming out of the closet, as well as Tommy’s way of announcing to the world his recent break up. “What about you?” he asked back.
“It's a secret,” I refused to tell. “You’ll see when I’m up.
Instead of protesting, Tommy just rolled his eyes as it was now our turn to order our drinks.
“Two Washington Apples,” Tommy announced.
Ah yes, the Washington Apple. A cocktail like none other. With a crisp, tart taste that is a breeze to make and even easier to drink. As the story goes, the drink was created in the late 1980s, after a nasty bug decimated much of Washington state's apple orchards.
The bartender slid over the two glasses. I grabbed mine and lifted it up in a cheers position. “See you tomorrow,” I declared.
“Ha! See you tomorrow,” Tommy chuckled.
Just then the Karaoke Jockey came on the microphone. “Alrighty. Please give another hand to Heather and Julie!” he thanked as the audience applauded enthusiastically. “Next up we have Erin!”
“Oh shit. That’s me!” I said, nearly spilling my drink.
I rushed up to the stage and gave Tommy a wink, as the introduction to Meatloaf’s “I’d do anything for love” came onto the speakers and television screen. Next to the title was written, “long version.” That’s right. I sang Meatloaf on stage for twelve glorious minutes as all of the Crescent was forced to endure it. And really, I’d do anything for another twelve minutes on stage if I could, but I won’t do that.