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strippers, dominitrixes, knives….
I went to a press dinner at Penthouse Executive Club. Free steaks, shrimp cocktail, flowing booze, the works. One of the girls sitting at the table with one of the publicists sponsoring the thing was this sexy blonde chick who i thought was either a low-rent porn star or a stripper. Turns out she was a dominitrix who owned her own dungeon somewhere in the city. I was a little creeped out, but intrigued. I asked her what the weirdest request she ever had from one of her clients was. She said one guy’s ultimate fantasy was for her to cut open his ball sack, take his actual balls out of his sack, stomp on them, then put them back inside his sack and sew it back up. I managed not to puke and kept chatting with her. Pretty soon we’re outside, smoking cigarettes. She’s got some blow. We’re making out in front of the big gorilla bouncer dude outside. We end up splitting and going to a dive bar on Avenue A to play pool. She starts getting all “dom” on me, going “you’re kind of worthless and weak, right?” I’m like, “Uh, listen, i’m not into that stuff. I’ll wear a hat or something if you wanna have sex, but I’m not letting you harvest my organs or anything.” We end up going back to her place. Somewhere in Chelsea. There’s two kind of unhinged-looking metal dudes in her apartment. I’m thinking roommates. I have my arm around her when one of them suddenly goes batshit crazy. I think i’m making a drink when it happens: He picks up a knife and starts waving it around…in my direction. I split. The next morning i learn that she lives with her boyfriend. Somebody sends me a Flicker picture of him singing in his band, his chest all bloody from him slicing it up, Iggy Pop-style. Still, all in all, it was a pretty good night….