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Erotisphere Blogosphere

This is where blog happens.
by AnDroid

Publishes every
Thursday afternoon
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Daryl Hannah Is Represented By Pimps

Pantsless in Portland
Written by AnDroid   
Thursday, 20 January 2011 16:20
Workin' it.

Daryl Hannah disrespected hundreds of Portland women over the weekend when she went on a ride-along with police to local strip clubs and was quoted as saying, “Most of the girls in these strip clubs are not just looking to make cash, a majority are represented by pimps.” In other words, she said Portland strippers are whores.

Hannah was in town for a conference against human sex trafficking. As far as I know, there is no connection between Portland strip clubs and sex trafficking, and neither Hannah, nor the police, nor the reporters have made any effort to explain a connection. Yet, for some reason our strip clubs almost always seem to get mentioned in the many stories that have been published in the past couple years that claim Portland is a hub for child sex trafficking.

Nikole Hannah-Jones has written a fantastic article for the Oregonian which debunks the “Portland as a hub for child sex trafficking” myth. It turns out the statistics are all complete bullshit, and the media (including the Oregonian) has been blowing smoke up the public's ass for years. Portland has been getting shit on more than any other city in the country, and frankly, we should be pissed off about it. Our economy is bad enough without the national media spreading the rumor that our strip clubs are full of child prostitutes.

Of course I chose the above headline and photo to make a point. Daryl Hannah isn't represented by pimps any more than Portland strippers are. And I love Daryl Hannah; I love her movies, and I love that she's trying to use her celebrity status to make positive change in the world. The truth is, the media is to blame for spinning this whole thing the way they did from the beginning. You can come up with any shocking headline and then turn it into a story by taking quotes out of context. For all I know, when Hannah was talking about strippers being whores, she may have been referring to one specific club. Hell, she may have been there researching a movie role. I don't know, because the author didn't offer any additional details. The author also didn't provide any explanation as to why strip clubs would be associated with child sex trafficking. A connection was alluded to in the story, and then the story was picked up internationally. The damage to our city's reputation has already been done.

Human trafficking is a real and serious problem. If we really want to help the victims of this crime and prevent it from happening in our city, we need to focus on hard facts and pinpoint the source. If you want to argue about the objectification of women in strip clubs, that's fine, just don't try to force that agenda in where it doesn't belong. It's a distraction we simply cannot tolerate if we're going to be serious about tackling the core issue here.

Maybe it's because we have more watchdogs now in the form of bloggers who are making us aware of it, but it seems like journalists have become less reliable in modern times. Sometimes it seems like many of them just make up statistics as they go. I know journalism is a stressful, underpaid career, but we, the public, rely on the news to understand the world around us. Fabricated stories can have a severe, wide-spread impact in the real world, effecting not only our societal views, but also our economy and our governmental legislation. If only we had more journalists like Hannah-Jones, who actually took the time to investigate the sources of the statistics before building a story around them.


Sign of the Beast Burlesque

Pantsless in Portland
Written by AnDroid   
Thursday, 13 January 2011 16:20

When my friend Vera Mysteria does something, she does it big. I don't know why I was surprised when I went to her “old folks” themed birthday party a few weeks ago and she rolled into the bar in a wheelchair with curlers in her hair and a hideous muumuu draped over big floppy fake tits. If I'd had the good sense to realize she was gonna go all the way the geriatric theme I would have at least worn a wig like some of her other guests.

It was Bingo night at the Radio Room, and Vera's party turned the whole thing into a very surreal event. Maybe it was the weed I'd smoked on the way there, but at one point I was looking at Vera's fiance, who was hunched over a walker with a long gray beard dangling from his face, and I seriously thought I was having a bizarre dream. I couldn't stop giggling like I was on ecstasy. I can't even describe how ridiculous the whole thing was.

It was here that Vera, leaning toward me from her wheelchair, her face painted with a thick layer of garish makeup, told me she had an upcoming sponsorship opportunity I might be interested in. A while back when we'd had the time and money we went on a few strip club adventures together, and during that time we had discussed various projects we were working on or thinking about doing. She'd told me about a rock-and-roll burlesque event she'd been conceptualizing. Now her concept was finally coming to fruition, and she was looking for sponsors. I jumped on the opportunity.

Later we were at Union Jacks and Vera was on the main stage, still in her muumuu, bent over a chair and surrounded by strippers. One of the girls got a leather belt from a guy at the rail, and each of the dozen-or-so strippers took a turn smacking Vera's ass with it. As I sat there, still blown away by the weirdness of it all, I couldn't help but think this was exactly the kind of carnivalesque atmosphere that a successful burlesque event would need, and it seemed to follow Vera everywhere she went.

Here is the official press release for Sign of the Beast Burlesque, which everyone should go to!

Come, and bear witness to the unholy union of two of Satan's favorite forms of entertainment -- heavy-metal music and burlesque!

Nothing could please our Dark Lord more than seeing His followers flock to the Mt. Tabor Theater, returning its Concert Hall to its roots as a genuine burlesque stage, to sin away a Monday night/Tuesday morning enjoying the finer things PDX has to offer -- boobs, beer and metal.

Don't be a candyass and stay home because it's a school night; our doors open at 9PM with the Girlie Show starting around 10PM. After the burlesque portion of the show wraps up, shortly after the Witching Hour, patrons will be pounded with live music -- the dark psychedelia of Quag Keep and the riff-heavy roar of Deth Proof!

Hosted by the infamous Nik Sin and Vera Mysteria (a.k.a. Union Jack's DJ Krista), our main show will feature more than a dozen ladies who will dance for your amazement and titillation in styles that range from traditional and neo-burlesque to hypnotic aerial performances to Emergency Room-defying fire play to exotic belly dancing and even some erotic hula-hooping. Longtime patrons of our local performance arts will undoubtedly fondly recall thrilling memories of many of our featured performers, like Portland's own Itty Bitty Bang Bang, Delilah Sinn and Savvy Danger of the Rose City Sirens, Hai Fleisch, Hezzy Tayte, Baby Le'Strange and Lark, the lady of fire.

Tickets are $5 ahead of time at all Tickets West locations [www.ticketswest.com] or at the door. To pamper the more refined clientele, we're offering a limited number of $25 VIP tickets for the separate raised seating area, complete with private cocktail service, a bottle of champagne, a limited-edition hand-silk-screened poster of the event and more. VIPs must be reserved ahead of time; contact This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it for reservations and details.

The wickedest tunes a Monday night in the Hawthorne District can contain!

The most dangerous curves experienced on or above the Mt. Tabor's stage since the last time your grandmother claimed she was just working her way through college to her friends!

The finest drink specials a full bar can offer!

Two hours of tits and two bands -- this will be the best five bucks you ever spent, and possibly the only chance you'll ever have in your life to start a mosh pit mere moments after seeing swingin' pasties!

Sign of the Beast Burleque will be January 24th from 9pm-2am at Mount Tabor Theater, 4811 SE Hawthorne Blvd., Portland OR 97215. Tickets are $5 general seating, $25 VIP section, available at Tickets West. Email This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it to reserve a VIP table.


HUMP! 2010

Pantsless in Portland
Written by AnDroid   
Thursday, 18 November 2010 16:20

After stumbling up and down 23rd Street in confusion for twenty minutes I realized I was on the wrong damned street and finally walked two blocks east to Cinema 21 to meet with my group of friends, who were in line and about to enter the theater. Dan Savage was standing to the side with his perfect hair, chatting with someone as we walked in. We were handed ballots and found a cluster of seats where we could all sit together. A friend and I finished the cocktail I'd snuck in. I got us a couple of beers from the bar as Savage stood at the front of the theater and gave the introduction to the festival.

This was the second year that Portland was included in the HUMP! amateur porn festival, which originated in Seattle in 2005. Attendees vote on the sexiest, kinkiest, and funniest films, as well as the “best of show,” awarding the winners with a nice chunk of change and a lifetime of bragging rights. The festival includes entries from both Portland and Seattle. Once again it wasn't made clear which city the individual films came from. Some of the films made it obvious by showing a recognizable location or merchandise from a local business, but it was impossible to identify the origin of many them. This was a source of frustration for the audience, causing much confused murmuring during the show. I can only assume this information is purposely withheld to make the voting more even-handed. I don't know about Seattleites, but Portlanders are fiercely community-oriented, so of course we want films from our city to win.

The festival opened with a lesbian film in which a fully clothed, tough-looking chick slapped the shit out of a naked, doe-eyed beauty. Then the tough chick unzipped her fly, pulled her cock out, and went to town, spanking and slapping the other woman all the while. I was impressed with the brutality of the scene. Many people in the audience were gasping at some of the slaps. This film won my vote for “kink.”

The next film opened with a cute girl working in a porn shop (possibly Spartacus?). From there she went to a club I recognized as the Rose City Strip and ended up getting it on with a stripper. Then there was a guy, and they were all banging on the pool table and the couch, and there was also a purple alien blowup doll in the mix for some reason. It was a nice combination of sex, cool music, and humor, and it was a pleasant reminder of how awesome Portland strip clubs are.

The film “Drained Balls” featured a sex scene on a pinball machine in a living room with a roommate standing to the side casually eating cereal and watching. This one earned my vote for “best sex.”

I believe my vote for “funniest” went to “The Nun and the Bum,” in which a nun fucked a homeless guy's urethra with a crucifix for what seemed like a very, very long time. That wasn't really funny in and of itself, but the absurdity of the whole situation was pretty fucking hilarious.

Other notable films included a funny gay Mad Men spoof, a very cool “fire play” demonstration, and a clever story about a girl who used her boyfriend's camera to take pictures of herself cheating on him in his own apartment.

Most of the entries this year were on the humorous side, rather than sexy. I heard many of the people who were coming to the festival for the first time say that they thought it was going to be more hardcore. Those of us who went last year agreed that it seemed a lot more toned-down this time around. “No hooks in the ass this year,” I complained. Of course, since the festival depends on people submitting content, it's really up to us to give them more hardcore films if that's what we want to see.

Afterward we ran across the street to the Gypsy to pee, and somehow our group ended up stuck there in the vortex for hours. The drinks kept flowing, and I was nicely lubricated by the time I took the stage to perform my karaoke song. “This is for everyone who went to HUMP! tonight!” I shouted, and there was a smattering of cheers from around the room. I took a swig of beer, and in my best gravelly old man voice I sang, “THERE'S A RED HOUSE OVER YONDER, GIRL, THAT'S WHERE MY BABY STAYS!”

As I continued to sing, a thin girl I'd never seen before approached the stage. “WAIT A MINTUE SOMETHING'S WRONG HERE, THE KEY WON'T UNLOCK THE DOOR,” I shouted, and the girl extended her hand and ran her fingers down my chest. “I GOT A BAD, BAD FEELING THAT MY BABY DON'T LIVE HERE NO MORE!”

By the time I finished the song the girl had disappeared into the anonymity of the crowded bar. I sat down with my group in our corner booth, ordered another drink, and said, “Next year. Next year I'll make a movie for sure.”

As of this posting the HUMP! votes are still being tallied. The winners will be posted on the Stranger and Mercury blogs by Friday.

UPDATE: The winners are posted here!


A Fecal Matter

Guest Bloggers
Written by Sketchy Justin   
Thursday, 14 October 2010 16:20

Trimet's #9 bus made its last stop before leaving downtown. Three passengers stepped on board. They flashed their fares and seated themselves without event. The bus accelerated and began maneuvering through the hairpin twists and turns where SW Sheridan merges with SW Arthur before the Ross Island Bridge.

Suddenly the driver slammed on the brakes. Everyone was thrown into whatever was in front of them. We were at a dead stop, blocking traffic. The driver got up from her seat and approached the last passenger to board the bus

"You are sitting in human feces!" the driver screamed. Her face was an ugly, threatening scowl. "You are contaminated with human feces!"

The passenger stared back at her dumbly, as if she were speaking Latin. The entire bus shared his expression of confusion and disbelief. Each of us became intensely interested voyeurs.

"That seat has feces on it--human feces!"

We could hear, from the back of the bus, each and every syllable with absolute clarity. She wanted to make sure everyone heard her rant. She had our rapt attention. The man's confusion had given way to fear. The Trimet driver seemed to feed off this. She knelt down far enough so that her face was directly in front of his, as if she were addressing a child.

"Why would you sit in human feces?" The passenger still wouldn't respond. "Why? Why?"

The other passengers mumbled amongst themselves. Nobody knew about the fecal matter. We all began checking, nervously, in our own ways. I gave the air a sniff but noticed nothing remarkable aside from the typical stink of public transportation: humans packed together in forced intimacy, each with varying levels of hygiene. But no shit.

"It's disgusting. Why are you still sitting there? Now you're covered in feces. It's all over you! Human feces!"

The driver continued to berate the man in the handicapped seat. Her voice became increasingly shrill. The passenger got up and moved to the middle of the bus. The driver, unbelievably, followed him to his new seat.

She stood beside him and pointed with her index finger while scanning the rest of the bus, attempting to make eye contact with each of us individually while stating her case.

"I want everyone to know that this man is covered in human feces! Do you understand?"

No one replied. No one dared.

"Do not sit next to this man," she commanded.

"Then why did you let him sit there?" someone finally shouted. "Why isn't there a sign? Why is the bus running?"

The driver spun around to confront the man. "I told him not to sit there," she spat. "He wanted to sit in the feces."

My girlfriend and I decided to bail rather than ride in a bus piloted by an angry woman with a fetish for human feces and humiliation. We abandoned our seats and tried to slink out the back door. But she caught us.

"Where are you going? This isn't my fault. I told everyone not to sit there! It was his choice to sit in human feces and it is not my fault! Where are you going? You cannot get off the bus here!"

"Look lady," I finally spoke up, "I just don't feel comfortable riding on a bus that is contaminated with human feces, especially not with you driving it."

"I am just doing my job. It's not my fault. You cannot get off the bus here. It is unsafe."

We exited the bus. But so did the driver, leaving it parked haphazardly in the middle of both lanes. She ran at us, screaming, and I became concerned enough to stand between her and my girlfriend, who was yelling right back at her.

"You can't make us ride on your bus," I pointed out calmly. "So we're leaving. Get back on your bus!"

"There's human feces on that seat! I am doing my job. I'm doing what I am supposed to do! You can't get off the bus here because it's not safe."

"Well we took a chance and it feels safe so far," I replied. "We'll catch the next bus, thank you."

The driver stomped up the steps and took her seat behind the wheel. The doors shut and the bus lurched off, careening toward the bridge. I wondered which was really full of shit: the bus, or its driver?

Sketchy Justin is a Portland writer and close friend of Portland Erotisphere. He can be contacted at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .


Selling Out

Pantsless in Portland
Written by AnDroid   
Thursday, 09 September 2010 16:20

I didn't create Portland Erotisphere to make money. I created it because I saw a need for it, and I wanted a resource that I could use for my own purposes. That said, when I began compiling the data and figuring out how to put it all together, I always had the thought in the back of my mind that if this thing got popular it could be a potential source of revenue, or at the very least it might be able to generate enough money to pay for itself.

Initially I thought, “I'll just throw some Google AdSense in there, and it'll take care of itself.” Well I quickly found out that Google doesn't want anything to do with adult websites, and while Erotisphere doesn't have any porn on it, the site is nonetheless considered guilty by association. So fuck that idea.

I briefly tried an affiliate banner ad program, but I didn't have faith that visitors of this site would click on the ad and actually purchase sex toys, which is what would have to happen in order to get any money from that. It would have to happen a lot. It was too much of a long shot, and besides, I felt that it conflicted with the local adult stores I have listed in the Erotisphere business directory. So I nixed that idea.

Ideally I would like local businesses to advertise on this site exclusively, but it hasn't really started generating enough traffic yet to make that worthwhile. Portland Erotisphere isn't exactly a household name in this city. Still, the site's been up for a little over a year now, and it's been getting enough regular traffic to warrant looking at advertising options again. So I ended up finding an adult advertising network called Black Label Ads and, as I'm sure you've noticed, I finally added a banner ad in the right column.

Like AdSense and other ad serving applications, Black Label Ads plugs in ads based on how many hits the site is getting, how much the advertisers are paying, and how closely the content of the site is related to the ad. A local business could actually purchase the spot through Black Label Ads if they wanted to, and probably at a ridiculously low rate, but there's no way of knowing if and when that will ever happen. Anyway, what I didn't think about when I signed up for it is the fact that Portland Erotisphere caters to a broad user base – men and women, straight and LGBT, people looking for private sex shows and people looking for bongs. So who the hell knows what kind of ads could pop up?

The first time I loaded the homepage with the new ad spot I was confronted by an image of a dude with a huge erection.

It was so jarring I actually screamed out loud. My immediate reaction was to say “Aw hell naw! I gotta get this off of here right now!” Don't get me wrong – I'm not the least bit offended by pornographic images like that. It's just the idea that everything I've done on this website might now be displayed with a picture of a giant cock next to it. I imagined lesbians searching the business directory for places to buy vibrators, and this grotesque penis photo pops up and slaps them across the face. I have no idea who all uses this site, but this is a genuine concern, especially considering there have never been pornographic images displayed here before.

But, you know, maybe people aren't even shocked by that kind of shit anymore. This is an adult website, after all, and it seems like most adult websites have obscene banner ads these days. After meditating on it for a little while I'm honestly still not sure how I feel about the whole thing. From what I've read, Black Label Ads doesn't pay all that well, so maybe it's not even worth it. I dunno. I'm planning on keeping this ad spot on the site for at least a few months. I may tweak the settings or block out some of the pornographic ads. In the meantime I'd be interested to hear some of your opinions on the matter.


The Deal with Porn Theaters

Pantsless in Portland
Written by AnDroid   
Thursday, 05 August 2010 16:20


Listen, porn theaters aren't for everyone. I should just come out and say that right off the bat. Yeah, they're a little creepy. But hey – so is church. I think it's fair to say that both of them – porn theaters and churches, that is – serve as an important outlet for individuals of a particular taste. You might be one of those individuals and not even know it yet. You may even enjoy going to both. That's fine. Personally, I think masturbation and prayer can both be done just as well at home (not that I do much praying), but I also understand the appeal of doing them in an open forum where you're surrounded by like-minded people, where you can always depend on an encouraging word and a friendly, um... handshake.

Like many people my age, I first learned about porn theaters as a young child, when my favorite TV personality, Pee-Wee Herman, was arrested for masturbating in an adult theater in Sarasota, Florida. I remember seeing his mug shot in the newspaper and saying, “That's not Pee-Wee,” after which my mother gave me a pained look and told me that yes, yes it was Pee-Wee. The poor bastard.


Being under 30, I grew up as part of a generation that doesn't really understand the concept of porn theaters, because we've had access to porn on the internet since we were too young to be looking at it. When adult movie theaters first became popular in the 60's and 70's, they would have been the only reasonable way for most people to see pornographic movies. Then the 80's rolled around, and the VCR was invented, and they began shutting down. By the time the 90's hit there were very few adult movie theaters left. Two of them remained in Portland: The Oregon Theater and the Jefferson Theater, which has since been replaced by the Paris Theatre.

In order to understand the relevance of porn theaters in the modern world, you have to understand that a kind of erotic subculture has developed within these places. Now, you may be asking, “Doesn't masturbating with a bunch of dudes seem kinda gay?” Well there you've answered your own question. Not that all of the guys who go to porn theaters are gay – and don't fool yourself, the vast majority of the patrons are guys. But even if the movie playing on the screen is straight porn, all you have to do is look in any other direction to see a bunch of dicks and gay sex. Also, if you're masturbating in a porn theater, you automatically become part of the show, so no matter how straight you are, you're at the very least participating in another guy's gay fantasy.

But hey, it's not gay if you don't return the favor, right? The truth is many of the guys who go to these theaters are probably married or are otherwise stuck in a situation where they're desperate for release. When men become horny and desperate, labels like “gay” and “straight” become far less important than “penis” and “hole.”

Of course, every now and then a guy is able to convince/pressure his girlfriend or wife into coming to a porn theater with him. There are roped-off areas reserved for straight couples at both of the theaters in town, so the women are at least out of arm's reach of the general public. What happens when a couple enters the theater is every guy in the room crowds around the perimeter of the roped-off area and stares at them, masturbating openly while they eagerly watch the couple's every move. Gay men join in the crowd, as they've learned over the years that straight men are more likely to allow another guy to give them a hand job if they're looking at a woman while it happens. This is part of the subculture I mentioned earlier.

Most couples get freaked out and leave shortly after they arrive, either to go home and fuck or to have a raging argument in the car that will likely end in tears and heartbreak. Occasionally, though, a freaky swinger couple will whip off their clothes and go to town, possibly even inviting members of the crowd to join in. At this point, not a single person is watching the porn on the screen, because the theater has clearly crossed the line and become a sex club, which is essentially what it was to begin with.

Luckily, laws are different here than in other shitty states like Florida. There are no Pee-Wee Hermans getting arrested at adult movie theaters in Portland because, like our swingers clubs and bathhouses, our porn theaters provide a temporary membership to a private club where the patrons are free to express themselves sexually in any way they choose, as long as it's consensual.

This cuts to the heart of why porn theaters are still relevant in today's world. It's not about the porn at all. The porn is irrelevant. They could be showing old Star Trek episodes. These theaters simply provide a venue for adults to connect with each other. We go to porn theaters for the same reason we go to bars rather than drinking at home: We want the possibility of social contact with other human beings, even if it's simply a brief moment of eye contact or a nod of the head, because it sucks to feel alone in the world, filled with private shame while sinning in solitude.


An Erection in Paradise

Pantsless in Portland
Written by AnDroid   
Thursday, 15 July 2010 16:20

I tilt my head back and let the sun warm my face as the water sprays my chest. I'm surrounded on all sides by men and women, all of them nude, their wet bodies shimmering in the summer sun. Kimbot is showering across from me, and I watch with delight as she soaps up her voluptuous breasts.

We're standing on an expansive wooden deck with dozens of posts lined up in rows, each equipped with a shower head on either side. Above us, a massive wooden carving arches across the open sky – a raven holding the sun in its beak.

This is paradise.

Entrance to the Ritz

My father's been telling me about this little utopia for years, claiming it's his favorite part of the Oregon Country Fair. This is my fourteenth year at the Fair, but I didn't make the effort to finally check out this luxurious bathhouse and sweat lodge - called “the Ritz” - until recently. It's the kind of relaxing environment I might not have been able to fully enjoy as a younger man, restless as I was, but at this point in my life I couldn't appreciate it more.

Earlier today I spent some time sitting in one of the beautiful wood-fired saunas, sweating out the toxins of last night's fun. I figure after this shower I'll return to the sauna once again, and after that I'll take another shower. This is my plan for the afternoon. All weekend I've been making a conscious effort to let go of my anxiety and allow myself to just enjoy the present moment. Don't worry about what happens next. Just be.

I grab a bar of soap and start lathering up my shoulders, and the tension in my spine drops away. In the corner of my eye something moves. I twist my neck and see that the woman showering behind me is bent over, her bulbous backside a mere fraction of an inch from my own derriere. If I'd only been leaning back slightly she would have butt-bumped me. I imagine the soft, wet skin of our asses pressing up against each other, the awkward apology afterward, and I'm overwhelmed by a sudden feeling of terror as I realize I'm starting to get an erection. Glancing down nervously, I can see that my penis has clearly entered the No Zone and is quickly preparing for blast-off.

The muscles in my neck and shoulders are immediately tense again. I desperately look around for something non-sexual to focus on, but all I can see in every direction are breasts and penises and vaginas. A gray-haired woman with a tight body and a neatly-trimmed bush saunters by. I squeeze my eyes shut, and some demon in the back of my brain is chanting, “G-MILF! G-MILF!” I push the evil thoughts aside and try to conjure up an unsexy image. At first I try to think of my grandma, but my memories of her are too hazy, and she keeps morphing into the G-MILF with the well-groomed pubes.

I feel my penis move. The situation is getting dire. I decide the only thing left to do is recall a memory I've been trying to erase from my mind for years: My 26th birthday, sitting with my mother during her final moments in a hospital death bed.

So I'm standing here in the most tranquil place I've ever known, bathing in the sun, surrounded by beauty, and I'm focusing all of my thoughts on the image of my mom riddled with cancer, her skeletal form barely able to clutch the prayer beads on her chest. I clearly remember sobbing openly as the nurse wiped a bit of vomit from her gaping mouth. Her face was so sunken-in I barely recognized her.

The memory is so vivid I find myself mumbling out loud, “Jeezus, that's horrible.”

It doesn't occur to me at that moment, but some of my mother's ashes are scattered in the fairgrounds nearby.

Suddenly I open my eyes and look down to see that my penis has shriveled down to its usual non-threatening state of rest. It worked! For the first time in my life, I'm actually thankful for having that final image of my mother stored in my mind. Awash with relief, I flash a broad grin at Kimbot, who smiles meekly back at me.

“I'm gonna hit the sauna again,” I say, and I stroll through the crowd of naked people, whistling happily, seeing faces now instead of just genitals.

Later on, after we've left the Ritz and are walking around the main part of the Fair, I enter a wooden bathroom stall to take a piss. Through the wall I hear a woman's voice in the adjacent stall. She's letting out quiet moans and whispering, “Fuck me! Yeah, fuck me harder!”

My penis leaps out of my underwear, practically screaming for attention, and this time, alone behind a locked door, I can think of only one good solution.

Thirty seconds later the situation is resolved.


A Few Pictures of the Portland Pride Parade 2010

Pantsless in Portland
Written by AnDroid   
Thursday, 24 June 2010 16:20
It was an overcast Sunday morning, but little rain fell as we stood outside CC Slaughters drinking coffee and watching the parade.



Portland Erotisphere Has A New Look!

Pantsless in Portland
Written by AnDroid   
Thursday, 17 June 2010 16:20

Since I was starting to get comments about how www.erotisphere.com looked like a realtor website, I decided it was time for a change. Two good friends of mine worked with me to create a new logo, an illustration for the homepage, and icons for the business categories.


A Memorial Day's Night at the Safari Showclub

Pantsless in Portland
Written by AnDroid   
Thursday, 03 June 2010 16:20

The last time I went to the Safari Showclub with Devo, a little stripper who calls herself "Bridget the Midget" was the main attraction. We were greeted at the door by the owner, who I think was fairly new at the time. When we went up to order drinks there were two dancers sitting at the bar. They told us they'd driven down from Seattle for the weekend to make some extra money in Portland, only to find that “this fucking midget” was drawing all of the attention, and none of the other dancers were getting much in the way of tips. I sympathized with them, although I had to confess we were mainly just there for the midget.

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