Tips and Quips for Peepshow Patrons

Having witnessed hundreds of patron's experiences behind the glass and visiting as a customer a time or two, let me give you a few bits of advice on how to get the most out of your trip to the Lusty lady peepshow.

Follow the rules: Whipping out your phone, fancy iPads and cameras makes us buck-naked ladies way nervous, even if you are only checking a text. Most of us are not out about our jobs and would like very much for our images to stay right were they are.

Don't pretend you're at the zoo: Remember when Tatiana the tiger mauled that obnoxious guy at the SF Zoo a few years back? Beware of harsh reprimands and flying stilettos if you dare bang on the glass or taunt us.

Find a girl you like: We want you to be happy! If the shade lifts and the girl in front of you doesn't suit your fancy by all means move to a section that works better for you. Just be sure to close your door securely behind you when you leave!

Stay a while at the main stage: You'll have more bang for your buck (and I truly mean buck since it only costs $1) if you put in $5 or $10 at a time. Positives: more free hands for play, no stop and go show, ladies will be drawn to you since you're paying attention and you'll get a better, more explicit show.

Don't make us play Wack-A-Mole: Be patient with us! There are 12 booths surrounding the main stage and 3 of us on stage, which means the ladies have 4 windows each and we can and do entertain all at once. You will not get the most explicit show or 100% of our attention in the first $1. If you bop around from window to window only putting in $1 at a time you'll find it's the same at every window and you'll tax the girls on stage who are trying their best to make sure you're satisfied.

Become a regular: Ladies love regulars! Familiar faces are always welcomed and the more we get to know what you appreciate the better prepared we are to give it to you. I used to have a regular customer who liked to dirty talk about me baking; anticipating his return I brought a cupcake into Private Pleasures to give him an extra special show.

Tip!: Think we are awesome customer servicers? Give us a little extra somethin' somethin'. (Little known fact: we don't make much over minimum wage. That's about $10/hour to dance around naked for lots of eyes!) You tip for service at bars, restaurants and barber shops, don't we deserve the same?

Ladies, be nice: Women patrons make us more self-concious than anything! If you're uncomfortable being here, then so are we. If you are talking negatively about our bodies or shaming us for the work we do we often absorb those comments much more than if they came from your male counterparts. 

We like variety: Lusties love to do one-on-one spread, masturbation and toy shows in the private booths, but do you want to know what else we like? Fetishes! Whether you are an amateur or hardcore shoe, stocking, age play, sneezing or golden shower fetishist we appreciate your excitement and willingness to explore.

Take a trip to VIP or Private Pleasures: These booths offer more intimate and interactive shows with one or more of the girls and give both parties a chance to get to know each other a bit more. If you've only been to the nude stage you'll learn it's a completely different kind of show, one that can't be seen anywhere else in San Francisco. Hell, we offer a kind of show and experience that can only be found in a few locations around the country.

Girl On Top

Remember that time I had you bent over the couch? I tell you sweetly, politely to "stick your damn ass up in the air." I say I didn't know what I wanted to do with you yet so you should just stay that way until I did.

I don't go into toppy mode often, usually preferring to be the receiver, the bottom, the accepter of other's efforts and aggression. But sometimes...sometimes I want to be the one who is obviously calling the shots, not passively taking all you can give me or controlling from the bottom. That day was like leap year, the rare blue moon, and I wanted to wear a cock and watch you ache for it.

I choose to sit on a wooden chair facing you, watching you waiting, expecting something more, but you get nothing. You turn your head to look at me, wild-eyed in wonder as to whats to come. Or cum. My legs are crossed and my dress is still on so you haven't seen my big silicone cock yet.

Smiling, I unzipper the front of my green dress, letting it fall to the floor next to me. I unhook my frilly pink bra and discard of it quickly. There's no need to be froofie today, all a girly-girl with a dick needs is lipstick and high, high heels.

Spreading my legs wide so you can see the wetness on the inside of my thighs I slowly start to stroke my cock. You get hard at my hardness. Pumping up and down with my manicured fist I groan and ask "do you want it baby?" Your hurried nod and stream of pre-cum underneath your swollen dick is all I need to know it's time.

I kneel behind you, one hand searching between your legs to start tugging, pulling on you hard and fast while my other hand directs my lubed-up extension all over your ass. You're exposed, totally and utterly vulnerable like I usually am with your pretty little hole shining for eyes to see, for tongues to explore and fingers to disappear into. "All eyes are on you, honey, and this girl's going to take real good care of you."

Snaking my cock next to yours my hands grasp your waist and I pull you into me, pushing my skin onto your skin, my hips into your flesh, reminding you how far I can go in. I adamantly think "I can take yours so you should take mine" and while you have the nicest cock I've ever seen mine is chosen, made of an ungiving composite that is wider and almost inhumanly longer than yours. I remind myself I must be gentle.

Hot skin erupts into goose flesh as you arch your back to run your ass up and down the rubber shaft that's standing ever erect in front of my cunt. I need to feel your pressure against my pelvis almost as much as you need it deep inside. I take your gym-calloused hand in mine and direct it to your cock, whispering "jerk it" in your ear.

For a split second you hesitate and I can imagine a million thoughts galloping through your mind at once: uncertainty and fear of defenselessness and pain creeps into your muscles and for a flash of an instant I think you're going to stand up and tell me you need me to take off my strap-on, that you need to play with my slit and have me suck your cock like you're used to.

But you don't. You grit your teeth, slowly squeeze your cock with your fingers and lean back until the tip of my cock slides easily into your wanting hole, taking it like a man.

Hands outstretched to your shoulders I drive it all the way inside, making you moan and shake. Gently, I ask if you can still take it. Unable to form words you say nothing, but your hand on my hip holding me in place screams "Yes. Like this." A rush of blood rushes to my clit and I have to get off.

Releasing one hand from your skin I delve into the front of my harness, finding my cunt slick and wet with want and my clit hard and ready. I rub my clit in small circle strokes watching you face down in the cushions, hole filled with my girl-meat, which is making you harder than I've ever seen before. Your strokes are tight, incomplete and I know you can blow any moment.

I cum, fiercely and fully, driving myself forward into your ass, sending my cock as deep inside as it can go, setting off a chain reaction. You cum, shooting streams of sticky white jizz all over the uncovered couch and your taunt stomach. You gasp with release and oxygen.

Slipping out of your ass and out of my still stiff dick, I roll in between you and the couch, covering myself on all sides with your cum and sweat. Your grin and flushed cheeks are toxic and I can't help but squeal with girly delight, planting light kisses all over my big burly man.

Dating the Transboy

I met my boyfriend Ethan as Ethan. I was one of the first, if not the first, person to only know him by this name. We met via OkCupid.com a few months after he transplanted himself across the country, out of old relationships, configurations and presentations, and into, what I have witnessed, a stronger sense of self that's grown under the warm California sun.

Both of us baby-faced and soft spoken, we sat awkwardly across from each other at Phil's Coffee on our first date, asking a mix of superficial and intimate details of each other's lives. I think we both felt like we had a lot to unload. Polyamorous with minimal dating experience and a sex worker, I regularly opt to divulge all the complicated bits upfront as a litmus test. He did the same, expressing his uncertainties around his identity and gender.

Casual encounters quickly turned into codependency (ok, the word choice might be a bit strong) and all those hopes, fears and concerns of the individual turned into those of the pair. Having a front row center seat view of my partner's ftm transition has been an amazing and hard thing to witness and be part of: feeling the anxiety followed by elation of the first testosterone injection, the apprehension surrounding coming out to old friends, parents and work, the anger directed at people who use the wrong pronouns and gendered bathrooms, the indecision and titillation of having tits, the happiness spurned by people who use proper pronouns without prompting, the mixed feelings that emerged after the discovery of peach fuzz, and the awe at the differences between the voice heard now and the voicemail recording made four months ago.

With all that we've collectively anticipated throughout the last year the one thing that we didn't plan for was how normal it would all feel. Maybe not all of the above examples are easy and incomparable, but our responses to each other have always been unequivocal support and devotion. While Ethan has only known me and accepted me for how I am, I have him. I think we're both used to saying "duh" more often than not.

And while I know there are times when Ethan feels he hasn't shown his whole self to me because I don't recognize him by any other name or any other gender, I know that whole self is there and, I'm conjecturing, probably more easily discernible than before. I mean, who can resist a hat wearing, saggy pants boy that sings show tunes like a freshman in high school and can teach me about lesbian culture, sports and his understanding of the world around him?