I’m seeing a married man. Fuck you if you are judging me right now, because I’m sure you have skeletons in your closet. And since I started this affair, I have become an over-analytical junkie- thinking of how this occurs in some capacity with so many women I work with in Las Vegas.
The adult entertainers of Sin City- we are “the others.” We are the fantasy girl you run to when you need an escape from your reality of wife and kids, your reality of work and stress, your reality of the McMansion in the suburbs. We can be anywhere on the spectrum: from a one-night-fuck, a 30 minute VIP, a sugar baby, or a full-fledged affair. Whatever the case, we tend to be the other woman in some way.
When a man tells a stripper, “I’m married” in the club we laugh and say “So? You and every other guy in here.” We know you are all married or have girlfriends. We don’t care and that’s no excuse for refusing dances or VIP’s. You came to our work, we want your money, not you. Pay me, let’s have fun, goodbye. Go back to your wife dude.
Since we are so conditioned to shrug our shoulders to those in wedlock, to the man that is “taken” I can’t help but wonder, do we shrug our shoulders in reality as well? Do we start to lose respect for marriage in general?
I lost respect for the sanctity of marriage a long time ago, when I had a man pumping away on top of me and as the Vegas lights filtered through the windows, I saw the glimmer of his wedding ring as his hand caressed the side of my face.. I was close to orgasm when suddenly I thought to myself “what the fuck am I doing?” It didn’t feel right, but it didn’t feel wrong.
We see the worst in men and men in their most raw state. We see them drunk, on drugs, horny, far away from home or all of the above. We see them heartbroken in Vegas or overwhelmed because they are “getting married tomorrow.” We hear it all and turn into not just entertainers, but sometimes therapists and their actual voice of reason. I can’t tell you how many men I’ve given advice “don’t get a divorce because…” or “don’t get married because…” Every situation is different and regardless of the situation at hand, I am still “the other.”
So many look at “the other woman” as a threat to everyone including herself. We are the temptresses, the adulteresses, the whores, the Jezebels, the demons coercing your man into infidelity. In actuality, we are not so evil. No one cheats unless something is lacking within the marriage, and his wondering eyes were wondering long before Las Vegas. Entertainers are not in the wrong for being there wanting to do business, when he has that desire. We are just doing our job. There are nights that I’ve had extreme chemistry with a married man and he took it only as far as a few lap dances, even after saying “how I’d love to fuck you.” But saying is different than doing. Not every man comes to Vegas to cheat.
We are the women every man wants, but most do not see marrying. Why? Most men don’t see a sexual deviant, a sexually liberated female, a woman who gets naked for a living, as someone who could be the mother of their children, a woman he would be proud to introduce to his family. And the thought of her being desired by so many other men, using her sexuality, body, and mind to make money, often threatens his manhood and ego. This is common, but not always the case. There are some entertainers who are married with kids, but mostly we are single moms or no marriage and no kids. This often is by choice simply because in our line of work, it’s so much easier to be alone because of the reasons stated above. It takes an extremely confident man to be with women like us.
When a man is taken, we don’t feel like we have to quit our careers and become house wives or get a “real job.” There isn’t that pressure of “let me rescue you from this life” because he is already with someone else and we can keep living how we want. A man can’t say shit to us about our sugar daddies or clients when he is married.
However, what if we take it too far and end up falling in love with the married man? What if we don’t want to be “the other” anymore? These are the circumstances that can come with affairs.
My fellow dancer friend, let’s call her Victoria. Victoria is a complete bombshell, a smart business woman and is seeing a married man, let’s call him Chad. They are in love. Chad has a child with his wife, they have a house and his wife knows about Victoria.
Victoria recently found out she is pregnant with Chad’s baby. “I’m devastated, I’m frustrated, I’m stuck, but mostly now I am scared,” she said. “I don’t know what the fuck to think. Or who the hell to ask for advice on what to do, or how to handle it, because nobody understands. Everyone I know with some sort of reasonable intelligence seems to be so right-winged, they believe in maintaining the sanctity of marriage, under any circumstance, which I strongly disagree. They judge me for being an “adulteress”. Every one of my friends who aren’t right-winged, don’t have any life experience to relate.”
I wonder what Chad will do at this point. Will he stay in a lifeless marriage or go with his true love and the woman who fulfills his every desire? Funny how people live their entire lives or waste years upon years with someone they do not really want or love. Believe it or not, we help men to see this. “The other” will test your current partnership. Unfortunately, sometimes loyalty, finances, kids and other factors blind what is best for everyone. This is why “the others” are better off keeping it strictly business.
My heart is a gypsy-continuously searching for a home, fighting within itself, wondering whether it is weak or even right, for that matter, to be searching in the first place. Lonliness is what it feels like. I don’t really know what the urgency is I feel: Loneliness or complete heartbreak? But I fight it, saying it can’t be broken. I still have hope that I will find peace within myself, and that must be what it’s about.
Producer Number 1
I went to the AVNs with Jeremy Bilding where I met a porn producer, lets call him Mr. Slim. He gave me his card, I gave him mine. He was wearing a leopard print sports coat with two weathered-looking females dangling from each arm. I paid no mind and threw his card in my purse among the lip gloss and dirtied bills.
Three weeks later, I received an email from Mr. Slim. He said he looked at my site and wanted to help me. He told me I have potential to really make something great and he likes to help girls who want to get into the porn biz. “The next time you come to LA, contact me,” he said. “I want to help you out. I don’t normally do this, but I see something in you.”
I was suspicious of his words, but made it clear to him that I am no pushover. I told him I would never work like a dog for his site and I was not interested in anything except my own business. Yet, I was still curious.
I googled Mr. Slim. The man was legit with several running websites that he claimed had at least 300 solid members every month. He was also awarded an AVN in the hall of fame. His gonzo porn was rather raunchy and raw, but I figured that was his niche-old school, hardcore, cum on tits and ass, pussy in your face porn. Admittedly, I occasionally enjoy smut myself.
The next time I ventured out to the city of Angels to see my favorite partner in crime, Avflox, I decided since I was going to be in LA anyway, I might as well meet up with Mr. Slim. The second I told him I was coming, I was bombarded with text messages. He seemed overly excited for my arrival. I told him we should meet for lunch, he said to come meet him at his studio. His studio turned out to be a home address in the valley and he couldn’t meet us for lunch because “my Ferrari is in the shop baby,” he said.
“He wants you to meet him in a house in the valley?! Are you crazy?” said AVflox.
“That’s why I want you to come with me,” I said. “Come on, he sounds ok and I’m curious.”
She agreed and we ventured out to Ventura.
I had never been to the valley. Born and raised in California, I always stuck to the coastline. The Valley- It looked rather run-down and exhausted, much like those girls who were attached to Mr. Slim’s arms at the AVNs . As we drove past Muhulland Drive, I started to feel as if this trip was a bad idea.
“This is the porn capital?” I asked AV.
“Yup. Creepy, huh,” she said.
As we pulled up to Mr. Slim’s “production home” we were confused.
“Wait a minute, this is a duplex,” I said.
“Yeah it is. He makes his porn in this?” AV commented.
The house had white paint chipping off the sides and an old Buick parked in the front. I called Mr. Slim.
“Uhh Slim?” I asked.
“Yes! Jessica! Are you here?” he asked.
“Yeah, are you in a duplex?” I laughed a little.
“It’s not a duplex, it’s a big house my dear.”
“Right, hence the two addresses. And is that a Buick parked in the front? Are we at the right place?”
“Yes. I’ll have my assistant come and get you. I ordered you a salad as well.”
“I brought my friend, can you get her one too?”
“Your friend? Oh, is she interested in doing porn?”
“No, she is a writer.”
“Oh well I can’t have her here, sorry. I mean I guess, but if she is not interested in working for me then I can’t be showing her around. I can show you around the house, but not her. She will have to wait in the office.”
“Show me around? Show me what? I thought we were having a meeting, not a tour of your house. Likewise, I feel more comfortable if she is with me.”
“Hunny I have hundreds of girls come through here weekly, I don’t understand why you are so nervous.”
I put him on speaker as we drove away.
“You know what? I don’t think I am interested. We are going to go,” I said.
“Oh baby, you are so green. This is how this business works. Get with it. We shoot in houses, it’s not a big deal. I set my entire day aside for you.”
“Well I was not looking to shoot anything, you said you wanted to give me some pointers for my site and talk about some possible work for you, that’s it.”
“You have no idea how this all works. It’s too bad you are so paranoid that you don’t know a real producer when you talk to one. It’s insulting to me. You’ve been to my website, read about me, you contacted me when you came out here, remember?”
“I respect you experience and business acumen, that’s not in question. What unsettles me is the lack of respect. I may not be in porn, but I am a business woman. I will discuss business in a proper setting and I will not entertain insults when I express my discomfort at arrangements. If this is how you do business, I thank you immensely for the lesson about this industry and regretfully decline.”
“Google my address. It comes up as my production company. I’ve been here over 10 years. Made over 400 movies here. Have had over 2500 girls here to shoot and interview. Congrats, you are the first to think it’s weird and not show up. I guess 1/2500 ratio isn’t bad for me.”
“Then perhaps I should be the one offering the congratulations. Thank you for your time.”
Producer Number 2
He contacted me a year before and we chatted via phone. “Jessica!! I read your tweets you are an amazing girl! I love your style and how you tell people like it is. You are smart, sexy, you got it all! I think we could really create something together!”
His name,-lets call him Stevey. Stevey is a “executive producer” from Hollywood who shoots various low-budget reality shows for small cable networks. Think MTV.
A year later Stevey was on his way to Vegas and made sure to message me. He said he wanted to finally meet the Jessica Janson and possibly discuss some ideas for a new reality show. “We are also trying to do another season of -redacted- and one of our girls can’t do it. Think if you could be on the show instead!”
I was interested and again, curious, so I agreed to meet him. Stevey said he was going to be shooting all day and couldn’t meet me until after 10 pm. I took the night off from dancing and told him to meet me at The Playboy Club at The Palms Hotel/Casino- one of my favorite clubs in Vegas. He said he would be there by 11. I waited at the bar until midnight.
I was shocked when I put a face to the voice. For some reason I pictured Stevey a tall, thin, surfer dude and Stevey was short, chubby with arched eyebrows and black eyes.
“Jessica Janson! Wow!! You are more gorgeous in person! I’m so happy to finally meet you! Do you want a drink? Do you smoke?”
“No I don’t. I’ll take a glass of champagne.”
He ordered a vodka cranberry, my champagne and puffed on a Marlboro, edging his butterball body into the chair.
“Wow you are so hot. You are like the whole package!” he exclaimed.
“Thanks. So what is it that you want to create?” I asked.
“I don’t know! What do you think?”
“Well, ok, I’m thinking a reality show about strippers. Something that shows us in the raw, about our real lives, something of a documentary style.”
He stared at me blankly.
“I know! Stripper road trip! Strippers go on a stripping tour all over the country and live in a tour bus together,” he said.
“That might be cool. Although our lives in Vegas are pretty damn interesting.”
“I know! Strippers live in a house in Vegas and the drama begins!”
“Yeah. But not fake drama. I don’t want people to think we are all fucked up drama queens. We are women from all walks of life. I think if you show that it would interest people. Strippers are moms or we are party girls, we are business women, we are smart and edgy. I think people have their set stereotypes of who we are and we need to set it straight and show that these girls are all different.”
Stevey stared at me blankly again.
“You know Jessica you are so fucking hot I can’t get over it! Like, WOW! Do you have a boyfriend?”
I gulped a second glass of champagne.
“What does this have to do with me having a boyfriend?” I asked.
I was starting to get tipsy.
“Nothing! I’m just thinking a girl like you has to have a boyfriend.”
“Ok…anyway, I think it would be cool to show dancers as human beings. The girls of Vegas are the lifeblood of this city. Without us, this place would not be what it is. We could show this on tv.”
“Right. God you are so stunning. Want another glass of champagne?”
“No I’m ok.”
This was going nowhere. Between his countless cigarettes and after about four cocktails I could see he was getting tipsy too and not listening to a damn thing I was saying. This wasn’t a business meeting. Stevey was trying to turn this into a fucking date. And I don’t date unless I’m getting paid.
I wanted to leave but I wasn’t sober enough to be driving, so the next best thing was to hit a crowded club and drink a lot of water. I was done with the conversation.
“Let’s go to club Moon,” I said.
We walked into Moon and it was packed. We swam through the crowd to the back bar and Stevey immediately ordered another vodka cranberry.
“What do you want to drink?”
“Water,” I said. “So I don’t get what it is you want to shoot with me.”
“Well I have some cameras in my room right now if you want to shoot some stuff, heh heh…”
“Nothing. I love my girlfriend. I just really want to do business with you Jessica. I’m going to make you famous!”
And with those words my temper ensued.
“I have absolutely no interest in being famous. This is Vegas. We get money. You want to do fucking business with me Stevey? Give me two grand and let’s go to your room right now!” I yelled into his ear as the music vibrated through the floor and into my body.
“Yeah well if that was the case, I would fuck the shit outta you,” he said.
“Wow. I have to go,” I said.
I turned and started walking out. Stevey followed.
As we exited the club, he tried to take my arm.
“Oh come on, take my arm. I’m trying to be a gentleman. I’m trying to help you walk.”
I looked down at his short chubby body, I was inches taller than him. I’m 5’7 and in heels I stand about 6 ft.
“I’m fine. I don’t need your fucking help walking.”
I walked out to the valet as Stevey insisted on coming with me. I was embarrassed at this point to be seen with him and ran across the walkway. He still followed.
“Well Jessica it was awesome meeting you! Let’s keep coming up with ideas for our tv show!”
“Yeah, whatever,” I said, hopped into my car and drove away into the Vegas lights.
If I’ve learned anything in my industry, I’ve learned this: when you mix business with pleasure, most the men expect the pleasure and are horrible at business. I treasure the men that can remain professional and unfortunately, they are far and few.
When I was dancing in Seattle I remember the freedom we had. The little club on Lake City Way featured a shower in the VIP room and for the right price, guys could watch two girls get it on, rub suds on each other’s butts, make out, whatever they desired. On stage, girls invited each other up to simulate sex, intertwine bodies, spank, rub each other’s tits, and the men would go wild. We filled buckets with money and automatically patrons asked to do double dances. It was a blast, a great way to make money, and it turned me the fuck on- and when I’m turned on at work, I make even more money.
Vegas is different. Before I moved here, I heard 9 out of 10 dancers are lesbians or bisexual. Not true. A lot of girls are almost asexual from years of “doing it for the money” or they are “strictly dickly,” which is ok I guess. Although, last time I checked these girls are part of the sex industry? And what a way to stifle your sexual experiences and your business, if you refuse pussy, in my opinion.
Vegas clubs do not allow two girls to get nasty on stage together. I saw an attempt once, and the dancers were immediately reprimanded. One night after I gulped two shots of Patron Silver, my horny lapdance for wifey, in a booth on the main floor, was interupted by a stern manager who told me “go home.”
Funny, a Vegas girl will suddenly become “bisexual” when straddling Mr. Moneybags, but I’ve been in the VIP with girls like that- the interaction was so phony, the customer and I were completely bored. This is when I became the aggressor and practically raped the poor girl in order to turn the guy on, make more money, and actually enjoy myself. (She didn’t want to admit she liked it, but she fucking loved it.) Even worse, I had a girl ignore me once and instead felt like she had to unzip the guys pants and pull his dick out to make more money. Suddenly we went from girl on girl fun to prostitution and I was responsible for this stupid bitch who could’ve made the same amount of money sticking her head in between my legs. No doubt, I’m absolutely an advocate for threesomes, but that was not the agreement, when we told the guy he was going to see two girls simply get it on.
Thus, Vegas girl on girl is very superficial. The only good pussy I’ve had in Vegas was in the privacy of a hotel room and even then, it’s hard to find a girl who truly is into other females.
I love women. I love fucking them, looking at them, feeling them, kissing them, pleasing them, everything. Sometimes I fall in love with them too fast and my God, no one can break your heart worse than a female. This is why I avoid dating them.
So, I decided I want create what I’m lacking in Vegas on my new website. I want my website to feature yours truly, with tons of Vegas girls, getting it on and having fun. This was a larger feat than I expected. Even though there are hundreds of naked girls online, believe it or not, girls are freaked out to be on the internet.
I’ve heard it all: “I don’t want my dad to find it!” “I don’t want people I know to see me!” “My body is not that great.” You ask a guy, “You wanna do porn?” and he looks at me like he can now die a happy man. Guys can’t wait to expose themselves and their cocks on camera. Girls, however, are exhausting.
On a lazy Monday afternoon Samsonite and I sat around sipping green tea in my living room discussing our latest business endeavors..
“I need girls,” I reminded him. “And not ugly jaded drugged-out ho’s who just want money.. I need gorgeous girls, who want to express themselves and want to explore their sexuality.”
“I have a girl for you,” he said. “She just moved out here to dance and escort.” He showed me her picture. A brunette, with sexy cat eyes and pale skin.
“She’s gorgeous. Perfect,” I said.
Samsonite called her. She immediately shunned the idea. “I don’t want to be rude, but I am not interested in exposing myself on the internet like that. No offense, but being in porn online is not something I would ever do,” she said.
“Let me tell you something,” he said. “You go to guys rooms who you hardly know, fuck them, walk through casinos with cameras everywhere with a staff of security that could possibly 86 you from that entire casino and all the MGM hotels across the strip because you are soliciting- you are selling pussy and you are not interested in fucking a girl on camera in a business that is totally legal and legit?”
“I have to go,” she said and hung up.
“I’ll work on it, don’t worry,” Samsonite said to me as I rolled my eyes.
“If she isn’t into it, I have no desire to work with her or lick her pussy,” I said.
“Oh don’t worry, she will be into it. She will be into whatever I tell her to be into,” he said.
This is not my goal. I want beautiful girls, yes. But I want lil freaks like me, who want to rebel against societal norms and have a genuine need to express their innermost desires on camera, have orgies entangled in sweaty tits and ass, fuck with strap-on’s and play with clits and kiss and OMG, sorry, I could go on forever… I want genuine girls with brains and bodies that rock.
I despise fake (unless it’s fake tits of course.) I refuse to have sex with a girl who doesn’t like pussy, who is doing something she doesn’t really want to do or even doing something simply for cash. There isn’t enough money in my industry anymore to even say “I just do it for the money.” If you are in my industry it’s got to be for more than that. You have to love sex and love to express yourself sexually, it has to be more fun than work. And when you reach that point, the money comes.
So I’m still looking for girls. I found one so far and we are working on ideas. I tried to post an ad on Craigslist, but it was red flagged twice. I am approaching my friends from work, but they are all freaked out due to the exposure. I’m open to your ideas because I desperately want to serve you some gorgeous fillet Mignon via thejroom.com . Once I get this girl on girl Vegas extravaganza going, I will be the happiest lil stripper on the Vegas strip. xo!
Las Vegas Show Girl Debbie Flores-Narvaez was missing. I remember hearing about it before Christmas. The 31-year-old Washington Redskins cheerleader left her normal life in DC, after earning two degrees, one of them ironically in criminal law, to be an dancer on the Vegas Strip. She headlined in the burlesque show Fantasy at the Luxor.
One evening around mid December, Debbie failed to show up to a rehearsal. Her car was found a couple days later abandoned.
“She was probably with a client and he went crazy on her,” said Tia one afternoon as she braided extensions into her hair.
“I think you’re right, some sugar daddy… Or maybe she simply was involved with the wrong people. It’s Vegas. Either way I’m afraid they are going to find her body. It makes me ill but…” I paused.
“I know babe, I’m afraid they will too,” said Tia.
A few days later, I spotted Debbie’s sister Celeste Flores-Narvaez at my club. I recognized her from watching her plea on ABC news. She sat there silently, eyes like glass, staring at the girls twirling around brass poles unders blue and pink lights. She looked hopeless and numb. I wanted to tell her I’m praying for her sister, but I didn’t want to break her stare. I knew she probably heard it all day and didn’t want to hear another word about it ever again.
Friday, when Sin City was entering it’s rebirth and over 160,000 people from across the country were pouring into Las Vegas to celebrate porn (AVN) and technology (CES)- Debbie Flores-Narvaez was found dead.
Detectives snapped pictures in the little house on Bonanza Road and Las Vegas Boulevard of Debbie’s dismembered body that was covered in concrete and spread among two plastic tubs. The coroner claimed she died of asphyxiation, or in other words was allegedly choked by her ex boyfriend Jason “Blu” Griffith. According to the reports, Louis Colombo, Griffith’s roommate, confessed the details of the homicide.
The confrontation between Debbie and her ex could have lead to a crime of passion. The beautiful girls of Las Vegas, the women who make money from erotic professions, cause jealousy among many men in this city. It could have been Grittith’s envy that lead to their multiple domestic arguments and possibly an accidental death within his rage. Either way, I believe there is more to this story than what meets the eye.