I was supposed to go to a big campout/rave/orgy hosted by the local Burning Man Community this weekend, out in the desert near Boulder City. I packed everything up this morning (OK, this afternoon): my camper, cooler, drum, kooky outfits, etc. But when I got out there, it was so freakin’ windy (wind advisory in effect; gusts of over 50mph) that I didn’t even bother setting up my pop-up camper for fear it would be blown over and destroyed, as happened to my old one out at Apex dry lake bed. So I just stayed long enough for a cocktail and a hot dog with my fellow Burners…and then I turned around and headed back to Vegas, and unpacked everything again 🙁 Stupid wind!!!
But since I didn’t camp out, now I have time to tell you all about this awesome photo shoot I did last week. It was another one of those hotel-room-shoots-with-some-random-dude, but this guy was totally cool and very creative. Instead of just shooting the usual cheesecake, he had me get on all fours, naked as a jaybird, and then placed the glass tabletop from the coffee table on my back. The result is totally American Psycho, don’t you think? If these hotels only knew the kinds of hijinks that went on in their rooms…
This awesome photographer also had a hankering to shoot some “flasher” shots out on the Strip; i.e. me in a trenchcoat, with little or nothing on underneath. His idea was to do a super-long exposure of the Strip first, to blur out all the pedestrians and cars…and then take a pic of me flashing everyone, and composite it together with the empty Strip shot.
So we went down to the Strip around 7pm on a warm spring evening, not looking suspicious at allllllll….him with a tripod, and me in high heels and a pleather trench coat. We went and lurked around in front of the Bellagio, waiting for the fountain show to be over so the hordes of tourists would clear out and he could take the first long-exposure shot.
Unfortunately, that part of the sidewalk NEVER clears out: between the fountains and the random wackos in costumes hustling for tips and the enterprising souls hawking glow sticks and roses, it’s pretty much a circus, 24/7. So we just went for it, crowd or no.
I don’t have a photo of the actual flash yet, but rest assured it was great. Some kook in a Darth Vader costume was standing behind me, hustling passing families into posing for photos with him, and he missed the whole thing because his back was turned. After we snapped the shot, I closed up my trenchcoat and turned around to walk back, and Darth Vader went into his shtick: “Come take a photo with me, young lady!”
Me: “No, thanks!” Darth: “Oh come now…don’t be shy!”
Me: “Shy?!!” *FLASH!!!* I opened my trenchcoat and gave him an eyeful. “Trust me…I’m NOT shy!”
At that, the poor fucker, sweating his balls off in his helmet and cape, began chortling uncontrollably, but managed to choke out a strangled “May the Force be With You!” Awesome!
Fortuitously, one of the “Hot Babes Direct To You” trucks just happened to be idling at the light nearby…so we were able to snap this additional awesome pic! I do kinda wish I was swiveled more to the side, as I feel I look a bit hippy in this shot. But it’s still a gas!
For those who don’t know, prostitution is technically illegal in Vegas (it is legal in most of the other counties in NV, including neighboring Nye county, where most of the brothels are)…but there are a multitude of “escort” agencies that will send an “entertainer” to your room to, uh, “entertain” you. It’s a total fuckin’ farce, but a huge industry, so no one’s really complaining. I personally dig it — I love all those porn-slappers out on the Strip who hand you those little cards that say stuff like “Brandi! $99 special!” To me, that’s an integral part of the Vegas experience, and I enjoy collecting the cards.
In fact, a special ambition of mine has long been to APPEAR on one of those little cards! Anyone with half a brain can tell that the photos on the cards are hired models, and not the actual escorts. I always thought it would be a gas to have my photo featured on one of the cards…and with the number of nakey pix of me floating around out there, I figured it was just a matter of time.
Well, FINALLY, back in February a photographer contacted me about doing a “controversial” shoot for an escort agency. His approach was cautious, because he knew that most chicks would recoil in horror at the prospect of posing as a hooker. Lucky for him, I’m not like most chicks — I jumped at the chance!
The shoot was to take place at this wacky mansion down in a sort of run-down part of town. That’s the beauty of Vegas — you’re tooling along in the ghetto, when all of a sudden you find yourself in a little hidden neighborhood full of custom estates. It’s very patchwork-y like that.
This mansion was absolutely incredible, lavishly furnished by someone with an excess of money and a paucity of taste. It was like they crammed every “classy” thing they could think of into this McMansion: Rolls, pool table, home theater, oversize aquarium, ginormous fireplace, grand piano, caged monkey with a boner screeching in the corner…it was fantastic!
The shoot crew involved several models (of varying degrees of skankitude), the photographer, a make-up/hair chick and this big, fat, slovenly blonde woman who appeared to be the lady of the manor (when I remarked on the amazingness of the house, she said “Thanks”). But to my trained journalist’s eye, it looked to me like the house belonged to a black man: there was a shoe rack full of size 49 Nike Air kicks by the door, a giant oil painting of Billie Holiday over the mantel, lots of Africana knick-knacks scattered about the house, and a framed certificate from the City of Los Angeles made out to a man with a distinctly Black Muslim name. I tried not to snoop around too much and arouse suspicion, but I was really curious! It seemed as though the escort biz was fairly recession-proof, and I was dying to meet the pimp behind it all. Pimpin’ may not be easy…but it apparently gets you a lot of fun toys!
The shoot itself was fairly unremarkable — the standard nude/implied nude cheesecake, only with a caged priapic monkey in the corner screeching mercilessly the entire time. Apparently there was also an ocelot wandering the grounds, but the ocelot was said to play rough, so I was glad I didn’t run into it while naked. Also, there was said to be a pen of wolves out in the backyard — I didn’t see this, but I definitely believe it after being at that weird estate.
After the shoot, the photographer took pains to assure me that the photos wouldn’t end up on those little cards — or in print anywhere, for that matter. Supposedly, they were just for the escort agency’s website. But when he saw my disappointed expression, he cracked up: “You’re the first model I’ve shot who actually WANTS to be on a card!” And then he promised me that if I was “good,” they might put me on a card one of these days.
Man, I really hope they do! I don’t plan on running for office anytime soon, anyway… and I just think that would be the biggest hoot EVER: to be walking down the Strip and have one of those poor illegals hand me a card with my own image on it. Maybe I have a twisted sense of humor…but I just think that would be totally tits…especially if I happened to be on a date or with my grandma or something!
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“Sometimes it’s a form of love just to talk to somebody that you have nothing in common with and still be fascinated by their presence.” ~ David Byrne
If you ever make it onto a card, I hope it has some text content worthy of Wonderhussy’s word weaving wiliness and destined for a future episode of “Assterpiece Theatre.”
I need to do another episode of that…thanks for reminding me!
I LOVE that coffee table! I want one! Do you think maybe Ikea might have something like that?