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The lovely ladies from Rick’s Cabaret in Las Vegas, chillin’ at the Hard Rock’s cabana lounge

My favorite gentlemen’s club in NY, Rick’s Cabaret, is about to officially open its Vegas branch. Next week, starting with a huge press party on October 22, Rick’s will host a round of celebrations to kick things off in style. Rick’s has some of the hottest girls north of Rio, so I can’t wait to see what they’ve got cooking in Vegas.

The club’s PR impresario is none other than Lonnie Hanover, who made Scores a household word. Scores, of course, has been fading fast without Lonnie to guide it. In fact, Rick’s Cabaret took over Scores in Vegas for its Sin City pleasure palace, as these pics illustrate.

Top-notch (and adorable — I hope she doesn’t find that offensive; I certainly don’t mean it in a chauvinistic way) erotic blogger Tess Madrone riffs and rants (but always engagingly) on new book America Unzipped. Author Brian Alexander “is simply documenting the behaviors and thoughts Americans have about sex. His book ultimately gives the reader the impression that sexual repression might not be as rampant as we once assumed it was in America. Once I realized that Alexander was focused on conveying that America was not as sexually repressed as one might think, I found myself wanting to not like Alexander. I mean who could seriously expect me to believe that our county wasn’t sexually repressed?!?”

Read more at Erotic Ramblings: America Unzipped: In Search of Sex and Satisfaction.

If anything can dampen the mood for sex tourists at Carnival, it’s this: Help Discoteca, Rio de Janeiro’s hooker central, has been targeted for extinction. This huge nightclub across the street from Copacabana Beach is a magnet for working girls and gringos. I’ve met some of the most extraordinary women there, including one who was “off the clock.” Like most of the girls at Help, Bettina was a prostitute. But she wasn’t working that night. Then why was she there, I wondered. Just because a sex professional’s off-duty, she reminded me, she still has certain “needs.” I’m sure any guy there would have volunteered to fill her needs, especially if they knew her price for that night: Zero. I guess my timing was right, though (not to mention the vagaries of “chemistry”), because much to my surprise, Bettina chose me.

We hit it off well enough that we started dating. It’s the only time I had a bonafide romance with a Brazilian prostitute without paying for the first encounter.

Asshole that I am, I fucked up a great relationship by standing Bettina up one night. By that time our relationship had become “normalized” to the point where we would have gone out for dinner/drinks, maybe a nice stroll around Copacabana, then return to my apartment for passionate — and here’s the key point – free sex. Instead I opted to blow her off to pay for sex with another girl I knew from Help. I called Bettina the next morning and tried to BS her that I’d gotten too drunk to make the date. But she knew I was full of shit. She told me never to call her again, that I was just going to keep hurting her. She was probably right, of course. One of the reasons I’d become such a dedicated sex tourist was my inability to sustain “normal” relationships. Not that I was really into cheating on my girlfriends. Just that once things settled into a reliable pattern, the original electricity was gone. Rio became a refuge — a never-ending parade of hot women available for sex at relatively bargain-basement prices. With so many to choose from, how could you ever get bored? The conundrum for me, though, is that I like the idea of romance, of building something substantial with a woman. And I don’t care if she’s a Harvard-educated doctor, or a Brazilian prostitute. As long as there’s chemistry.

But I digress. According to Brazzil Magazine, Rio’s governor has expropriated Help’s building and intends to use it for the city’s Museum of Image and Sound. This is a shattering development to those of us who consider Help one of those magical bridges between earth and Paradise.

[This is the text--minus a few editorial changes in the magazine version--of my article in the March 2008 Hustler.]

You’re sipping a martini at a tiki bar surrounded by palm trees, a blazing orange sun setting in the distance. A pair of stunning Latinas with nothing but towels around their waists are entertaining you. Their caramel-colored skin glistens and their nipples rub against you as they nibble on your ear and molest you through your bathing suit. You fucked one of these dark-haired temptresses last night, though all that free booze makes it hard to remember which one. No problem. You can refresh your memory an hour from now, when you’re fucking both of them. Read more

[Here's the text of an article I wrote for now-defunct Rockstar Magazine]

How would you like to be fucking girls as hot as the ones in this magazine? I’m not offering you a course in self-esteem or a bunch of “surefire” pick-up lines? My solution is more basic: Dive prick-first into the flesh markets of Rio de Janeiro. Read more

[This was my first article on Rio (minus a few editorial changes in the magazine version), originally published in Hustler Magazine in Nov. 2004. Here's the published version, if you prefer.]

Forget that giant statue of Jesus welcoming you to Rio de Janeiro. (It’s a wonder the Vatican hasn’t ordered it airlifted to a saintlier place, like Vegas.) A monument to Heidi Fleiss would be a better symbol of what awaits you.

From its beaches to its business district, Rio is one huge legal brothel. And we’re not talking crack-whores. Gorgeous “garotas de programa” (”program girls,” Brazilian slang for hookers) are yours for the taking. Read more

[This originally ran Jan. 2005 in Oui Magazine where I was doing a monthly column, "Adventures of an Average Joe." Some of the links might be outdated.]

The Christmas season is a strange time for a porn journalist. Everything is a run-up to the Adult Video News convention/awards in Vegas in early January. I call it “Sexpo” for short. Rolls off the tongue so easily, like vaginal dew drops from Goddess of Gush Cytherea’s slit. (Smart-asses will note that Sexpo is already taken as the name of Australia’s big adult-industry gathering. Hey, if it’s good enough for those sheep-fuckers, it’s good enough for me.) Read more

[This is the text -- minus a few editorial changes in the magazine version -- of my article on sex tourism in Costa Rica in the Summer 2007 issue of Karma Magazine. The published version's here.]

“I’m not here for nature hikes or bird-watching,” says Jerry, a 27-year-old architect from Cleveland. “I’m here for one thing only—screwing.”

“Here” is San Jose. Not the one in California (coincidentally, the city where Karma Magazine has its headquarters and legendary Friday-afternoon orgies). But the capital of Costa Rica—one of Latin America’s most prosperous countries, and a place famed for its ecotourism. Costa Rica draws about a million visitors a year with its beaches, rain forest, volcanoes and diverse wildlife. The capital, though, is a hotbed for mankind’s favorite indoor activity; prostitution is legal, and despite its appeal to sex tourists, 70% of the clientele for prostitutes in Costa Rica are homegrown.
Read more

A few years back, I was in a Manhattan bar where I approached this young, nubile thing in a tight sweater, tried to make conversation. She put her arm around her friend and said, “I’m a lesbian. I don’t talk to guys.” Never mind that I’d seen her swap spit with three guys in the last hour. What she was really saying was, “I don’t talk to YOU.” At least she was more considerate than a girl on the previous night, when my simple “Hello” had been met with a drink tossed in my face.

But now, as spam flooded my inbox, I felt loved again. All these faceless pushers of penis enlargers and fat reducers, vying for my attention. One message stood out: “Wanna boink a porn star?”

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