A Legend Of The World Famous Chicken Ranch Brothel

A year ago this November 8th, I participated fully in activities that would lead to many lives changing forever. This story is about how I left the World Famous Chicken Ranch a Legend for All Time.

FOREWORD:

Every Tuesday at the CR is Doctor Day. Each and every girl working the floor the current week (including the girls who go off-shift on Wednesday) is required to have a standard PAP test at a County certified clinic. This is the one day on our shift that we are permitted to leave the ranch and go into town.

They split the appointments between Morning Doctor's and Afternoon Doctor's so there are girls available for line-ups and for appointments with their out-of-town regulars. The docuseries, Pleasure For Sale, had been on US cable for the past 5 weeks and the episode with my spanking party scenes had aired the previous night. I scheduled my shifts at the CR to coincide with my episodes on cable, anticipating an influx of quality clients interested in my story, but instead, the "depressing" editing of the Sundance Channel producers coupled with the absurd marketing campaign launched by Chicken Ranch management resulted in the worst February and March in CR history. Regular CR girls saw our weekly commission checks dwindling to three figures and new CR hires spent their 10-day shift doing nothing but bitching and paying room rent. The energy in the House that week felt viscous and combustible. No one opened a window for fear of backdraft.

But I was determined to create experiences for myself and for all my House-Sisters that will benefit us all in the long run. My participation in Pleasure For Sale had been a naive first stab at bettering the common perception of professional working girls. At my initial screening, I had realized that what Joe and Harry Gantz produced summed up to professional suicide for all of the girls who participated. Throughout February and into March, I was doing damage control. And with my personal life swirling currents, no money coming into the ranch and my dearest bitches quitting week after week, I had shut myself in my room Sunday night and took myself off the floor for 24hrs.



TUESDAY, MARCH 18, 2008:

I was awake and conscious of the heavy silence in the House, or was that the king comforter under which I remained fetal for a good twenty minutes before I needed a cigeratte and a glass of water?

My room was dark -- only a cheese slice glow coming from beneath my room door and the blinking red light of my cf (a gang of unread texts and a dozen missed calls... 02:42.)

I didn't want to run into anybody. I couldn't explain myself. It was an extraordinary off-run of my performance art at the Chicken Ranch. My energy felt scattered and I avoided relating with others to minimize the sensation -- or lack thereof, literally. It was the final week of the Sundance Channel's series, Pleasure For Sale, and the response generated a slew of issues for which I felt personally and professionally responsible. There had been no parlaying, "being discovered" or pay-off for any of us -- the only reward presented was that of further, diligent work. It's like my saying goes, when life hands you rape, make rape-ade.

Thirsty, I took a deep breath and opened my door letting in light from The Pit. A green shamrock bead necklace was on top of my "Privacy Please" leather doorknob hanger. The drowsy memory of someone (Marina?) knocking on my door sometime earlier as I willed my ears back to sleep reminded me that the next shift of girls had come in to the House and I could normally be counted on to come round rooms with a warm welcome back! (Some girls got it more warm than others ;-p) I had missed all the St. Paddy's Day tomfoolerey -- that's right, I said tomfoolery.

The Night Manager was vacuuming unseen in the parlor as I quickly poured myself a fresh cup of coffee and glass of water. Back in my room, I lit up a cigarette, sipped hot caffeinated sugar and called my man back home.

The conversation was short -- in length, long on love -- as he had just fallen asleep "but wasn't sleeping" so I didn't want the last thing he heard before he rested was my negativity and despair and "I don't know if there is anything else I can do here" attitude. Somehow, because of the long-on-love part I guess, I managed to get all of that across anyway. I assured my man that I would work out and get myself ready for a successful day. I had assumed I was on Morning Doctors like the previous 3 shifts so I had four hours to get ready. Then, I was coming home on Wednesday, so all I needed to do was give one great final show for the House and strike my stage. I leave in 38 hours.

The hour on the stairmaster was delicious. The window open at my back, the early-spring mountain air charging my breath and 80s music guiding my pace. My ass looked hot and my quads trembled as I dismounted. Lit up a cigarette on the way to the water cooler and a long shower.

Fresh-faced and denimed, I decided I was ready to speak to humans. I went to the Managers Office and was told that I was actually Afternoon Doctor's so I got ready to work the floor.

First, I checked my voxmail. One of the girls who had left the CR in February was coming back to LV from a shift at one of the brothels up north. She had been calling me all night on her roadtrip to ask if I was going to be on Morning or Afternoon Doctors so she can coordinate meeting up with me for lunch. I was absolutely not well suited to meet with her. I was focused on going home and I felt she would only pick my brain for "the scoop." She was negativity personified -- truly a tormented being of abscess from absenses.

My man called back.

"I know why my energy has been so scattered. Sadie's in town and's been calling me all night to meet up with her." I passed the buck.

"Guess who else is in town?" he responded with a question, a noticeable unknown quality in his voice.

I thought who else would be entering the picture now with all the challenges we've faced so far. "Your ex-wife?"

"What? No, what are you talking about? No, guess who's in town -- don't be silly."

"Just tell me already."

"Me."

"You? You're 'in town'? Huh?"

"I'm here! In Pahrump."

"Now! Shit, when -- why -- what? You're coming to Pahrump today?"

"I just got in. I'm outside the ranch."

I finally got excited and was scattered once again. "I am Afternoon Doctor's."

"I thought you said you were on Morning Doctor's. That's okay, I can get some sleep since I drove all night to get here to see you when you got out."

We talked about how much we missed one another and how incredible was his spontaneous road trip eastward across the canyons as the dawn broke and the radio queued one life soundtrack song after another. I talked him into coming into the Leghorn Bar as a visitor just picking up souvenirs for a friend so as not to cause a 7AM line-up of the girls who were sleeping until Afternoon Doctor's. That way, we can at least say hello and look into each other's eyes and smell each other's mutual lust until we met up against House Rules later that afternoon. It was a strictly enforced policy that girls on their "day out" were forbidden from fraternizing with anyone, most of all clients and boyfriends. Our need to be in the same room was a dangerous dance we indulged in.

I changed into my favorite outfit and went to the bar, sat at the back facing the door and lit up.

Enter The Stranger. His steady footsteps wake the lazy boardwalk of the patio to the entrance of the Leghorn Bar. He opens the door and his jacket hugs his torso as a burst of air escapes the morning cold into the heated 24-hour bar. The Shift Manager enters from her office, requests to see The Stranger's ID and points to the wall-mounted showcase of all the Chicken Ranch souvenirs -- from t-shirts to golf tees. The Stranger selects two crewneck designs and gives sizes to the shift manager who returns his driver's license then disappears to her office for the items.

I ash my cigeratte and slink to the bar, platformed stairmastered steps shaking the floor. "Hello, I'm Chyna," I said to The Stranger, extending my free hand.

We lock eyes and mirror one another's smile. I want to swallow his face. I drag on my Newports.

Ms. Judy returns with the requested gift items and receives cash from The Stranger.

"May I get a shot of Patron when you have a moment, please, Ms. Judy?"

"Sure, Chyna."

The Shift Manager pours my shot and writes up my chit for my bartab. I put out my cigeratte, exhale away from The Stranger and return his smiling glance before signing my chit. "Would you like to join me for a drink?"

"Sure," he said to me in a soft voice, certainly too soft to be heard by Ms. Judy.

"What can I get for you, dear," Ms. Judy asked The Stranger.

"Nothing, thanks." And then he gives me a look, turning his back to Ms. Judy.

"Another shot, Chyna?"

"Just a coke, thanks."

I take my cola back to a table with my man, I mean, The Stranger. We light cigarettes and wait for Ms. Judy to leave the bar.

"I can't believe you are here," I said to him. "And I can't believe you didn't buy me my drink!"

He grinned and shook his head. "It's too early for you to be drinking. I won't encourage that." He joked, a little.

He let my hand rub his knee and then his lap. I felt his jeans move and his eyes would not stop undressing me. He suggested he would find a place to park in town and get some sleep and we would catch up with one another when I am out of my doctor's appointment. That meant only an hour or two before I had to go back and he would what, go all the way back to Cali?? It sucked! I WANTED!

With the Morning Doctor girls checking out of the Manager's Office for their day in town, Ms. Judy was preoccupied and I took advantage of the bustling in the doorway to slither into the restrooms with my man following closely behind.

When I tell this story to my brothel sisters this is always the first time they stop me to ask a clarify question: "Which one, Men's or Women's?"

"Men's."

"OOOOOHHHHHH, GROOOOOSSSS! You so NASTY!!! You guys couldn't wait a few hours??? Why, Chyna? What were you thinking?"

Truth is, I was completely aware that I was performing a story so beyond my day-to-day thought -- thinking was not an artistic option... yes, it was a professional option that I probably should have weighed out with less recklessness, but that's not what I was about nor am... so instead...

I kiss my man messy on the lips, feeling his tongue, his chest, his throat. I unbuckle his belt, unbutton his 501s and go down on him til the taste of precum wakes my buds from their steady diet of mint flavored condoms. I stand up in my 7" chrome plats, my panties in hand and my dress pulled up past my hips, my tits pulled out by the nipples from the top of my bra. And my man loves me right fucken there. I am slipping in and around my orgasms as he puts his palm over my mouth. He still hasn't come when The Madame shouts at us from the other side of the men's room door.

"Chyna! Chyna!" Really sharp and short and pissed.

I put my leg down and adjust my breasts and dress. I pantomime to my man to flush the urinal which he does, saying out loud, "I'm the only one in here."

"Chyna! I know you are in there. Get out here right now. I mean it!"

I kiss my man once more on the lips and he shrugs at me with a smile that fills my chutzpa cup. I exit the mensroom to see The Madame and the Assistant Manager disappointed and furious looking back at me. The Madame points her upward finger at me and curls it to her wrist. "Come with me, Chyna."

I follow her march out of the bar to the Manager's Office where Ms. Judy was standing and sent me a shot of compassion as The Madame scoffed, "She was doing a guy in the mensroom!"

"I have to explain, please," I said. "He's My Man and I love him. I am so sorry to disrespect you and your rules, Ms. Debbie, I swear that was never what I wanted to do. I just missed him so much."

"You know you have to leave -- right now."

"I understand, Ms. Debbie. I am sorry that I did this. Thank you for everything you have done for me."

We had this entire conversation with my panties still in my hand.

I went back to my room where I "psycho-cried" that is when you are smiling, almost laughing, but your guts hurt and your eyes are turned down in tears. I paced back and forth in my room and realized, before I can pack anything, I had to call my man and tell him I love him and then I had to call Marina and tell her I love her and then I had to have a cigarette.

When I called Marina, she picked up -- I had expected her voxmail -- but while I was saying, "I got fired," she was throwing on her sweatsuit and coming across the House towards The Pit. "Open your door, woman." She said on the phone and from the otherside of my room.

I let her in and told her what's been happening to me and that my man came for me. She was so happy for me. She congratulated me for getting fired and for doing it for love -- so what if I did it in the men's room even though we both admitted it was quite nasty of me :-)

The rest of the day was a whore-going-to-Hollywood whirlwind. I had been discussing my media potential with business manager to models, Rick Roberts of Hot Girl Models. I had been inspired to expand my artistic vision for my character from one-on-one performance art to mass media performance art. It was an opportunity I could not nurture from within the confines of legal brothel work. Shit, it was a rare triumph when my cf signal would be strong enough to make a call let along allow me to set up appointments or discuss outside business with any measurable efficiency. I had to leave the ranch and stretch my artistic reach. Obscure cable tv and public radio had not achieved what I felt was necessary.

I spoke with my man and turns out, he had stayed in the bar and spoke with Ms. Debbie after she fired me. He asked her if there was anything he could do to help, and she permitted him access to the porch when I was finished packing to help me bring all my stuff to my truck. In the meantime, we coordinated our funds and he checked into the local Best Western for sleep and to prepare for our first night together in our newly expressed destiny.

Throughout the day, as girls returned from Morning Doctor's and wondered why I was packing my room instead of going to afternoon doctors, the story about my sexy meeting with The Stranger made the rounds and it was what everyone from staff to sex worker was talking about. My platinum bitches came up to me personally for the details.

"Chyna," they said as they pulled me into their rooms and shut the door. "What's going on? I heard you got fired because you did a client in the bar?"

Oh, it was like that!! We laughed as I discussed the true accounts and how I was leaving the CR but I will never be forgotten. For the first time during my art/Work at the World Famous Chicken Ranch, platinum bitches be giving me their personal phone numbers and telling me how they honestly felt about me and insisting that I keep in touch. I will. I have, I do and I will. One of the things I never took for granted working with the girls of the CR is that I successfully connected on many intimate levels with many different girls. This honed my ability to speak in different lingos, perspectives and from all my human machines. They respected me more than a saucy nasty story interested them. They cared to know the details from me personally, accepting that the rumors would fly and lore would be created to both hate and legendize my work.

The best response to my story that I received from my girls is from Ms. Sofia. She had recently retired from the CR in February and when I called her and told her the news, she laughed the hardest and said, "What a grey story! You left dema grey story, Chyna. How funny!!!"

I laughed hardest with her energy. Yes, a great story to leave them with. My run at the World Famous Chicken Ranch had come to a close. The first scene was my on-camera step onto center stage participating with the Gantzes on their international cable tv production, Pleasure For Sale. The final scene was a hip-roaringly hilarious unforgettable act that the management, staff, regular girls as well as new girls can all draw from for the rest of the days of the World Famous.

None of it was my story. The story of my entry belongs to Joe Gantz and is his professional accomplishment. The story of my exit belongs to the women of the Chicken Ranch and is theirs to do with however it gets them through another day in the life.

My story begins that night I spent with my man and a full moon and the manifestations of universal conductivity. For one night in Pahrump, I was not the artist. I was art in motion by the brushstrokes of my man. I surrendered to all that will be and let go of all that was imagined.

Sacred Whores and Trick Hos - Part 4

Yesterday, one of my clients asked, "Why are you doing this?" And before I can answer, said, "I guess that's a dumb question; of course, you're doing it for the money."

I didn't know whether I should laugh or cry.  Truth is, had I stayed home for the holidays, I had plenty of work that would have earned me 5 TIMES what I've made the last week here at the CR.  Further, had I gone back to my hometown of VanCity and worked at Madame Cleos, I would have earned more money there, too, because I would have been able to keep all of my tips instead of splitting it 50% with the House.

So why am I here? It's a simple question with a layered answer.  I think for this kind of work, if you're in it for one thing and one thing only, this industry will use u up and spit u out fast.

My marriage at home is definitely non-conventional. Entering my sexual peak as a woman around the time I was 34, my husband and I were celebate. His choice.  I really put in the effort to adapt to his lack of sexual interest in me, performing domestic and business functions as normally as I could.  But, there came a distinct instance where I was given the opportunity to choose pleasure or pattern -- and I chose pleasure.

That choice, which included honest revelations with my husband as I do not keep anything from him, led to my swinging and seeing couples as well as individuals for sexual theater. After a few months, however, I became unfulfilled with the swinger lifestyle, because much of it was ordinary and superficial -- not at all the intense "Opening Night" experience that I so long for.

When I was being interviewed by the docu-series production crew, Joe Gantz, the head producer, made an interesting observation.  I used to hitch-hike when I was a teen, relishing in the adventure of getting into someone's life and finding out where that energy takes me.  My adrenalin pumped everytime I stuck my thumb out and a car slowed to the curb, brake lights and right turn signal glowing like dive-motel signage.  Pavlovian, my mouth would salivate as I hopped into the front seat and looked into the eyes of my new adventure for the first -- and usually, only -- time.

This is the same sensation I get from hooking.  Each "party" or "turn" is like me hitchhiking a ride with someone with whom I could explore new frontiers.  And because they are paying -- with time, discretion and of course, dolla dolla bills yo -- the route is exact and direct and my sexual performance truly elevates to a surreal, present-time apparatus.

With my swinging with "squares" (people who don't pay for sex) there is ALWAYS issues over not getting it up because of the condom, or the wife, or whatever.  There is a social polution that gets in the way of total attention.

Also, last night, early Christmas Day, I spent conversing with 2 pro-veterans of the biz and they were so loving, honest, sharing and REAL. It was a wonderful connection I felt to that which I love and women I have always admired and respected.  I don't get this at home.  I never got this in my childhood.  I get this connection when I am around hookers.

One of the Brothel Rituals is that on Christmas Day, notoriously the SLOWEST day of the year in the industry, the girls of the House run out to the middle of the street (in CR case, Homestead) and pee as a group. We just did it 10 minutes ago and, no lie, 5 minutes later, three customers came in and selected girls to party.  I wasn't one of them this time, but I ain't sweating it.  I already "broke" today and I wanted to finish this blog.

So, no, I'm not doing this for money.  I'm one of those hookers that trick hos refer to as psycho sick bitches because I actually hook for the sheer pleasure and personal exercise of attention and presence.  So what if I don't make as much money on this trip as I would if I'd stayed home. The work at home will be there when I get back on the 4th and I'll finish it up and get that money anyway.  It is these precious and positively creative experiences that I am so giddy over.  2006 Christmas ROCKS!

Hope your holidays are warm and full of frivolity -- save some fun for New Years!!

Merriest Ho,
Chyna_Pi

Creating A New

My shamanic partner said to me, in a game of perspective, today, "It was a mistake. That is why we will destroy it. Must. Then you can create whatever you want however you want it as what you want is so beautiful.

"What will you create?"

"Animals will be made of chocolate. And you can eat them and they would be happy."

"What is an animal? What is chocolate? When all is destroyed, what is it truly you will create?"

"Well, I guess what I will create is love in a form that you can melt it and shape it with your hands, with your mouth..."

"What is 'hands', what is 'mouth'?"

"I mean, I would create love that you can savor, ingest, sculpt with and affect the sculptor, then I would create a frisbee -- I mean, I would create an extension of my appreciation for the way that love plays, sending love as far away as I can just to feel love running back again to me..."

How To Perform A TLC Blowjob; and Other 1-Liners

Tongue. Lungs. And Cheeks.

A long and flexible spine leads to a strong and sexable mind.

To be fashionably late is to enter the space at the first or second plateauing of energy with the intention to produce a clear spike towards higher attention and awareness of vibrations.  (It is not showing up after everyone else has left and given up on you.)

The Hallowe'en Enema: One Tootsie-Pop inserted in the rectum for 15 minutes.

Expect What You Won't.

Prior to using a condom, squeeze the condom package like you would single-serve ketchup to make sure there are no pinholes or other damage to the condom.

The Essential 5-Piece Power Suit: French bra, matching French tanga or boyshort, coordinating Y-String, UltraSheer Thigh-Highs Prints, 7" Plats

..

..

http://stockingirl.com/Merchant2/merchant.mvc?Screen=CTGY&Store_Code=miccina&Category_Code=TPR

 

Jerking down and towards the base of the shaft rather than jerking up and off the head produces a more natural grip and rhythm.

Mongol aesthetic principals: face as flat as a calm lake, round eyes let in evil, and strong legs make her man happy.

Que?.. So?.. What?..Cheese?

If you keep telling me how much women love how you go down on them and that you could eat me out for hours and hours, all i hear is oral thrush.

Gently rolling the labes up and over the clit with the sides of two fingers produces an effective juxtaposition to contrast direct palm rubbing of the crotch.

The only way to truly know if she enjoys a vigorous knucklerhooking and would be turned on by fisting is if she spontaneously inserts her fingers into your anus and fingerbangs you without any coaching... wait for it... wait for it....

The only way to truly know if she enjoys her hair being pulled is to do it hard but with gradual steadiness -- avoid snapping her head back and risking activity-restricting whiplash.

Talking about what you want to do or consent to before engaging in any sex activity is a good idea -- if you can't handle doing it grown-ass style.

The light orgasm processes the harnessed ejaculate so that the subsequent cosmic orgasm produces highly refined cum that tastes like birthday cake frosting (men) and pineapple poundcake (women).

I Am Present; Therefore I Am

I've been reading and listening to a lot of bloggers and opiners and frankly, I am digging what I am receiving, peeps.

The question of what makes humans "human" has pretty much defined our "race" -- to evolve, to propagate, to survive as well as to thrive, and so forth.

In the Renaissance, the great sentiment inspired by the awestriking cultural revolution was "I Feel, Therefore I Am!"

From the start and ever since, what humans are best at evolving is our philosophies:

"I think, therefore I am!" - Descartes

"I feel, therefore I exist." - Thomas Jefferson

"I ought, therefore I can." - Immanuel Kant

"Sometimes I think, and sometimes I am." - Paul Valery

"I want, therefore I am." - Leo Tolstoy

"I rebel, therefore I am." - Albert Camus

"iWeb, therefore I am." - Apple

With The 6AM Blog, I have even defined my philosophy as "I Be, Therefore I Am Human." A Human Being is how I perceive myself to be most productive. To simply be in alignment with highest intentions and unaffected by distractions of lower wills, humans being human sounds like a remarkable way to live to me. We all have the ability to be godlike, animalistic, vegetables and elementary. To inact those abilities while respecting our common humanness is an idealistic concept. Just a concept.

One of my dearest lifelong friends pointed out that it is not enough to be -- we must do. It is in our doing that we are defined. I see her point, but only so much that I see how my being is also not the whole truth. Most people just do to please, do to belong, do to avoid confrontation, do to be doing anything other than nothing. That won't float for much. And then there are some of us who seek to engage their being but are so alienating, we rarely make any impact on the energy spectrum of the human race.

So what is it, really?

We cannot simply do if we have not learned to be. We are not true in being if we are not willing to do. We feel, think, exist, moralize, hesitate, want, rebel and web -- but we do it in opposition of the whole of what we be. It's like the saying, Think With Your Heart, Not With Your Head. QUE? SO? WHAT? CHEESE?

I would like to propose that we change the human race from humans being or humans doing to simply: I am a human present.

To be present is not reserved for humans -- animals have this trait innately and plants demonstrate it in eerie psychic fashion. To be human present, however, takes everything that we know about us -- the stuff we agree with as well as the stuff we have rejected, all the contradictions packed together with essential awareness for our potential -- humans present cannot deny the great responsibility to and passion for life. All.

The gift of human life is our presence. When we devalue the gift, when we assume the gift to represent something we can manufacture, when we say the gift is not what we wanted... we lack presence.

I am a human present. To all of you who are, too, humans present, thank you for attending the Great Party. Let's rock and who's competing for Best Costume ;-)

Fortune Cookies - November 3, 2008

Ciao, Chyna!

Remember when you told me there was a lot of energy around my left thigh/leg area? That night I was grappling I was extremely aware that you were right. My left leg is pivotal in every submission, position, and transition I attempted. I use it way more than I use my right leg. Just wanted to share that with you. I also wanted to tell you that I thought about you and the energy you shared with me while I was grappling. At one point towards the end of a match, when I was grappling a more advanced guy and was completely exhausted, I thought about you and pulled energy from somewhere and finished the match without submission. Life won in that ritual.

You're beautiful,
~ Tony Esposito, Cage Fighter, NY.



Ciao, Tony!

Thank-you for letting me know how you are taking our experience in awareness and applying it to your sport. I feel absolutely blessed by our collaboration and hope to have the opportunity to work together artistically again.
baci
chy pi


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Ciao, Chyna!

Hey there

I happen to come across the show on Sundance tonight and I had the need to contact you, so i left you a message on the message board.. it was just about how brave and strong you are!

To give you a bit into my background, i was in the industry for many years back in Australia and I know all very well how hard it is to live in that world, and im not really talking about the "working girl world" but the world that "america" loves to place you in and judge you without knowing a bloody clue what it takes to work in the industry! Actually working with the clients is actually easier than dealing with the b. s. once you get outside the doors sometimes, to are outcasted over here, well thats from what i see.

SO I wanted you to know I am someone you can confide with though you probablly have many friends and contacts and working girls you consider your sisters, sometimes its nice to have someone from that outcast world that can be there to listen and laugh with!

I think you are a very beautiful woman, we are similar in age and as it seems have experienced many things the same!

I hope you add me and keep in touch

All my love
~ Nic, Australia


Ciao, Nic
baci
chy pi


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Ciao, Chyna!
"Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil. "
Aristotle

Loved tonight's show, I never anticipated that it would have the impact on me, as I sat crying, watching you cry, grasping on to your every word, it was from the heart and whoa! it blew me away... It was just over way too soon, i didn't want that moment to end, i wanted to hear more, in an effort that I could discover more. It really tapped into that aspect of my being of "what i didn't know, that I didn't know".

You were a hand reaching out from the other side, I thought I was the only one that felt those feelings, that cried alone in the dark of night, when nobody was around.

Thanks Chyna for giving me that moment. I walked away from it with a completely different listening for who you are in the world, you do make a huge difference in the lives of many, it's a wonderful gift.

I bet there are a lot folks out there that were left with the same emotion. Who you are and your energy shined through. I am anticipating next weeks episode with you and your auntie having that exchange. Your going in and requesting a review seemed so real and sincere to me, and it really spoke volumes as to who you are (and what you have to bring to the party). You are a great contribution.

I really was feeling that song also "bound to love you" ?, do you know who that is by? It was so fitting... that last scene was really tweeking my every lever and valve, it had me so dialed in, TOTALLY IN SYNC.

~ NR, 40/M, NorCal


Ciao, NR
I love and celebrate the fact that my truth is making waves and bringing stragers closer to an intimate collective. david baerwald's "born for love" off kalifornia soundtrack was playing in my scene. only reason we got to keep the scene unedited was that series producers, Joe and Harry Gantz, had previously worked with david on showtime's sexual healing -- so it was a miracle scene of connection on many beautiful artful planes.
baci
chyna pi


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Namaste Chyna,

The work you are doing is absolutely vital, needed and healing to our planet, to wounded masculinity, and to usurped female power.

I am highly intuitive and I would like to share my experience of you thus far, if I may. I asked to be your friend because by a serendipitous and synchronistic series of events, I was led to see several excerpts from Pleasure for Sale, and was delightfully and cosmically led to your myspace page. I saw three different clips of you, first, with you listening to your aunt speak about her views about no sex outside of marriage. I was really moved when you sat with her and told her that you really appreciated her point of view, and then proceeded to share with her your different approach. That was done with such compassion, love and respect for both you and your aunt, I just sat there in awe watching you. I don't know if you have consciously worked with the techniques of compassionate communication, but you totally have that down.

And then you picked up on your Aunt's disappointment. You empathized with her without showing any shame to yourself. I knew that even at that point in your life, you had attained a high degree of compassion for yourself and humanity. I have to say Chyna, that that is what makes you stand out. I was moved by a quality in you. You are really beautiful, and that beauty comes from a very deep place.

When I saw the excerpt with you and your (I think former) husband, I again saw a woman who had a lot of compassion and integrity. From my distant perspective I could see that you were light years ahead in you spiritual development and your ability to communicate in a non-violent way. Again, I was deeply moved by that.

And last, but not least, the suspension scene. You totally channeled an ancient indigenous woman in that scene. I thought to myself, this woman is a Warrior of Truth, Light/Shadow, Heart. So Chyna, I am honored to meet you and be your friend.

You walk with some strong and grounded spirits and I believe your path will continue to blossom in beautiful unforeseen ways. You are a magnificent healer and an incredibly awesome human being. Keep following your bliss and honoring your spirit, mind, heart, body.

Love,
~ Phillip, WA



Ciao, Phillip
it means a lot to me that you shared so much about how our paths aligned -- especially now, when my esteem has been strained, my vibrations are weak and my process has been slow, feedback is surely electrifying. your sense of artful timing is saucy.
baci,
chyna pi

...pizza ji-zoint, coke-o puffs, 3 asians and a Bimmer, the gas...

[Things We Hit Last Night]

"Yo, Angela, did I wake you, girl?.. It's 3:30... Yes, in the morning but you are not gonna believe this shit!.. No, I can't call back later, girl, I can't sleep. Deshon there? Girl, tell that nigga to go back to his babies mommas bed -- Oh, you alone. Then, why you be trippin'? Acting like you're 9-to-5 and shit... I know, I know, you have your court thing tomorrow, but that's like at 2, so shut the fuck up and let me tell you what happened already.

"So, everybody's at the Purple Onion -- Y'know, everybody... Just everybody, girl: Cherry, Heidi, Nina, Monique, Co-Co, Madison - hey, did you tell that ho she could wear your boots?.. Well, she had them on at the club. She's nasty!.. Make her pay for them. That bitch banks tips... Anyway, we're all working the club and I see this army guy -- What? So I have a thing for them - I dunno, they remind me of GI Joe and I feel like Barbie when we fuck... Yeah, I turned him. But that's not why I'm calling... Okay, I'm getting there. Where was I?..

"With Arnold -- Yeah, Arnold, ugh!.. No, he hates Arnie... Okay, I'll skip the sex part - bo-ring... So we left the club before 2 to beat the rush to Mario's... They're so busy on Tuesdays...Shooters night at the bars. The line-up snaked into the alley - everybody's toking up. We sparked a coke-o puff... Mario doesn't give a shit.

"Gino was there wid Kim... skinny, Kim, the new girl...  Yeah, she's wid him... Yeah, he saw me. And I was wearing the stilettos he bought for our five-year anniversary... I didn't say shit to that low-track pimp, but that bitch kept looking at me like she's Hidden Tiger Kung-Fu Chicken and shit. She said something in asian, real loud so I could hear, y'know? I walked up to her, slapped that ho, yanked off her wig and threw it in her pizza.  It was a fucking riot! The cheese was melting the wig, and Kim has NO hair. None! It's like she's in chemo or something. Ha-ha-ha. So, Arnold and I got out of there before Mario can kick us out and I'm like, 'Wanna grab a taxi or do you have a ride?'

"Sheeyat, he drove a tore-up 'Lac... He said it was his friend's... So, we get out of downtown and traffic was really light so I started giving him head... Yeah, I used a condom - always, girl. I was going at it and I looked up at him to see if he's handling the road and both his eyes were shut then it got all bright. I stopped and poked my head up and saw nothing but headlights.

"He hit the other car.  Then, the trick floored it. I screamed, 'What the fuck are you doing?' He's banging on the steering wheel, getting all white-knuckled and babbling about how he can't be arrested, he's AWAL or some shit like that. Meanwhile, the car we hit's chasing us.

"Suddenly, he's offering me money to help him get away.

"I didn't want to be involved in no hit and run but he wasn't letting me out of the car right there and then. We got up to 75 - I was thinking, we might actually get away - the adrenalin's pumping over the coke. Then I looked behind us and the car we hit was right on our ass! Girl, he hit a mutherfucken BMW! Looked clean, too, except for the messed up grill.

"The Bimmer went for the driver's side, so I told Arnold to go hard right into the alley behind Safeway.  That 'Lac handled good - now I know why the mob uses them. We flew down the alley and I told him it was gonna cost him another bill. Can you believe the trick tried to argue! Lucky for me, just as we were nearing the end of the alley, the Bimmer suddenly turned into it, almost blocking us in. Fucken fast fuck caught up wid us and tried to head us off! Arnold never even touched the brakes. He pulled to the left, drove over the sidewalk, passed a tree, and I think we smashed the Bimmer's right taillight on the way out.

"I saw the people inside: an old asian couple.  She was wearing a fur coat... Maybe they were getting back from hardcore Mahjong gambling or something; they looked the type.

"Arnold kept driving while I shouted 'left', 'right', 'straight', 'left', 'left.' We're cutting through alleys and parking lots. Either the Bimmer got lost when we started backtracking our route or he figured it wasn't worth it - either way, we shook him. And I made an extra hundred bucks!  I don't think Arnold wants to date me again, though. Ha-ha-ha.

"Yo, Ange. Angela. You awake?"