Nope, it's the rows of tee shirts from local and national acts. The first thing that grabs your attention as you enter the shadowy confines of this hardcore metal CD store and specialty boutique isn't the severed limbs that hang from the ceiling, nor is it the not-so-dulcet thunder of grindcore assaulting your ears. If you're a chubby, pale-skinned teen eager to replace your threadbare Misfits tee with something more likely to shock your already concerned parents, you've come to the right place. When you wake refreshed, check your Hotmail account on any of the walk-up Internet stations before heading out to resume your night-crawling ways or to catch a train to parts unknown. As long as you don't stand out - consider removing some of your funk in one of the union's many restrooms - you won't look (or smell) much different from any of the other twentysomethings who're dozing after an all-nighter. If the occasional student worker (or "The Man") rousts you and demands some student ID, the jig might be up. If the sandman doesn't come posthaste, drop a couple of panhandled bucks for a Croissan'wich, watch cheesy talk shows and aging sitcoms on the gigantic-screen TV, or jam out at one of Hoodlums' listening stations in its adjacent store. Luckily, the cushy red couches in the TV Lounge on the lower level of ASU's Memorial Union will fit the bill nicely, and you can lay your crusty head down for a nap. You need some serious sack time, but too bad the cops busted up your squat the night before. It's been a long night of spanging and bumming smokes in front of the Coffee Plantation on Mill Avenue, and now the dawn is breaking. Visits are by appointment only, so give them a call for precise directions, and meet that Venus in Furs you've always dreamed of. Phone sessions are also available, and there are always guest doms in from N.Y or L.A. There's a 4,000-square-foot main dungeon room with X-crosses and cages an immersion room with a spanking bench, a gynecologist's chair, and a suspension unit that helps you "hang out" a doctor's clinic where your nasty nurse can give you a full examination and a parlor where sissy boys can cross-dress to their heart's content. Inside a nondescript building where security cameras watch over the exterior like high-tech gargoyles, a score of worship-worthy doms, submissives and switches (those who "switch" from dom to sub) render and receive punishment to and from clients.Ī number of lavishly outfitted rooms help Mistress Porsche and her femmes fatales fulfill customers' fantasies. In a warehouse five miles west of Sky Harbor Airport, the legendary adult-film star - whose handprints adorn the adult industry's Walk of Fame outside Larry Flynt's Hustler Hollywood store - has the dungeon to rival all dungeons. You've been a naughty New Times reader, and Mistress Porsche Lynn has just the punishment for you.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |