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Brea Bennett at Twistys

January 12, 2010 12:29pm
Thong of the Siren: Baton Rouge
Source: Adult Industry News
by: Schevelle

Schevelle's Thong of the Siren: Baton Rouge, the End of a Decade

As I sat Christmas morning eating an ooey-gooey cinnamon roll, I thought about the following week at Baton Rouge Gold Club. Every entertainer knows what it’s like to be on stage practically nude knowing that you can’t hide anything and all the bad food you ate may show. So pondering this for about half a second, I ate the remaining gooey cinnamon roll and followed it up with one more. Alas, the day of the booking approached which brought an end to of the era of the cinnamon roll.

Tony and I checked into the hotel and were promptly met by someone in the lobby saying, ''Hey, if you guys hear a lot of noise tonight, it’s because we’re throwing a big Christmas party on the third floor. (Keep in mind, it is three days after Christmas.) We, like rented out the whole floor so we can be loud.''

I imagined a frat party taking place below us, with goats running around and people doing keg stands. While Tony and I wanted to party, we intended to run that day (remember the ooey-gooey cinnamon roll), even if it meant running outside…in the cold…at 10:30 at night. As we ran I thought I heard footsteps behind me several times it turns out that it was just death running behind me certain that I was going to be added to the roster.

Tony, always having a positive attitude when we works out looked over at me with glowing eyes and said, ''You know, it doesn’t feel so bad. This actually feels good.'' In my anguish I looked at him with dismay realizing, doesn’t he smoke, and he is kicking my ass while we run. Moments like those make me think shows like Dr. Oz are lies.

We came through the sliding doors of the lobby after the run it was like seeing the golden gates of heaven part…and there was everyone from the party. The group who indeed rented out the whole third floor for the party, ended up in the lobby. It became a mobile party. Gently inhaling on their cigarettes, most of them looked at us as if we were certifiable for even being out there in shorts. After leaving my lung on the route and then seeing the gates of heaven, we decided to pass on the party.

I thought the New Years holiday would be a challenge to the people because it fell on a Thursday and I didn’t think people would party Thursday, Friday and Saturday. I forgot where I was. These people are professional drinkers and if you can’t handle it, they look at you like ''Rookie. Go eat some Jell-O.'' I find this ironic because they have several Don’t Drink and Drive billboards but they also have drive-thru daiquiri stands.

The club had their New Year’s countdown toast. I had my champagne glass early so I sipped it and realized it was gone. I asked for a refill, but got nothing even though they had about fourteen hundred champagne glasses. The ''countdown'' which the rest of the country starts at about ten was more like ''Two, one! Happy New Years! Okay, next on our stage we have Blue stepping up''.

When I performed my last show, the crowd was really festive. The VIP section overlooked the stage and there was a group of guys who kept yelling at me to climb the pole. Now, I have never climbed the pole so I was going to smile and ignore them, but then they made it rain and kept yelling. I still blew them off and then I heard that voice that helps me out so much on stage say ''Sure! She can climb that pole. Go for it Schevelle. Climb that pole!''

My usually facilitating emcee Tony became my nemesis in about a second. There he stood, microphone in hand with a big smile on his face proclaiming that I should climb the pole. Looking up at the eight-foot pole, which grew like a beanstalk to sixteen feet as I stood there, I realized I had to do this in front of everyone…for the first time. I thought, Squeeze your legs and you won’t fall. So I climbed it and Tony had the second floor make it rain all over again. Then I beat Tony’s ass in the dressing room after the show.

The holiday booking came to an end and we are off for the 1,800 plus mile trip to Las Vegas for the AEE/AVN convention. I predict Tony will drive almost the whole time (he is a horrible backseat driver) with no sleep and the help of about seventy-eight cups of coffee. Since the Batman and Schevelle Tour started over three months ago, we have gone non-stop and it continues to Las Vegas where the air is dry and the prices are high.

Tune in next week to see if Tony keeps his emcee job or if he ends up at a truck stop emceeing the Monster Truck events yelling ''Sunday, Sunday, Sunday…!''

Check out our syndicated podcast on iTunes to hear the ''Microphone Story'' from our week at Baton Rouge Gold Club.

Read all about Tony Batman at www.tonybatman.com and Schevelle at www.schevelle.com.

Pornography feminists unshackle their desires and celebrate their sexuality in the patriarchal world

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