reviews (2)discussions (0)articles (1)comments (3)Most know me as Dj Doug or, AKA Dj Soprano.
I have been Djing for almost 3 decades and dedicating more than half my life in the XXX industry that span from Manhattan to Mexico, and from Phoenix to Florida.
So I thought, why not write a book about it?
Here is a short teaser intro to my life and the experiences in a book named "Beyond the Brass Pole"

It's the Texas southern true grit, meets the upscale modern Manhattan. As a Dj's life collides into a spiraling reality of who's who's that begins to unravel through the life within two worlds of family and fantasy.

The almost 30 years of club and personal experiences that take you from strip clubs to swing clubs and even in my earlier days of the male reviews. I knew my life was not the normal life as most, but at that early point in my life, who would want normal? From that first day behind that mic, into years later for more than half my life. It was the smoke filled rooms with the muli-colored lights and mutual agreements held in dimly lit corners called the VIP was one world, and into deception, greed, money, sex, deportation and incarceration, and for the record, that part was just my family life. From a runner up Miss Texas pageant queen indited for forgery,and a potential multimillion dollar media company out of New York that gets caught in the cross hairs of foul play and trickery. All during this, Penthouse magazine,a Tampa tribune reporter, and a TV show named Judge Perro all wanted to cover experiences of what is told in this book. From the women that I had dated, to the private parties I attended, the A list celebrities of the silver screen, to numerous athletes from the court and field. The women that have graced the pages of many adult magazines and film, to the famous and local musicians that I played daily. These stories of my life span from From clubs in Houston Texas, where Anna Nicole started it all, and were two brothers had learned to bar-back to later to become the most well known club owners of Texas. The 2009 Superbowl Penthouse Party in Tampa Florida, and then to the top clubs in Manhattan such as Flash Dancers, New York Dolls and Private Eyes as well as many others.

Chapter - 1
New York reflection
Staring out a window on 38th street in Times Square, the busiest place on earth. “So many people” I say to myself. Over 54 million foreign and American tourists visit here each year. It's place you could almost feel invisible at times, and on some days learn to appreciate. I watch the nameless faces walk by while the hissing of cappuccino machines churned a fragrance of business social. Chiming laptops and cell phones orchestrating their symphonies of individuality while conversations of tourists, long time friends or new opportunities play out in the background.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been the observer. I guess the years in the industry changed me into that to read a night time crowd. Sitting there watching and listening in a place no place like it on earth. I catch phrases, sentences into conversations from table to table like a book within books and short stories that had began but an ending never told while the door of the coffee shop closes behind them.
Lives play out in front of me as I feel the warmth of my coffee between my fingers, I look down to watch the swirling steam billowing from side to side inside the rim of my paper cup. I began to drowned out the idol conversations that played behind me.
Peering out on to a city that seemed almost mechanical, an audience fueled by fashion and influenced through upper crust visual ads that claim a better lifestyle or status quo. A population of over 1.5 million people live here nestled between and on top of all night eateries,Amish wholefoods, chic shops, flagship store fronts with towering skyscrapers that shade the city during the hours of the day.
I look around for a minute and then to stare back toward the window, there was Dukes cafe across the street. It's an all night steam table buffet, a grab an go 24 hour eatery that complimented a restroom without the long lines. Outside stood a hotdog cart that sold eatable giros and a packs of cigs for 12 dollars a pack. essential for any urbanized New York survivalist. A quick fix for a city that never sleeps. .
As the sun begins to set it's my favorite part of the day, block by block a the blanketing metamorphosis takes shape. While the lights of the coffee house seem to get brighter. Outside begins to fade into two worlds of a double exposure through my window. People in passing start to look historical and distorted within the glare, somewhat like an over exposed reel to reel film . Rubbing my eyes back into to focus, staring back to my own ghostly reflection. Resembling a snap shot in time framed and caught within the pane of glass as intersecting streets in the back drop seem to reminded me of something. Maybe where I might have been, where I might be going or possibly showing a new opportunity at the next turn. An opportunity of a choice, almost similar to each stop light that turns green, yellow or red, within our society of, pass go and collect 200.00 dollars within the our daily work week. We all make our own decisions in life, and some we may regret, or hopefully appreciate.

I call New York, “the city of glass houses”, because most seem to tell you what you want to hear, as apposed to what you needed to hear, and for me? I never liked candy coated conversations. I enjoyed my coffee anytime day or evening, but I never that of myself as a coffee connoisseur. Although I do know to a good cup of coffee, it's not all about the coffee, but also the frothy foam and cream with sugar that adds to its own morning decadence. Where the high society elite lives in the upper east side echelon. That small metropolis, slightly over 200 thousand people most known as the upper 0.1%. Craving coffee and crapes by day, and Courvoisier and caviar by night, the lavish shopping sprees, expensive cars and the address on Park avenue. These were known as the untouchables, ------more----


Thursday night:
It was a busy night tonight for a Thursday as I look over my mic on to the crowd.
The illuminated stage and numerous nights of music thumping in the background while the next dancer steps up into the lime light. A microphone and the show was my life. A fast paced lifestyle of easy money most would say, but if you never worked the industry there is a perspective to be learned from that dimly lit booth tucked away in the corner. As I watched the lives and conversations that become intertwined under the multicolored lights, she steps up on to the stage to reacquaint herself with the brass pole, and all for what it signifies.

I was in my late 30's now, and I had worked many other clubs before, but what I didn't know was this club would be different from all the rest, because It's where this story begins and where my life and others would be changed forever. It was an upscale two story strip club located in Houston Texas. Surrounded outside by expensive porcine statues, inside of beveled wood trim and granite counter tops that accented dark corners that invited the next comfortable attraction. As most nights began, hidden under all the puns, innuendos and cheesy one liners, I learned to communicate through a comical sense of why you are here and relate to it and every angle of the game before a stripper thinks it, usually just by the look on her face. Let's face it, as any paying customer walks through the door looking for their fantasy to begin, its not the meaningless conversations or even the cold beer that lures us men. It's the mere possibility that it could happen, and will.
That hush hush three lettered word that we all call “sex”. has, and always will be, the lustful, curiously alluring word that is awaiting the money shot on stage.
Whether it's look, a gesture or maybe just a wink which always leads up to that fake stripper's name and a first time conversation within the world of xxx clubs That scenario played out as common as any regular bar fly slurring an old joke asking, whats the difference between a stripper and a waitress? As he delivered a drunkin punchline of, "two weeks". An answer that always seemed to hold true just as repetitious as his next drink he orders as the bar railing holds him up.

There's a different perspective from just being a customer, than actually being the show. I guess there's a sort of mind set that needs to be learned. It's about an industry that is so misunderstood, but so simple to translate. There’s no catch 22, just read between the “legs” because, It's all about the money. Revealing the raw naked truth behind the curtains,whether being charged by the hour or by the bottle, it's an uncensored nightlife as the music thumps in the background as I announce the next entertainer to stage. As the next warm body takes the center of attention, it's the wants and desires to the highest bidder as you stare through the bottom of the looking glass with each swig of whiskey. Leaning back into the seat, noticing the ambient lights brushing across her body as a pleasuring warm welcome into tonight’s possibilities to come.
From the first day a first-time stripper puts on a pair of 7 inch heels and skimpy lingerie, scared and nervous as I announce her name to the stage for the first time. The music begins, she clutches the brass pole as she looks out upon the crowd, attempting to move sexy, but almost mechanical, her motions as thick as quicksand. As I watched, she clung to the brass pole to somehow numb her momentarily existence, with a glazed look over her eyes looking as if she was in deep thought .. I slide into the second song as I speak a few words to compliment her. I can see her legs start to tremble as she begins to take off her top.
A very different scenario from when she was younger, with the radio blaring as she danced within the closet mirror that faced her bed.. Attempting to wrap her legs around the brass pole as she seen from other entertainers before her. She turns into a half spin, as notices a man standing with a dollar bill in the corner of her eye. Extending her arms to clasp her hands around the back of his neck to purposely show her full welcome. She looks at the man with a nervous grin dropping to her knees into a half spin trying her best to sync to the beat of the song. On all fours, she looks into the mirror and she sees the stranger standing behind her. Pressed against her backside, it reminded her of her closet door mirror that she had once danced in front of and the nights of her boyfriends sleep overs that would have been her baby's father.
Just a once intimate memory while she entertained a new captive audience.
Her heart pounding against the back of her throat as she felt the eyes upon her. She closed her eyes and slid her hands across the stage floor to feel the sub beneath her looking toward the booth, I ask one last time for an encouraging round of applause.

For her that day, instilled in her always be remembered as she gathers up her clothes and money. I say, "welcome to the family", thinking to myself “welcome to a whole new reality, a lifestyle into a world and "the brass pole", But as I told Penthouse magazine, there’s more to this story than fluff or just mere foreplay.

For more info on "The Brass Pole"
Please email me at [email protected]?