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The Whore Next Door's Bachelorette Party - By - August 12, 2015 - SF Weekly
SF Weekly

The Whore Next Door's Bachelorette Party

Bachelorette parties have always kind of baffled me. I never planned to marry someone who would insist on monogamy or expect me to give up tequila, threesomes or the strip club. The idea of throwing a huge party to commemorate my “last night of freedom” never seemed like something I needed to do. I didn't see the point.

But the minute I arrived in Reno, and my girlfriend handed me a Bud Light and a personalized T-shirt that said “Feyonce, Drunk in Love, Siouxsie Q's Bachelorette Weekend 2015,” I realized that though I'd thought I didn't want anything to do with this tradition of binge-drinking and penis-shaped accessories, I had been wrong.

Two distinct camps of friends came for the weekend, representing two separate but distinct eras of my life: before I began doing sex work, and after. My friends from childhood and college are all very supportive of my career, so I knew I wouldn't have to worry about snark, secrets, or side-eye on that end, but I was anxious to see how these two worlds would collide inside a Silver Legacy hot tub suite.

The champagne was barely flowing when two of my porn star buddies stripped naked. I worried that the contingent of non-sex-workers would be uncomfortable with the nudity and frank discussions of sex and money, but they all seemed to roll with it. No one batted an eye or even snickered when my ho-friends talked financial domination and butt plugs; in turn, none of my sex worker friends wrote off my childhood friends as uptight squares because they opted for a bikini over going nude in the hot tub.

My girlfriend/maid of honor (a sex worker) declared that although she'd made me a personalized shirt for the weekend and I was permitted to wear a veil at all times — either of which would mark me as the bride-to-be among passersby — there were firm rules against truth-or-dare challenges and scavenger hunts in which anyone showed his or her body to someone for free. (However, prizes would be awarded if anyone in our party successfully hustled tips, which several of us did.)

My girlfriend brought a hilarious, yet weirdly alluring, vulva straw to sip champagne out of. (The more traditional penis straws were permitted only in small doses, as they kind of squick me out. There was sangria at the first bachelorette party I ever went to, and the way the fruit burst through the tiny plastic urethra turned me off.) I made another rule: If you drank out of a penis straw, you had to do a small penis humiliation scene with your straw for the group's amusement.

One of my college friends showed up with a water bottle in the shape of a veiny, porn-size monster cock. I know she meant well — that's what bachelorette parties are for, right? But I was worried about getting arrested for indecency if I walked around with it, so I conveniently “lost” it at the pool, leaving it to be discovered by the unfortunate person who would inhabit my cabana next.

Later that night, we hit the strip club, where my high school sweetheart bought me a lap dance from a blue-haired, tattooed angel named China. She smelled like magic, gave me her number, and definitely put her hands up my dress when no one was looking. After six songs or so, my bachelorette bodyguards showed up and told me the sun was coming up and we should probably head home before I gave China any more of their money.

My heart exploded as we stepped out into the cool desert morning light, holding hands and giggling.

The next night, we stayed in the hotel suite nursing our hangovers in the hot tub. We ordered buckets of room service and played my favorite trivia game, “Notable Women in Politics.” I was in heaven.

They say that to be in a committed relationship, you have to know yourself first. Gathering the eight women who make me feel most like myself felt like a reminder from eight guardian angels of what I am bringing to my marriage: whimsy, fierceness, hustle, laughter, decadence, loyalty, optimism, and belief.

Bachelorette parties may seem like an excuse for basic bitches to let their hair down for a night, but for me it felt like a critical step in the process of moving toward a lifetime commitment.

It's not all about penis straws, shots, and strippers. I realized last weekend that for me, this tradition is actually about solidifying the relationships that nurture me so I can be the best partner I can be in this next chapter of my life.