FYI.

This story is over 5 years old.

Travel

Sticking a Used Condom to the Wall

1989. Harbor Boulevard in Santa Ana. I’ve only been here twice, both times to buy drugs. I’ve got a premonition I’m going to find love and affection as I drive toward a group of motels near Anaheim. I know exactly what I’m looking for, and when I find...

Scot Sothern is a Los Angeles-based photographer and a big prostitute fan. He has been interacting with and photographing hookers since the 1960s, and his images have been widely exhibited in galleries in the US, Canada, and Europe. Scot's pictures evoke such a visceral reaction in the viewer and raise so many questions, we decided to give Scot a regular column aimed at getting the story behind the photo. The idea is simple: We feature an image from Scot’s archive along with his explanation of just exactly what the fuck was going on when he took it. Welcome to Nocturnal Submissions.

Advertisement

1989. Harbor Boulevard in Santa Ana. I’ve only been here twice, both times to buy drugs. I’ve got a premonition I’m going to find love and affection as I drive toward a group of motels near Anaheim. I know exactly what I’m looking for, and when I find her, she climbs in the car, tells me her name is Lolly. I ask her if her last name is Pop, and she tells me no, her last name is Gaggle. She’s black and tall and thin with big red lips. She’s cute and sexy.

“I’ve got $25. I’d like to take pictures of you, somewhere around here. If you got a place that would be good.”

“That’s not very much, $25. We could get a nice room, but that wouldn’t leave enough for me to do all the nasty things you’re going to want me to do.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, and I bet $25 you’ve got more in your pockets than $25.” She moves in close and puts her tongue in my ear and a hand on my thigh. “Just think how much fun we can have. What’s your name?”

“Scot, and I am thinking about how much fun we can have.”

“Scotty?”

“Scot.”

“Scotty Potty.”

“Scot Tissue. I really don’t have more than $25, but I just started looking for an ATM.” She has long pretty fingers, and they’re walking around the buttons on my fly.

“I hate to ask, but how old are you?”

“You’re worried I’m not legal?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“I’m plenty legal, don’t you worry. You got gray in your hair, how old are you?”

“I’m almost 40, but I can be pretty immature.”

Advertisement

“That’s funny.”

“Yeah, well.”

When I see an ATM, I squeal the tires and make a U-turn. I park at the curb, and she gets out with me, holds me by the arm like we’re taking a romantic stroll. At the machine I take out $80, which leaves my account with less than $10. Lolly watches over my shoulder. “Damn, Scotty Potty. That’s all you got. I thought you were a high roller.”

“Yeah, well, I was a couple of days ago.”

“Nigger rich Saturday night,” she says. “Nigger poor Sunday morning.”

“I haven’t heard that in a long time.”

“It’s one of those things I can say, but you can’t.”

“As it should be. I knew an ugly old white guy in Tallahassee, Florida, who used to say that. He also used to carry a pistol and shoot at cats. I embezzled a bunch of his money and got away with it, so I guess it evened out.”

“I like you, Scot Tissue. Let’s go get a room.”

I get chips and a Hostess cherry pie and a $12 bottle of sparkling wine at a liquor store. Lolly and I spend a couple of hours in the motel room, where I take naked pictures of her, and then I get naked as well. Her abdomen and breasts have been stressed and stretched by childbirth. I find it appealing but don’t mention it. We foreplay all over the room, then fuck American style—nothing fancy, but joyfully, giggling and grunting. Afterward, I unroll the condom and stick it to the wall.

Relaxed and naked on the bed, I just happen to have a joint, so I fire it up while Lolly shows me Michael Jackson dance moves: the robot, the moon walk, the crotch grab. She jumps up on the bed, on her feet, over my intertwined ankles. “Look at that,” she says. “Look how much you made me come.” She leads my eyes to a silver slobber stretched all the way down from her vagina to my legs. This is something I've never seen before, and I tell her so. She moves forward, astraddle my waist, wiggles her hips, and swings her elastic discharge, a pudendum pendulum, until it connects to my sternum. She shimmies forward, pulling along the slime string as it stretches and stretches and clings all the way up to my chin, then it snaps clean off Lolly and divides my face, over my nose and between my eyes. Lolly laughs as if this is funniest thing ever, and I tell her she is my all-time favorite whore.

Previously - Fuck the Police

Scot’s first book, Lowlife, was released last year. You can find more information on his website.