Honeysuckle's Lingerie 3520 NE 82nd, 252-8351, open 24 hours

Or, boner in the garden of good and evil. You might think from their name that Honey Suckles Lingerie sells lacy, upscale bras and panties for your significant other; but the only garter belts at Honey Suckles are those slipping off the tanned legs of the "models" there--not that we mind. Just around the corner from Portland's Bible College, the single-story putty-colored house could be an orthodontist's office as far as the puritanical passer-bys are concerned! (Plus, the always-prudent managers recently made available a new, discreet "rear entrance." Thanks, ladies!) But take one step into Honey Suckles and say good-night to those innocuous presumptions: Open 24 hours a day, Honey Suckles keeps 30 dancers on constant rotation. During PM's last trip to the den of decadence and discretion, Raven, a tart and well-bosomed blonde greeted and took us to a tiny back room. Very cute in that available--for $40--kind of way. In the black light of the back room, her white thong shone like a beacon through a very sheer dress. "We have an ATM," she cooed. "And," she assured us, "it's a blind-receipt; our name won't show up on your statement." See advertisement in paper, pg 11


View Point, 8102 NE Killingsworth, 254-0191

PM was extremely excited to go to the ladies' only strip club upstairs at the View Point. We anticipated hoards of hot, oily bodies, dozens of lap dances, and multiple scrotum piercings. We were sorely disappointed. Not only did these jocks pay little attention to us, but, when they did, they asked if we had a dollar before they'd give us any action. Faux pas my fair strippers. Even worse, we had to wait in line 15 minutes to spend $5 on a blue vodka tonic. The downstairs female stripper-area was just as pathetic, with a few vacuous dancers and one or two leches at the rack. LA-AME. So anyway, while 82nd is great for just about everything else, Three Sisters is still best for some hot XXX penis action. (Editor's Note--It is entirely coincidental that Three Sisters purchased an ad while the View Point did not.)


X-otic Tan, 3242 NE 82nd, 257-0622

It works like this: you check in at the front desk, you pick a girl or two girls, you get a room. The rooms are small, the walls are painted black, there's a black couch and a blacklight and black lingerie hanging on the wall. There's towels and hand cream. The girls will do various shows at various prices--strip, masturbation, toys, girl-on-girl, and so on. They don't touch you. You don't touch them. You can put a CD on. If you touch the girls, giant pimps come bursting out of nowhere to beat the living shit out of you... at least, we hope they do.


Tim's Hideaway Adult Arcade 4229 SE 82nd, 224-3466

You say you love anuses, but hate people? Then come on down to Tim's Hideaway--purveyor of terrific sex paraphernalia, and home of the greatest sex toy ever, the ANAL HEADMASTER. Consider this: What's on the other end of a normal rectum? A complaining, bickering mouth! What's on the other end of THE ANAL HEADMASTER'S rectum? Another rectum! Just slip your pee-pee in one end, while your friend slips his wee-wee in the other, and have twotwoTWO times the fun!

The ANAL HEADMASTER's iMac-inspired, transparent, blue urethane design looks great on your desk, right next to your SWELL-GUY inflatable vibrating anal probe. So don't pass up the ANAL HEADMASTER just because you don't have a date--simply insert the SWELL-GUY in the far end, yourself in the near end, and then sit down to a nice porn film in one of Tim's comfortable semi-private booths--all with glory-holes!

Also available: REALISTIC JOHN HOLMES LOVE DOLL. It's exactly like having sex with a long-dead coke fiend. Humans? Feh! Who needs 'em? See advertisement in paper, pg 11

Unicorn Inn, 3040 SE 82nd, 774-1176

Don't ever stay here. Seriously. I am not being ironic. I thought it would be really great to review this hotel. It is called the UNICORN INN--everything about unicorns is inherently good and magical, right? At the very least, I thought it would be overrun by a bunch of Dungeons & Dragons kids, and we could hang out and listen to Sepultura or something. WRONG. I repeat: DO NOT STAY AT THE UNICORN INN. It is scary.

At one in the morning on a Sunday night, my lover and I walked into the lobby. Rather, it was the hallway--the lobby was locked, and there was a bulletproof glass window with a sign that read, "This establishment does not tolerate prostitution or drug abuse. We will call the police." It should have been an early warning, but every hotel has signs like that in their lobbies, right? The place was deserted, and we had to ring a doorbell three times before the man came from the bar next door to check us in. It cost $49 dollars ($44, plus a five-dollar refundable key deposit). That's more expensive than the Super 8 Motel, but we figured the ambience would be worth the extra dough. After all, there was unicorn paraphernalia everywhere--'80s posters, candles, sun-catchers. And everything about unicorns is magical. Right?

Here is the first thing my lover said when we walked into our room: "This looks like the kind of place where men take drugged 14-year-olds and fuck them. If we stay here tonight, we'll wake up with our throats slit."

Mysterious black burns on the carpet, smoke stains on the walls, a weird shred of toilet paper somehow stuck to the back of the door, a clump of black, curly hair in the bathroom, rust-colored, magic-eye linoleum in the shower, a bed seemingly padded with newspapers, two lawn chairs reupholstered in New Southwest-patterned material. Wood paneling. A chipped plywood table with the words "82nd Ave Crack Shack" carved into it. Initially, I thought it was great--just like Vincent Gallo movies!--but I sat down to eat a sandwich and the reality of the grime and filth, and potentiality of disease, began to sink in. My lover, whose neurotic want for cleanliness is such that he will throw away an entire bar of soap if it falls in the sink while he is brushing his teeth, looked like he might die, his eyes made huge and hair gone wild from fear and anxiety. I couldn't finish my sandwich. We left without returning the key, and when we got back to his extremely tidy house, we washed our hands.

Unicorns are magical, but like everything, magic has a balance of good and evil. On that scale, the Unicorn Inn lands somewhere between kiddie porn and crack frenzies.