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SMUT STAND REPORT: Oct. 16, 2014 (New Orleans)

WHEN: 5.5 hours (8:30pm-2am), Oct 16, 2014. WHERE: mural fence next to the Art Market, Frenchmen Street, New Orleans. OUTPUT: one bit of microsmut and 6 custom works, including a softcore nip-and-tussle moment; a romantic whispering envelopment from behind; and a homo hardcore whipping scene with a dom who had really done his target practice.

Quite apart from the usual smut-writing magic, last night was a night of beautiful return, unexpected recognition, and interesting futures. The gay couple from Tuesday night came back, bringing their friend as promised, and paid for his smut without telling him anything about what he was in for. I can think of worse surprises. And the couple has contacts in the Chicago theatre scene; they are very keen to get me properly produced there. A big tall lady stopped in front of the stand and said, "Hey, it's good to see you back!" She had stopped and chatted with me last year, didn't buy a piece, but remembered the encounter and was extremely effusive about seeing me again. Someone stopped by from an MFA residency program in Florida, read from my Bang It Out book, and urged me to look into their program. Another lady came by and asked what it would take to bring me and my shows to their small town in western Massachusetts; she owns a gallery there, and they do a XXX exhibition every year.

I wish there were some way to guarantee the same spot every time I go out, but it's just not possible. That's the rule of the sidewalk, it's purely squatters' rights, first-come-first-served. But the other regulars of that particular corner near the Art Market entrance, they have become very welcoming, and seem to look forward to me being there. Not the musicians, they still look at me sideways with a skeptical/dismissive eye. The Art Market vendor in that prime entrance spot, he is greeting me every night with enthusiasm, and we remember each other's names. And the guy who rolls up on his bike every night with a cooler of water bottles and beer to sell, we are very much on friendly terms. "It's good to see you here, and see you being busy. It's a good vibe," he said last night. He sold me a bottle of water for half-price; I suggested he look into adding cigarettes to his wares. It's a nice business relationship.

At the end of the night, when I was walking across the street with the new pom-pom smut sign slung over my shoulder, I heard a male voice shout "Cameryn!" The young man who came up, I didn't remember his name, but I recognized his face vaguely, a customer from last year. He and his lover had rented the flat above the bicycle shop. They had just finished fucking, came down to the street and found me, commissioned a piece, and immediately went back upstairs. I wrote an inspired scene with them on that balcony; I had known immediately, even while writing it, that it would make the cut for the next edition of Bang It Out, and it did. "We broke up a couple of months ago," he said, kind of sheepishly. "But that's okay. It happens. It was worth it. And I still cherish your piece."

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