I believe that dwellings contain the spirits of their former inhabitants. Sometimes the distress of those old occupants is almost palpable if they experienced a great deal of angst while living there. I've known this for a long time, but in the summer of 2005 the notion became very relevant to my life once again. That summer I found a unit in an old apartment house from the 1920s, the Capulet Arms, where I could enjoy the warm weather and ocean breezes right across the street from the beach. The rent on the place was remarkably low, but my commute to work would be very long on the days I had shoots scheduled. Most porn and fetish work is shot in the San Fernando Valley and that is much further North than this beach town where I wanted to stay. I decided to lease the apartment for the summer anyways.

On the day I signed the rental agreement my friend Tyson and I went to the Italian deli that occupied the ground floor of the building. The owner of the deli happened to engage us in conversation and I mentioned that I'd be living upstairs for a short while. He asked me the number of the apartment and I told him. I remember him also inquiring if I knew anyone else who had lived there. It seemed that he was watching me carefully as I shrugged and told him that I didn't. He commented that there were a lot of "characters" who stayed at the Capulet Arms. Later in the conversation it came up that someone had commited suicide a few months earlier by jumping from upstairs. The deli owner mentioned only that the individual had been a nice guy and had caved in the top of a police car with his body as his downward spiral through life had ended. It was a peculiar story and Tyson and I discussed it later that evening while I filled some suitcases with clothes at the old warehouse where I usually live. At some point Tyson disappeared into the room next door so he could avoid helping me pack. An hour later he came bursting through the door with the previous month's issue of Adult Video News Magazine in his hand.

"You aren't going to believe this!" he exclaimed excitedly. It was obvious that he had a good story to tell and his eyes were bright with wonder. He thrust the magazine under my chin and I looked down at it. Busty, blonde Taylor Wane glowered seductively up at me from the page he indicated. I communicated my lack of comprehension by raising my eyebrows and making the universal palms-upward gesture of befuddlement. Tyson stabbed his finger at a photo of a man that appeared on the page below Taylor's picture. For some reason the guy looked like a male stripper, but I can't remember why I thought that at the time. I read the brief paragraphs of text that accompanied his photo. Oh, wow. I no longer recall whether the actual name of the apartment building was mentioned, but the other details contained in the article were sufficient to make me realize that this was an obituary for the very guy who had commited suicide by jumping from the Capulet Arms. It turned out that he was a porn actor called Rex who had also worked as an agent in the business. Somehow I just knew that he used to reside in the exact unit in which I'd be living. I just knew. No wonder that great little place had been vacant. Now it all made sense why the landlords had been asking for so little rent and had been willing to accept a short-term tenant. I felt a bit of a chill as I contemplated the odd coincidence of another porn person living in that unlikely building so far from the hub of the industry.

After moving into unit 1103 at the Capulet Arms I spent hours sitting on the balcony reading and staring at the ocean. Something mysterious was always niggling at my senses although it remained out of the reach of my rational mind. I knew the feeling was connected to Rex's untimely death and I felt compelled to start finding out more information about him. One of my neighbors reluctantly confirmed that Rex had indeed occupied unit #1103. I don't know why I bothered getting that fact validated because I had already known in my soul that that was the case. After further (very casual) investigation I discovered that talent scout Rex had brought notorious pornstar Savannah into the industry. Savannah was platinum blonde, busty and beautiful. In 1992 she was named "Best New Starlet of the Year" by Adult Video News. She commited suicide in 1994 by shooting herself in the head.

Obviously there was a chain of suicide that linked at least two people, but I felt positive that there were others in that chain that I did not yet know about. Here and there, as I enjoyed my summer by the ocean, I would feel Rex's lingering torment around me. Sitting on the balcony was usually a pleasure at any time of the day, but occasionally I had fleeting but powerful impulses to throw myself over the pale green railing. That sounds really bizarre but that is what I experienced. I could usually shake off those twisted notions in the space of a few seconds. It was if an evil spirit would quickly invade my body only to discover that it was not inside a vulnerable enough venue. Then it would just leave. There was only one occasion when I capitulated to the sinister sensations. I had walked out onto the balcony and then
just sunk trembling to the concrete floor as panic and madness washed over me. Inexplicably I felt unable to take the chance of standing upright because I felt that I might go over the side and fall 11 floors to the street below. I sat there gripping the vertical bars of the balcony railing until the terror subsided and my confidence returned. It was just that one time that it happened. Now I think it was probably a warning for what was about to come.

Two days after that episode I was drinking coffee in my kitchen and enjoying the view out the window. There was a knock at the door. It surprised me but I answered it anyways. Two men that looked like male dancers from a cheesy movie stood there. One looked me up and down, smiled lecherously, and then turned to look at his friend. I followed his gaze to his friend's face and then I felt someone's hand shove me roughly back into my apartment although I could not tell who did it.

"You're one of Rex's girls, aren't you?" the taller one demanded. He was wearing a blue bandanna tied over his dark hair.

"N-no," I stuttered. "No."

Those were the last words I spoke that day. The man in the bandanna grabbed me by my hair and then propelled me further into the room. Both men stood between me and my front door. My only chance of escape was to run for the balcony. An image of my body hurtling over the pale green railing of the balcony to the sidewalk below kept my feet rooted to the floor. I was both petrified and paralyzed.

"You're going to behave, aren't you?" the bandanna-head guy said with certainty as he practically pulled me off the floor by my hair. His companion, who was about 5'11 and very muscular, produced a ballgag from out of his pocket and forced it into my mouth as pain shot through my jaw.

"You'll do. You'll do just fine." the musclehead said softly as he buckled the gag tightly at the base of my skull.

Something impelled me to cooperate with these two intruders and not offer any resistance. I had always thought that I'd fight to the death in a nearly unimaginable situation like this. The dark-haired guy observed the terror in my eyes and my resigned, submissive posture for a few long moments. He and his friend exchanged glances. It seemed to please them that I was being so compliant. Perhaps that's why the bandanna guy decided to offer the following explanation to me:

"You see," he said calmly, "Rex stiffed us on a shoot. We paid him for a girl and we never got to shoot any of the footage. We can't let that type of thing happen. And you'll be just fine for our purposes. Even better than we expected. Everything will be fine as long as you do exactly what we tell you to do."

They stripped me naked and I did exactly what they wanted. The photo above is one of those that they shot in my apartment that day. It wasn't until several months ago, a full year after the incident, that I came across it on a severe bondage site on the Internet..

You can see the extent of the debauchery in the Machined gallery which is now inside The Bondage Room of my Playhouse.


www.TanyaDanielle.com/join.html

- XXOO Tanya

In recent months Jewell Marceau had begun telling people that I was a "weak link." She had even gone so far as to dress me down me in public by declaring at a party that someone needed to show me how to keep my mouth shut. Other people present were visibly taken aback by the malice blazing in her eyes and the venom in her words. Of course they didn't have any idea what she was talking about so obviously I do know how to keep my mouth shut. The reality then and now is that Jewell and I have a few dark secrets that we share. None of the details are particularly heinous but we could both potentially face prosecution if someone were to find out about everything. We both would suffer if the truth came out and we both know that. That's why Jewell's suspicion of me gets me so angry. I'm neither stupid nor self-destructive enough to spill the proverbial beans.

Last week I drove all the way out to her place and demanded that she quit making disparaging comments about me. Her expression remained unyielding during my diatribe as I began to list the reasons why we had to rely on each other. I ended my spiel by pointing out that she and I each had a lot to lose if either of us ever broke our silence. At last I saw a bit of resignation in her face.

"You're right," she sighed, "we really do have to trust each other." Her eyes flicked around the room and then landed at a space on the floor. Suddenly she began to look almost childlike and it seemed like she was about to cry. I wasn't sure what to do so I stared uncomfortably at the floor also. Finally, in a voice choked with emotion, Jewell said softly:

"Sometimes I just feel like you don't trust me at all anymore. We don't hang out like we used to and now I only see you if we happen to run into each other. It's like you're avoiding me and I always wonder why. I suppose I've been running my mouth a lot because I was hoping that you would finally come and confront me."

Wow. My mind started to switch gears. Maybe she was right. Maybe I had become aloof. Perhaps subconsciously I had been avoiding her. Maybe my behavior had given her reason to doubt me. Jewell seemed to sense the nature of my thoughts.

"I just need some reassurance from you." she said as she peered up from underneath her long, dark lashes. I remained pensive and silent.

"Look," she suggested gently, almost pleadingly, "why don't we do an exercise in trust? Remember when you used to let me tie you up and take pictures? Let's do it again so we can recapture some of the mutual faith we had in each other. It will be fun. You can tie me up too after I release you from the ropes."

She seemed to be afraid to look at me directly so I used a few moments to try and arrange my face in an expression that did not convey my jumbled emotions. The feelings of anger that had propelled me to drive out to the desert to face her were beginning to subside. A sense of guilt was now replacing my animosity. After a bit of consideration I took a deep breath and nodded my agreement to her idea. A sense of hopeful anticipation gripped me as I realized that our positive intentions would help erase a lot of the suspicions and insecurities that had arisen between us in these past few months.

Everything felt like old times when Jewell told me to lie on my back and began tying my wrists to the metal frame of her futon. We were giggling and playing around like the old friends we were until Jewell roughly slapped a jagged piece of red duct tape over my mouth and then hissed:

"Now I can finally teach you how to keep your mouth shut.."


What crass indignities do I end up suffering at the hands of my former friend? See the full
Bedtime Discipline gallery inside my Playhouse now!


- XXOO Tanya

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

JERUSALEM (AFP) -

One Israeli woman has received an unexpected boost from her breast implants during the Lebanon war -- the silicone embeds saved her life during a Hezbollah rocket attack, a doctor said.

"This is an extraordinary case, but it's a fact that the silicone implants prevented her from a more serious and deeper wound," Jacky Govrin, of the hospital in Nahariya that treated the woman, told army radio Tuesday. "The young woman went through surgery two years ago to have a larger chest," he said. "During the war she was wounded in the chest by shrapnel" that got stuck in the implants instead of penetrating further.

The woman did not emerge from her ordeal completely unscathed, however.
"The shrapnel was removed but the implant had to be replaced," Govrin said.

(In the pic above I am modelling the latest in bulletproof bras and implants.)

- XXOO Tanya

A while ago I was reading a true crime book written by celebrity District Attorney Vincent Bugliosi. There never should have been such a person as a "celebrity District Attorney," but the book is still pretty interesting nonetheless. It is about a man and a woman whom he prosecuted for their involvement in the murder of the woman's husband in the 1960s. Bugliosi presumed that they offed him so she could collect a fairly substantial insurance settlement. In the book Bugliosi takes an in-depth look at the sociopathic personalities and backgrounds of both individuals. The man was a former cop who had been kicked out of the LAPD for his role in helping a young woman find someone to illegally abort her unborn child in the "no choice" era of the 1950s. Among the other revelations about his background was the murderer's own admission that he became sexually aroused while watching two women fight. Evidently he had witnessed two young girls fighting over him when he was at a pivotal age. He had been at the home of a fat girl who liked him and he had unintentionally started paying more attention to her thinner friend. The fat girl had become enraged, stripped her girlfriend naked, and begun beating her while the future murderer watched in amazement. Bugliosi ties the killer's sexual interest in female fighting to his penchant for commiting extreme acts of violence. I found that a bit amusing.

To date I still have not finished the book because I temporarily lost interest in the second part of it. Part 2 covers all the details, (and I mean all of them), of the courtroom proceedings which ultimately lead to the convictions of the murdering pair. Eventually I'll read it but last month I put it to the side of my nighttable for awhile. Coincidentally I got booked for a catfight shoot right around that time. I had not done one in many months and this shoot would be for a new company. Oddly, the location was a house in San Bernardino. I was willing to go there even though it was a long distance away because I could use some extra money. When I confirmed the directions on MapQuest.com I noticed that the place was on an isolated road way off the main highway. Oh, whatever. These people would be paying me generously and they had mentioned the names of several models I knew as references. Plus, I would be working with Stacy Burke. It appeared that everything was on the up and up.

On the given morning I drove out there and arrived at the location a bit late. I did not see Stacy's car anywhere. Numerous other vehicles lined the driveway leading up to the secluded house. The accumulated dirt and rust coating their surfaces indicated that they had not moved for a long time. I stepped up to the door and rang the doorbell. No one answered so I tried knocking and then rang the doorbell again. Maybe I was at the wrong place. The dwelling itself looked so ramshackle that it was possible that no one lived there at all. When I pulled out my cellphone to call the man who had booked me for the shoot I found that I could not get a signal.

Just then I heard a footstep behind me. Momentarily startled, I whipped around to face a disheveled looking man with a friendly smile on his face. It turned out to be Pete, the guy who had arranged the shoot. He picked up my bag and ushered me inside. For some reason a bit of nervousness was welling up inside me and I asked if Stacy had arrived. He said "no" and gestured for me to sit at the rickety wooden table in the center of the room. There was a single lightbulb with no enclosure suspended from the ceiling above it. We sat in silence for a minute and then I began making polite conversation to fill the dead air. Pete was a master of one-word responses, but I gleaned that he'd been a fan of catfight entertainment for some time and had finally decided to start shooting his own material for an Internet site. We lapsed into another prolonged silence. Where in the world was Stacy? Could she have gotten lost on the winding roads that lead up to Pete's house? I started chatting again to ease my own tension. For some reason I found myself mentioning the Bugliosi book and the murderer who enjoyed watching women fight. The emotionless expression on Pete's face began to morph into one of sinister fascination. He quickly became so enrapt in my discussion of the book that it started to creep me out. Abruptly I stopped talking. A minute ticked by as he stared at me and watched me try to stifle my rising sense of unease. There was a sadistic glint in his eye when at last he said:

"You really should have checked with the other models I named as references. I've never met any of them. At least you could have called Stacy to find out if she really was booked for a shoot today. I can tell you that she's not booked for one here, but I am still very eager to see how hard you can fight."

I sat frozen in my chair paralyzed with panic. Oh, Lord help me- what was this psycho going to do to me?!

Perhaps it's better that I don't remember much of what happened after that. I wish I could forget all of it, but the memory of his rough, calloused hands jerking me out of the chair and forcing me into the woods behind his shack is etched into my mind forever. A week after the incident I received the pictures below in a large manila envelope that came to my mailbox. The return address provided on the package named a street in San Bernardino that does not exist..

These disturbing photos are now in The Bondage Room inside my Playhouse:

www.TanyaDanielle.com/join.html



- XXOO Tanya

Here's an excerpt from a recent addition to my archive site
www.JackOffLand.com :


Lauren Phoenix and Barrett Blade are the couple in the pic above. The only time I met Lauren was during the Adult Entertainment Expo in Las Vegas in 2004. She and I had been hired to sit at booths owned by Larry Flynt Publications (LFP) at the convention. One morning I was supposed to get my makeup done in her hotel room because that was how LFP had arranged it. Initially Lauren had slammed the door in the makeup artist's face to prevent us from coming in there. She relented a few minutes later and...


Join www.JackOffLand.com to see the GIGANTIC 10-page gallery and read the rest of the story!


- XXOO Tanya

I've been dancing for a number of years and have heard the same questions from customers over and over. They ask things like: "Do you have any education?", "What are you going to do when you quit dancing?", "Have you made any plans for the future?", Who's going to hire you when you have to get a real job?" Often they press a few folded dollar bills into my hand as they wait to see what my response will be. Are these guys really concerned about my welfare and my future? No, fuck no. Of course they aren't. So what is the best way to answer questions which are intended to be offensive? I don't know. People like these annoying douchebags just bug me. I don't even want to manufacture responses to counter their idiocy. Why do they always have to talk to me? There are so many of them and they all use the same tactics. Maybe each of them believes that he's doing something unique. They do tend to be savvy enough to hand me money while trying to insult me- obviously they realize that the malicious intent of their comments would be too transparent if they didn't. For some reason I'm a magnet for these types of people.

After one particularly tiresome shift at Larry's Rack Shack I decided to try a different job. It seemed like an idea whose time had come. I opened the classified section of the L.A. Times and the perfect opportunity jumped out at me. A local motorcycle dealership was hiring. I could sell motorcycles. I'd sell tons of them!

The next afternoon I headed into the Crotch Rocket Megastore with my friend Raul and filled out less than one quarter of the employment application. I made reference to one of my former jobs at a marine wholesaler. Had those people fired me or had I quit? It didn't matter. It still proved that I had sales experience so I just made their phone number illegible as I scribbled it on the form. That was the only information I provided other than my own name and phone number.

Raul watched as I handed the application to the smiling blonde receptionist. She promised that the manager would contact me for an interview if he was interested in hiring me. As Raul and I walked out the door he expressed surprise that I'd left so much of the application blank. He shook his head gravely and informed me that I'd really have to make more of an effort if I expected to get a "real" job. I found myself only half listening as he gave me further advice. Some of his other suggestions were that I enroll at a junior college and also enlist the help of a professional resume writer to put a positive spin on my employment history.

My phone did not ring for 3 days after Raul dropped me off at home. Maybe Raul had been right to lecture me. Maybe all those customers at the club had been onto something when they were trying to get under my skin. Maybe I wouldn't be able to get a job after I quit dancing. Maybe I'd be one of those dancers who tried to stay in the profession way too long. Maybe...


What happened next? How did busty Francesca Le become embroiled in my quest for new employment? Join my Playhouse to find out now:

www.TanyaDanielle.com/join.html


- XXOO Tanya

Don't forget to sign up for my sexy newsletter. It's free and and it's full of sexy photos! Join now by clicking on the link below:


www.hotsexystrippers.com/wst_page3.html


- XXOO Tanya

You don't want to miss gorgeous 34DD Mason! She's waiting for you inside my Playhouse now!


- XXOO Tanya

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Good evening,

Former Vivid contract girl Devon is featured in the pic above with her then-boyfriend Barrett Blade. I first met Devon in 2000 when I did a girl-girl-girl sex scene with her and Ryan Connor. The director who shot the scene was an interesting person who lived in Huntington Beach, CA, I think. We shot at his house. It appeared that he shared the place with a few roommates. The kitchen/dining area wall was a manifestation of someone's methamphetamine habit. It was a collage of intricately cut, interlocking photos from magazines and other sources. Such designs are often the hallmark of people who use a lot of meth because they seek to keep their hands and addled minds busy with odd, tedious tasks that take outrageous amounts of time. That wall could only have been the work of a tweaker (meth addict).

The director mentioned that one of his favorite projects was a documentary about people who became clinically insane after using too much LSD...


See the HUGE 12-page XXX gallery of Devon and read the rest of the story at my archive site www.JackOffLand.com now!


- XXOO Tanya

It really is hard to peruse things at your leisure when you are in downtown Los Angeles. There always seems to be someone ready to get in your business or in your face. I was wandering through an unpaved alley when I encountered a monstrosity of a television set that had been discarded in the dirt. It was huge. To my knowledge gigantic TVs of this particular style just became popular within the past few years. It seemed odd that this one was broken already, particularly since it even looked new. Maybe it's not so strange, but it seemed that way at the moment. It occurred to me that the Sony TV I've had since the 1980s is still fully functional and providing entertainment at a friend's office. I kept meandering down the alley and saw two more discarded TVs. One of them was an old set probably made during the Carter administration, and the other appeared to be the exact same model as my old Sony TV. That was kind of weird and I was superstitious enough to take its presence as some kind of sign. I stopped to take a closer look and then noticed a van with a hopeful-looking driver headed towards me. Presumably this was another creepy dude who was expecting that I was a hooker. Women walking alone in this area are always assumed to be hookers. I started walking again and headed out of the alley as the leering guy slowed down to speak to me...


What happened next? How did I end up with a fist slamming full-force into my face? Come inside my Playhouse to find out now!

- XXOO Tanya

Someone I know has a job as a "sober friend." That is the terminology he uses to describe his position although he is not sober himself. His primary responsibility is to hang out with his rich employer and make sure that his boss does not indulge in any drugs or alcohol. I was reflecting upon his odd vocation this past week after I had awakened one morning with a really bad hangover. Of course I cannot afford to hire a sober friend to monitor my own intake. It wouldn't benefit me even if I could because I tend to ignore well-intentioned advice and don't respond negatively to criticism.

As I staggered from my bed I pondered what type of person could help me curb my drinking. The obvious answer is that I'm the only person who can really help myself, but that was an aspect of reality I was prepared to ignore in my muddle-headed state. I picked up a brush to run it through my hair and then put it back down because my head was hurting too much to subject it to any type of stimulation. It was very important to go get some coffee and greasy food to help soak up all that alcohol in my system. Fortunately there's a McDonald's just a few blocks from my home so I headed over there. As I ate my breakfast platter - yep, they have platters there now - I contemplated what or who could help me achieve more moderation in my drinking.

The subject stayed on my mind all morning until I forced myself to go running. Coffee, greasy food, and a sweaty workout will eradicate any hangover. I refer to the technique as "The Russian Way" because I learned it from my vodka-pounding Russian relatives. It really works and by noon I felt great. I didn't have a drinking problem. Why had I been pondering the issue earlier at all?

I drove to go get my mail and the new Sports Illustrated was in my box. Lawrence Taylor, clad in golf attire and rapper jewelry, beamed up at me from the cover. Upon further inspection I noticed that notorious football player Thomas "Hollywood" Henderson's name was on the cover too. Good grief, were Michael Irvin, Bo Belinski, and Darryl Strawberry going to be mentioned in this issue as well? I decided to wait until I got to my car to find out why long-retired LT and Hollywood Henderson were in a current issue of SI, although I was presuming the cover story must be about hard-partying star athletes. Nope, in actuality it was the 7th annual "Where are They Now?" edition. Huh. I wasn't quite sure where Hollywood and LT were at that moment, but I was willing to bet they were going to credit their sobriety with getting them there. Good grief again- now I was going to be thinking about the whole sobriety subject all day long.

When I got home my friend Tyson was sitting in my driveway. He had been hitting the bars with me the night before. "Did you run and puke already?" he asked sarcastically. I just rolled my eyes because I never throw up the morning after. As we walked inside I waved the Sports Illustrated in front of his face. The caption across LT's picture read: "Lawrence Taylor, Saved by Golf." I informed Tyson that I was thinking about stopping drinking for a while. The evil mirth that resonated in his laughter was disturbing as he cackled in my face. Our conversation degenerated into an argument over whether or not I could muster enough self-discipline to stop drinking for any length of time. At some point I heard myself promising that I'd pay him $1000 if I touched any alcohol before January 1, 2007. Yeah, I really said that. His eyes widened with either disbelief, glee, or perhaps both. Had I really just said that? Yes, I had.

In the end I actually put it in writing and Tyson vowed to do everything in his power to make me fall off the wagon..

How did Francesca Le become involved in this ludicrous situation? What made her so angry? Was her discontent a prelude to violence??

Join my Playhouse now to see the full gallery and read more!


- XXOO Tanya

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

When I was in elementary school there was a creepy janitor named Tom Thomas or Pete Peters or something. He lived on the campus in a shed behind the gym. Over the years I've run into other people with names like Rob Roberts, Steven Stevens, etc. Why do their parents do that to them? The other night Mackenzie Mack was making more money than I was at Larry's Rack Shack where we dance. She's thin, toned, pretty and has big tits. I felt positive that she was preventing me from having a profitable evening because she looked better than I did. She was getting lapdances left and right and guys were throwing tons of money at her every time she went on stage. I had to do something to piss her off and make her as miserable as I was. I couldn't think of anything else to insult her about so I asked her if she had come up her redundant stage name just to align herself with the ranks of white trash everywhere. She grabbed me really fucking hard by my hair and the battle was on..

See who emerged victorious at my archive site www.JackOffLand.com now!


- XXOO Tanya

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Strippers can be amazingly stupid. Not all of them, but there is guaranteed to be a contingent of retards at any club you happen to dance at. The anti-discrimination laws in California mandate that new strip clubs make all the stages and dressing rooms accessible to handicapped dancers. I've never worked with a stripper who was in a wheelchair, but I've had to share stages with overwhelming numbers of mentallyhandicapped ones. They become irate if another dancer plays "their song." Do they think they hold the copyright? They bitch about another dancer talking to "their customer." Is he their property? They whine about not making enough money on stage so they sit down in the middle of their song and pout. Do they think that helps? I always thought Goldie was a cut above the rest. She is, actually, but she had an attack of idiocy a few nights ago at the bar..

Join my archive site www.JackOffLand.com now to read the rest of the story and see the entire gallery.

www.JackOffLand.com is on sale for just $7.95 if you join anytime during the month of June!


- XXOO Tanya

Things are getting HOT at www.JackOffLand.com !


Have I mentioned that my archive site www.JackOffLand.com is on sale for just $7.95 if you join during the month of June?


- XXOO Tanya

Taylor St. Claire can be a selfish twat. Sure, she's beautiful and has tits to die for, but that's no excuse for turning her back on a friend. Last Saturday night is a good example of her self-centeredness. She and I had plans to go out. We were all dressed up and ready to leave. No sooner had we both applied that last spritz of cologne then her phone rang..


What could possibly have happened next to prompt the act of violence you see above?! Join my archive site www.JackOffLand.com now to read the story and see the photographic evidence.

www.JackOffLand.com is on sale for just $7.95 if you join in the month of June!

- XXOO Tanya

Beautiful, ultra-busty Misti Knight thinks that because she has bigger tits than I do that she is more "feminine." That is her word for it. My word for her is "floozy." Misty and I dance at the same club and she is known for her nasty lap dances. I'm known for being a bitch and I don't appreciate other strippers taking away my customers by appealing to their baseness. She practically leads these guys away by their dicks. Last week I confronted her in the dressing room and called her a "cheap hooker" in front of all the other girls. Everybody laughed enthusiastically but then they started laughing even harder when she told all of them that the security cameras in the parking lot had recorded me giving the owner of the club a blowjob in his car..

What debauchery happened next? Visit my archive site
www.JackOffLand.com to find out right now.

www.JackOffLand.com is on sale for just $7.95 if you join anytime in the month of June!


- XXOO Tanya

Good morning,

My archive site www.JackOffLand.com is on sale for the month of June!

Celebrate the coming of a beautiful summer and join now for just $7.95!

www.JackOffLand.com/join.html


- XXOO Tanya

Large Dog Larry

Large Dog Larry is a legend in his own time and his notoriety has endured for decades. The Siren, a crusty old bar in Hermosa Beach, is Larry's domain. The old codgers there delight in hearing the tales of his latest adventures from around town and in the sack. Rumor has it that Larry, who is probably now in his late forties, vaulted to local prominence in the 1980's when he was a Penthouse Magazine photographer. The blonde Fabio hairstyle, wifebeater tank top, skintight jeans, and cowboy boots he sports today are probably what he was wearing back then. Larry accessorizes with gold jewelry, big belt buckles, dark sunglasses, and wiry chest hair. Quite often he will don a roguish leather vest to complete his ensemble. It is glorious to see him striding into the bar in the middle of the day on any given weekend, particularly since he still has an affinity for both steroids and tanning beds. His jeans are so tight that I know he has been circumcised even though I've never seen him naked. He's about 6'5, but I don't know if he's called "Large Dog" because of his height, his bulging rod, or both.

The Siren is the destination of confirmed alcoholics who don't fuck around with pretension. It has sat on the beach in Hermosa since the 1930's and opens at 6AM. Presumably it will be demolished to make way for a new condominium development or hotel as soon as the current owner dies. That's the way things have been going in Hermosa as waves of gentrification continue to wash over the city and beat all the character out of it. It is likely that most of The Siren's regular customers will be dead before the demise of the bar itself because most of them appear to be over 70 already. They don't even realize that the Large Dog is the only person in town who has continued to wear tight-ass, ball-pinching Levis 501s since the Heavy Metal music era died in the early nineties. Or was it the late eighties? Time is suspended inside the walls of The Siren. Incidentally, the place is aptly named. Many men have been lured inside its wood-panelled interior only to be crushed against the rocks. The rocks are the ice cubes at the bottom of their drinks. It takes a while for them to meet their fate, but it is a sound thrashing nonetheless.

Larry himself does not seem destined to follow that route. For him liquor is just an ancillary aid in scoring fresh pussy. That sounds kind of crass, but there's no need to mince words when talking about the Large Dog. Larry's livelihood is attracting women. Those who are not drawn to his flowing blonde locks and period wardrobe may well succumb to the fine grade of cocaine and unlimited cocktails that he proffers. He finds his potential conquests on Marina Avenue which is behind The Siren. Marina Avenue is dotted with many popular, trendy bars that are frequented by attractive women. None of these ladies would ever normally set a toe inside the grungy Siren, but that sometimes changes when they encounter Larry. Quite often he manages to coax beach babes away from the crowded pubs and restaurants and into The Siren where he can have their full attention.

Who are these women? It's difficult to make sweeping generalizations about them because they are so diverse, but they all seem to be very hungry for compliments, male attention, and flattery. Larry knows how to lay it on thick and he knows how to locate a mark.

A few weekends ago I had just sat down at my usual table inside The Siren. Jewell Marceau had come there with me for the first time. Her reaction was one of immediate disgust. "I can't believe you come to this shithole," she muttered. She looked at the cracked red Naugahyde booth I was sitting in and refused to make contact with it. Her eyes scanned the chipped glasses hanging above the bar and the small assortment of characters sitting around its perimeter. It appeared that most of them had been there since openning call at 6AM. A few were still alert enough to notice Jewell's contempt. I told her to go check out the other bars on Marina Avenue and promised I'd come meet her after I'd had one at The Siren. Of course I did not mention that one drink at The Siren is equivalent to 3 drinks at any normal establishment. I just wanted to get her out of there before one of the locals lobbed a handful of peanut shells at her disdainful face. The rest of the afternoon passed quietly because I never bothered to leave my Naugahyde booth and find Jewell.

A week later Jewell and I were in the boxing ring at the gym. We were doing a lot more conversing than training. It turned out that Jewell had had a fabulous time at the Marina Avenue bars the previous weekend. She'd met a hot guy and was planning to see him again. Not only that, she'd met another guy she thought I might like! It had been a long time since Id chanced upon anyone of interest so I was willing, even eager, to venture out on a blind date. Jewell could not wait to show me the picture she'd taken of the guy with her cellphone. She described him as a "hot stud" and said he had a captivating personality. He sounded awesome and I was excited to see what he looked like. She located the picture and handed me her phone with a flourish. I grabbed it from her and then almost fell out of the ring when I saw Large Dog Larry's tanned mug peering at me from underneath his gold-rimmed sunglasses.

I hadn't had a date in over 6 months and this was who Jewell wanted to set me up with?! Was this a sick joke? My anger surged, my pulse raced, and visions of Jewell's imminent demise flashed across my brain like a PowerPoint presentation. Of course she could not have known the reputation of the Large Dog. She doesn't live anywhere near Hermosa. But she really should have been able to recognize Larry for the serial philanderer that he is. I decided to pound some sense into her head. What was supposed to be a cardio kickboxing workout turned into a nasty, no-holds-barred brouhaha as I assailed her poor judgement and she defended her honor. You can view the outcome of this vicious, leotard-ripping brawl inside my Playhouse right now..

www.tanyadanielle.com/join.html

I never would have dreamt that I'd ever get into a fight over Large Dog Larry.



- XXOO Tanya

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

"Expand the Use of Your Existing Assets"

Stacy Burke and I dance at the same club. Actually, Stacy doesn't work there very often anymore. She is moving into a different career altogether and she loves to rub it in my face whenever she gets a chance. A few weeks ago she made one of her rare appearances at the bar. It was pretty annoying to see some of my regular customers throwing large amounts of cash at her each time she went on stage. She wasn't even trying that hard. Her dance routine consisted of her parading slowly around the stage flashing a big grin and her bare boobs. She would spend the last minute of her song gathering up the mounds of tip money on the rail rather than continuing to put on a show. It bugged the shit out of me to see the rapt adulation on the faces of many of the bar patrons as they stared at her pretty face and slim body. I grew increasingly incensed when one whiskey-drinking gentleman beckoned me to his table and asked me to introduce him to Stacy. I just walked away without bothering to tell him to fuck off.

Forty five minutes later Stacy was in the dressing room packing up her belongings. Where was she going? The night shift did not end for another 4 hours. Stacy snottily informed me that she was going home so the other dancers could make some money. The implication was clear: Stacy knew she was better looking than the other girls in the bar and now she was pretending to feel sorry for us! What a complete fucking bitch. Sadly, I was just relieved that she was leaving. I knew I'd start making money after she took off because my competition would be gone. I swallowed back my feelings of bitter resentment and began retouching my makeup in the mirror. Having a profitable evening would certainly help heal my wounded pride. I could barely wait until Stacy was gone. It did seem to be taking an inordinate amount of time for her to count her money.

She must have caught one of the impatient sidelong glances I was shooting in her direction because all of a sudden she strode towards me with a fistful of money in her hand. "You know," she began, "it really would behoove you not to spend so much time in the dressing room. You are not as pretty as you used to be and every minute counts in your dwindling dancing career. Do yourself a favor and go mingle with some customers. You really need to expand the use of your existing assets. Those assets are not going to be attractive for much longer. I've seen how much vodka you drink- just imagine what you are going to look like when you are 30."

Both the cruelty and the pomposity of her statement hit me like two separate slaps in the face. All I could think to say was: "Give me your damn money, bitch! I am going to take ALL your motherfucking money, you stuck-up little twat!!"

Our battle was as prolonged as it was ugly. Strip clubs always have cameras in the dressing rooms to help indemnify themselves in legal proceedings that may arise from melees between raging strippers. You can check out the resulting footage from this episode inside my Playhouse right now..if you think you won't be too revolted by the hairpulling, breast clawing, choking, punching, etc.

-XXOO Tanya

America should consider following the Canadian tactic for interrupting financing of terrorist operations.


Due to the global war on terrorism, many terrorist organizations have had their finances frozen. Consequently, they have resorted to counterfeiting.


The Canadians have decided to redesign their currency to prevent the radical Islamists from even touching it! It is also hoped that this will have a positive effect on tourism.


- XXOO Tanya

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Carolyn Monroe had an obsessed fan. For years he would write her letters and send her cassette tape recordings of himself discussing their supposed relationship. He felt very strongly that Carolyn loved him as much as he loved her, but that she was afraid to reveal her emotions. In fact, he claimed to have spotted her following him around his neighborhood and lurking outside his apartment. He spent long amounts of time on each tape exhorting Carolyn to stop denying her love for him. He wanted her to approach him the next time she saw him instead of just continuing to pursue him surreptitiously. In the midst of one of his tapes it occurred to him that it might be easier if she just waited for him inside his apartment when he was at work. I could hear the tinkling of the icecubes in his glass of iced tea as he pondered this new notion. By the way, I was the only person who listened to these tapes when they arrived. Carolyn was too sickened by their content to get any amusement out of them at all. And, incidentally, I knew he was drinking iced tea because he always made certain to describe exactly what he was doing, wearing, and eating while he recorded his messages.

Carolyn's fan became progressively enamored of his new idea. He really wanted Carolyn to let herself into his place while he was at his office and wait for him until he got home. Coincidentally, or perhaps not, this gentleman lived in Los Angeles. It was not long before a key to his apartment and a map of his neighborhood arrived in Carolyn's post office box. Of course another cassette tape was in the package as well. This time her fan was in the tub and I could hear him splashing around as he described his apartment and the amenities therein. He told her there was ice cream in the freezer and fresh strawberries in the refrigerator. She was welcome to any of the food in his place. She could also relax in the bathtub or play video games until he got home. He worked from 9AM-5PM Monday through Friday. In a short addendum he also mentioned the exact length of each of his electrical cord extensions and the exact dimensions of his apartment.

So there I was. I shut off the tape recorder and looked at the key I was holding in my hand. Would it be so wrong just to check out his place while he was at work? I love doing weird stuff. Would it really be detrimental to any of our lives if I went over there just once? The short answer to both of those questions was "yes," but I felt compelled to seek another opinion. I called my friend Brian to get his take on the situation.

The following Tuesday Brian and I were in the dude's apartment eating ice cream and playing Nintendo. Everything about the place seemed completely normal. You would never have guessed that its inhabitant spent hundreds of hours narrating messages to a pornstar and had offhand knowledge of the precise measurements of all his extension cords. Even though we found his abode to be very comfortable Brian and I decided to leave well before 5PM so we didn't have to meet him. We left our ice cream dishes in the sink, turned off the TV, and recorked what was left of a bottle of wine.

As we left the apartment we noticed two women in a neighboring unit looking at us with undisguised curiosity. We managed to restrain our laughter until we got back to the car. On the way home I tried to think of any possible repercussions for our actions. It's not really "breaking and entering" if you have a key, is it? After all, he'd given me the key. Well, actually he hadn't. Still, when he arrived home he was just going to think that Carolyn had stopped by. The neighbors might mention that they had seen a busty blonde, (housewives of their ilk would probably throw the term "bimbo" somewhere into their description too), with a pale guy who sported a spiky blonde hairdo.

Hmm..Carolyn's fan might trip out on this. Brian suggested that I tell Carolyn to get a new P.O. box someplace else. I knew he was right so I told Carolyn the whole story when I got home that night. She freaked out. Things got ugly really fast.

I knew I'd done something wrong, but I still wasn't going to let her beat my ass. This altercation turned into a real street brawl - you can see the carnage inside my Playouse now..


- XXOO Tanya

Good evening,

A few moments ago I was looking for a suitable Memorial Day photo and came across a gallery at my archive site
www.JackOffLand.com
The words I had written to accompany the photos sum up my sentiments pretty well:

I've always been a big supporter in spirit of our US military. That seems inadequate while we have troops dying at war now, and I feel I should do more than utter such sentiments. Over the years though, I have always notice that Playhouse members seemed to enjoy military-themed updates on my site. The bikini I'm wearing in this gallery bears real US Navy patches that were given to me by a former sailor in Nashville. I put more of the patches on a matching flight suit which I wore for the
9-25-05 "Tonic for the Troops" update here in JackOffLand. I wish I could do more for our troops than pose in military garb and mail packages to them, but I'm not in favor of the Iraq war and it seems more than a bit ludicrous to consider enlisting to go fight in this conflict. If anything, I would like to somehow help our veterans in their quest to obtain proper medical care and benefits upon their return home. They should not have to fight for that.

Thank you to all of our current and former military personnel around the world. My thoughts are with you and all the fallen servicemen and servicewomen who have died for our country. Your noble sacrifices have made our country the great place that it is.


- XXOO Tanya

Check out the beautiful new galleries of Goldie inside my Playhouse- you won't find them anywhere else!


- XXOO Tanya

Huh? I must not be awake yet:


TALLAHASSEE, Fla. (AP) - Florida Gov. Jeb Bush said he was privately approached about his interest in becoming the NFL's next commissioner.
Bush said Tuesday the issue was discussed at a recent meeting with Patrick Rooney Sr., according to the South Florida Sun-Sentinel.
Rooney's brother is Dan Rooney, owner of Super Bowl champion Pittsburgh Steelers and co-chair of the search committee looking to replace the retiring Paul Tagliabue.
"I met with Mr. Rooney and I said, 'I'm doing my job until I'm finished and then I'm going to consider other things,"' Bush told the newspaper.
Bush has said he will not run for president in 2008. His final term as governor ends in January, although he doesn't believe NFL officials will hold the position open until then.
Tagliabue, who has been commissioner since 1989, announced in March his decision to retire. Although he originally set a July 31 deadline to be out of the job, he has indicated his willingness to stay on longer.


- XXOO Tanya

Whiskey River Rage

Jewell Marceau and I were hanging out at a roadside bar in the desert hoping some cute truckers would stop by. No such luck. We sat there expectantly until the crotchety old barkeep decided to shut the place down for the night. We were disappointed, but not ready to give up yet. We asked the barkeep, an elderly woman with an astonishing resemblance to Phyllis Diller, where else we could go to meet some guys. With an evil cackle she recommended that we go hang out by the truck scales on Interstate 5. "Maybe you'll even make $20," she added.

It surprised me how fast Jewell ripped the woman's cheap wig off her head and dumped a beer on the tangled mop. The woman was screaming profanities at the top of her lungs as she chased us out the door. It was too late when she remembered that we hadn't paid our tab. I was already inside my car gunning the engine in a threatening manner when she began bellowing about the money. Maybe my perception was cloudy, but I think that my sideview mirror may have clipped her in the boob as I tore out of the dirt parking lot.

We decided it was best to go home. It was unclear to either of us exactly how bad our transgressions had been. The whole episode was kind of odd. After readjusting the side mirror and driving home we started playing darts in the livingroom. Jewell put on some country music because those cowboy songs always seem apropos when you're at a low ebb in your life. The sappy music was cranking at full volume when I noticed Jewell taking the very last swig out of the Jack Daniels bottle. That was the last drop of liquor in the house!

She laughed out loud when she saw the outrage on my face. I told her I was going to teach her the lesson of her life. The details of the resulting battle are a little bit murky in my mind, but I could swear a song called "Whiskey River Rage" was playing in the background..

You can see the outcome of this regrettable evening inside my Playhouse. Most days I just try and pretend that none of it ever even happened.


- XXOO Tanya

Good afternoon,

It looks like there's yet another good reason to wear a heavy-duty bra when out running errands:

TAMPA, Fla. - A 44-year-old woman escaped serious injury from a gunshot Sunday thanks to her seat belt and a thick bra strap, authorities said.
Robin Key, 44, of Riverview, Fla., was shot through the windshield of the car she was riding in Sunday. She said she felt a searing pain in her shoulder.
Hillsborough County sheriff's deputies said a .38-caliber bullet smashed through the windshield then bounced off Key's shoulder — thanks to a seat belt and a thick bra strap.

- XXOO Tanya

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Join me inside my Playhouse to see 5 exclusive new updates each week!

- XXOO Tanya