Register Thursday | October 19 | 2017
Gilding the Willy Illustration by Sara Khan.

Gilding the Willy

When bodies are used as brushes, writes Mica Lemiski, it’s better to be the artist than the muse.

When Brent Ray Fraser squirts a tube of black paint onto his penis during a Ladies’ Night strip show, he’s only an arm’s length away from where I’m perched on a coveted perv-row stool. His groin looks like the unfortunate target of a squid-inking. The Wednesday night bacchanalia—disco balls, shiny poles, purple light that electrifies the dryer lint on my tights—is so overwhelming that I momentarily fail to notice the canvas being set up stage-left.

Once I see the canvas, I see the woman beside it. She’s in her forties or fifties, wide-hipped, wearing the kind of non-outfit better suited to buying emergency toilet paper than a night out at Brandi’s Exotic Show Lounge. An outsider among tiara-wearing bachelorettes, she blushes as Fraser directs her towards an onstage chair, where she sits and waits.

He begins to paint.

Rubbing his penis against ...

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