Four of us filed into the small dimly lit living room to line up and introduce ourselves to a new client. Dani wore a skimpy black lace teddy that barely contained her latest purchase: huge fake tits. Standing next to her was Desiree, skin black as night, long blond hair cascading down her back in waves of weaves. Jennifer, in a waist cinching corset, had short red pixie styled hair and freckled skin. Then there was me. I had real breasts, no fake orange tan, and shiny jet black hair that went down to my ass.
It was almost one a.m. I’d seen five clients and was satisfied with my earnings. My eyes lazily focused on a shaggy haired client sitting slouched in our ‘hot-seat.’ Adrenaline surged through my body. I looked to my left. Dani raised her painted eyebrow in a ‘he’s mine’ look. On my right Desiree jabbed me in the ribs. I whispered “shush.” We all stood there thinking the same thing: “Damn, this man is hot!” We sometimes made remarks about a handsome man, but not often. I liked the way his jeans were tight around thick muscular thighs. Under a mop of golden brown hair he had dark eyes, a prominent nose and a chiseled jaw. He made me nervous.
Dani was first. She pushed her surgeon bought breasts out and used a very Marilyn Monroe-esque voice I’d never heard before.
“Oh… Sorry, me first? OOP’.… Ok then, (giggle giggle) Helloo I’m Daniella.” She smiled a very none Dani coquettish smile. I rolled my eyes. He nodded his head at Dani and grinned. The client was sitting forward with his arm sticking up and bent at the elbow, fist on thigh. Very masculine pose. I could feel the women all exhale together. He was clearly comfortable. Not at all nervous, unlike most the men who sat in that chair.
‘Please God not me I dont want him. It’s too embarrassing to fuck a guy I might see out in my neighborhood, someone I know I’d date. Please God let someone else make the money, don’t let him pick me.’
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Lenny Kaye on *My American Dream*:
“Zoe Hansen takes us on a ribald guided tour of the sexual netherworld, a harrowing and potentially sordid journey redeemed by good humor, transcendence, and the instinct of a survivor.”
Author: “You Call It Madness“
I just received the sample jacket covers for my soon-to-be-published novel, My American Dream – Going Down in Gotham:
Photography and Design by Scott Gillis.
Josh Alan Friedman, author of Tales of Times Square had this to say about *My American Dream*:
“My American Dream, Going Down in Gotham” highlights an era of New York prostitution, where the dark nooks and crannies of Man at his Worst are illuminated beyond the reach of mere psychologists. Zoe Hansen emerged from this netherworld of subterfuge, a gifted writer bearing witness.”
Josh Alan Friedman, author of Tales of Times Square
Danny Fields had this to say about *My American Dream*:
Zoe Hansen’s ‘My American Dream, Going Down in Gotham’ reveals a sensibility that is loving, brutal, touchingly and glamorously human, and savagely female. We are in a very modern survival mode, and there is never a titanium-steel slicing instrument far from Hansen’s hand, nor a happy/helpful hug. She sees the “Top” and “Bottom” sides of the sex industry, and sails into, through and above the many manifestations thereof. The legitimacy of The Industry, by the way, in never annoyingly questioned; anyone who doubts its amazing reach, in these days, must be living in the caves where Iranians are building atomic bombs.
Her narrative is dense and swift, the quicksand of sex on pages that will be turned with appetite aroused, and the reader’s eyebrows rising higher than you ever thought possible. Sex and the city of New York, together at last!
Danny Fields, author of “Linda McCartney: A Portrait.”
Jerry Stahl had this to say:
Zoe Hansen writes like a three-day party in hell. She didn’t just walk on the wild side, she got her mail there. My American Dream evokes both the poetry of Kerouac and the low-life transcendence of Herbert Huncke. Hansen delivers nothing less than a literary speedball of danger and sex and sometimes funny, sometimes brutal beauty that is absolutely her own. It’s hard to say which is the bigger miracle: that the author has written such a fearless, nuanced, dementedly enthralling account of her hard-core life – or that she’s still alive to tell it… If I owned a cheap motel, I’d lose the bibles and put My American Dream in every nightstand. The whole joint would be up all night reading.
Jerry Stahl
