Monday and Tuesday were extremely slow. Not only did the bell not ring a lot (I spent most of my time napping or doing my day job), but I wasnâ€™t closing the deal. Too many Larry the Cable Guy truck-drivers who wanted the world for $100, ideally $20 if they could get it that cheap.
I wasnâ€™t being a team player, but I needed to find the balance of feeling good about myself, making money and taking care of the house. Itâ€™s not an easy spot to find, especially since the house encourages you to go ahead and have sex at what amounts to street prices. If I wanted to be sucking dick in a car in an alley, Iâ€™d already be doing it. Yes, this is some of the class issues I was talking about. For an American in the US, itâ€™s easy to spot class (might not matter or be so clear-cut in another country). And I know what sort of class of man I like best, and who appreciates me properly.
Besides, I grew up with those redneck, trailer-trash, KKK-loving bastards and I really have no intention of giving them pussy if I can help it. Not mine, at any rate.
No, some things I cannot put aside. That is me and has nothing to do with sex work.
The most disturbing thing so far happened Monday night. A man who had already seen a girl was in the bar while I did a lineup. He saw me and another girl came to get me for him. Not only was he full of bullshit (I could stop this work and come live with him â€“ he felt he could cover my expenses â€“ ha!), he had been drinking and was utterly annoying and cheap. But I finally got him to agree to my price for sex.
Sunday did not start well. Two young guys came in and one wanted me. We did the tour, we went in my room and spoke. He wanted 30 minutes of sex for $100. Not going to happen. Hell, I was giving him a deal with my counter offer, not that the dumbass was capable of realizing this. He claimed someone had done this deal for him before at this place. (This is possible, itâ€™s also possible she lied to him about the 30 minutes to take his money, but it leaves idiots like him thinking he can get away with this shit all the time. Again, the whole â€œnegotiate downâ€ thing endemic to this brothel is not really in our best interests.)
I left him sitting at the bar.
Later that day, I had a guy choose me and I booked him. I had gone through a couple lineups by this point and the young guy Iâ€™d turned down had taken to making remarks under his breath while I was in the bar. After I processed the payment, the bartender started my clock. Itâ€™s unclear what happened after this.
In case people arenâ€™t aware, Nevada brothels work on a system of bells. Thereâ€™s the doorbell that people ring to get in. Thereâ€™s the lineup bell (long, loud, clanging) and thereâ€™s the mingle bell (two or three short clangs). Mingle is no lineup, but a customer in the bar who is fair game. We usually ignore the mingle bell, unfortunately for the lineup-shy guys.
When Iâ€™m lying down, attempting to sleep, the doorbell awakens me (as itâ€™s meant to); the lineup bell is a nuisance and impossible for me to sleep through. Iâ€™m a light sleeper; Iâ€™m sure some girls arenâ€™t. Even when awake, the bells make me jump, as I guess theyâ€™re meant to.
Though everyoneâ€™s shift is officially 1pm-1am, weâ€™re really on call around the clock anytime weâ€™re there. Yes. My sleep schedule is destroyed and Iâ€™m spending a lot of time taking terribly interrupted naps.
After getting the results of my tests back around 3pm via fax into the brothel’s office, I was taken to the local sheriff’s office to get my work card. It’s pretty much the same invasive process as getting a sheriff’s card in Vegas to strip. This work card is yellow, has my picture and index fingerprint on one side, and on the other, clearly states I’m working as a prostitute. No “entertainer” crap.
I don’t get to keep my card, it goes into the black records box in the brothel’s office. It will live there forever (as far as I know). If I don’t work in 30 days, I’ll have to get a new card. It expires in a year.
When I get back, I change into a cute, non-sexy dress since I’m going to follow Katya or Bobbie around and learn the brothel procedures. An old guy sitting in the bar notices me and wants me. Since I’m here to make money and the brothel is here to make money off me, I get the green light.
I was busy yesterday and did not get a chance to make any notes other than into my voice recorder. Bedtime was after 2am. And I was awakened this morning before 6 for the possibility of a customer. So….going to run and fully wake up, get ready for the day and write about yesterday.
Doing good, just tired.