As I said, I woke up Friday morning tired and in a very bad mood. I felt trapped. I was dying to just get out of the brothel.
That morning, as I pulled out of the parking lot of Bella’s Espresso House (where I had taken to eating breakfast), I glanced up the open, traffic-free highway 93. The open road – and it led to someone I knew and wanted to see.
It took all my willpower to turn left and back to the brothel instead of continuing on. But I did. And I planned.
Wednesday was a very good day for me. I saw four men and all were very nice. I made good money and had fun (one bought the small Jacuzzi room, which was much more fun than I had thought it would be).
Just a great day all around. Smiling was involuntary.
I woke up tired due to all-night bell-ringing, slamming doors, talking, shouting, etc into the wee hours of the morning. I hadn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep since I got here and I was waking up between 5:30 and 6:30am every morning whether I wanted to or not. It was beginning to show.
Then I had the brilliant idea of taking the day off and going to visit a nearby ghost town. I had my doctor’s visit (the local perv-doctor) then I was told I could go stay in a hotel! Sleep!
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 wasn’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 wasn’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. It’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, I’d already be doing it. Yes, this is some of the class issues I was talking about. For an American in the US, it’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 – he felt he could cover my expenses – 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, it’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 “negotiate down†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 I’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. It’s unclear what happened after this.
In case people aren’t aware, Nevada brothels work on a system of bells. There’s the doorbell that people ring to get in. There’s the lineup bell (long, loud, clanging) and there’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 I’m lying down, attempting to sleep, the doorbell awakens me (as it’s meant to); the lineup bell is a nuisance and impossible for me to sleep through. I’m a light sleeper; I’m sure some girls aren’t. Even when awake, the bells make me jump, as I guess they’re meant to.
Though everyone’s shift is officially 1pm-1am, we’re really on call around the clock anytime we’re there. Yes. My sleep schedule is destroyed and I’m spending a lot of time taking terribly interrupted naps.