Welp, that was inevitable.
When I was touring a few months ago, and Carl Ferrer, the CEO of Backpage, was arrested, I had about $800 of credit in my account. I started spending and not replenishing because I knew BP wouldn’t last much longer. As of today, I have less than $200 in my account. I have no way of getting that money back, that I know of, but at least it’s still there and it’s not very much, really.
A porn actress found Jesus and now finds Jesus for others. She provides helpful hints for parents as to why their little girls might become a porn actress. She and I agree that bad parenting (especially abuse), contributes to problems. She almost gets it in #4, except she decides to define prostitution vs pornography (in order to let everyone know she’s not a prostitute), instead of focusing on the fact that juvenile prostitution is nearly always caused by abusive parents or parents who have kicked their children out of their home. I’ve said it for years: underage prostitution could be eradicated almost entirely by focusing the law on abusive parents and having more readily available resources for abused or homeless children. (This would also remove underage trafficking and lots of people would be out of well-paying jobs and grant money.)
“Ingredients for Chicken Katsu” by LexnGer, is licensed under CC BY 2.0
I’m trying to assemble my thoughts and feelings into some kind neat package for reading. A fellow activist and sex worker had an even worse experience than I did. I was shocked to read her posts. Frankly, I was hoping I was an anomaly. You know, once an indie always an indie. Or that I’m just a little princess (ex-boyfriends might agree with that one).
Mariko’s horrifying account at least makes me feel I’m not crazy.
Still, I didn’t have problems with the people there. I was welcomed. The problems I ran into were more systematic problems. And I’m well aware I’m the sort of person for whom the walls close in fast. This doesn’t make me the ideal candidate for a lock-down brothel, but I thought I could handle this experience.
I do intend on trying another brothel. Kit Kat, Wild Horse/Mustang Ranch, and Sagebrush seem like candidates. I will be researching before I go. It will probably be the end of September or sometime in October. Probably not soon.
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.
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.