After making a wrong turn into Utah, I get on the right highway and have the drive to Wells almost completely by myself the whole way. It is quite beautiful. I understand the attraction the American West has had for artists.
Thanks to my 3hour detour, I’m too late to get into the doctor today, so early tomorrow morning I will go and have my medical tests and business paperwork done. Also, I’ll get to check out the local Wal-Mart and pick up everything I forgot to bring with me – as usual. When I get back to the brothel, I begin my training. I won’t get clearance until Friday. Which leads to me being sort of quarantined – I can’t be in the same room or interact with customers until I’m declared medically sound. I’m amused. It does mean I don’t have to worry about my appearance for another day or so.
The brothel itself does have a trailer look in its design, but it does not seem to be built off a house trailer (grew up in East Texas, I’ve seen a few). It’s one story, sort of an I or H shape and freshly painted a red-clay color. It’s not glamorous, but it is roomy, clean and effort has been made to make it appealing. There are several interior renovations going on as well. I take that as a good sign.
My room has its own bathroom, though without a door. There is an armoire and enough drawer-space to satisfy everything I brought with me. Unlike a hotel though, there’s no desk. That would be my one wish.
Men don’t need to use my bathroom, there are a couple of nice fully-stocked bathrooms for them. Shaunia (the house manager) seems appalled by the question. The gap between Internet indies and brothel workers widens.
There is a small, but fully-stocked dungeon too. I hope I don’t have men requesting me to dominate them. I got this a lot when I was working in Dallas – though I made it clear I had no interest in domming.
The only thing that really worries me is the CB radio. Everyone has to work shifts around the radio to draw in customers. Shaunia tells me it’s the “money box.” I have never even seriously considered phone sex. The CB worries me.
My laptop and the wireless connection are at odds. I’m posting this through someone else’s computer. Which means no real email capabilities since Outlook is on my laptop. I hope to fix this one way or another or I’ll go nuts. I took this time off expecting to be able to do my work remotely.
My desire to only use prepaid cell phones that don’t require any personal info (MetroPCS and TracFone) is biting me in the butt. Metro doesn’t have coverage out here and TracFone is on roaming, with horrible reception. Sigh. I can’t wait to get a satellite phone. So sexy and should work anywhere.
The other women are all introduced to me. They seem nice; a couple are very welcoming. There is a girl younger than me, I think I’m the next youngest. There are six or seven girls (including me) with rooms for up to fifteen.
They are very regular-girl in appearance. Though it seems everyone lives in Vegas, no one has that glossy Vegas-hooker look. I don’t know if this is typical of brothel girls or simply this one in particular.
Bella is not around. I do want to talk to her.
The front doorbell rings constantly. Men parade by my room on the “tour” and look in. I wonder if it’s bad etiquette to shut my door or keep it open. I want to seem friendly but also don’t want to disturb someone else’s work.
We have an early dinner prepared; I like eating dinner early. I’m going to have to buy some of my own food, though, especially for breakfast.
Directly across our parking lot is the only competing brothel. Less than 50 yards away. I hope there’s no inter-brothel nastiness of any kind.
I brought brochures and stuff, but I feel silly even mentioning it. I’ll know more when I talk to everyone later. I feel like a missionary of some kind. I’m not sure what place activism has in this system. I wonder if everyone is happy with the system. If they’re making money, they probably are.
That’s not why I’m here. My activism involvement is a side interest. I’m here for me, in all ways.
Since I’ve never worked in this environment, I’m just trying to follow rules and fit in. I’d also like to make money. The thought of all this sex happening all around me is kind of fun. Despite what most men think, a strip club is not a brothel. This is a brothel. There is a difference (like the woman loudly having an orgasm down the hall).