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.
Alisha takes me through the dick check and other house procedures — like handling payment and the whole laundry issue. I’m not sure that I really know what I’m doing with the dick check, but okay. It’s a more obvious version of what I do as an escort.
The old guy is not new to this, so it makes life easier on me. While he is not the same demographic as my escort clientele, he’s harmless and easy. The class issues of what I’m doing rear their ugly heads almost immediately and become very conflicting by Monday (today). Worker issues do too. But…I’ll bore you with that at some other point.
fully legal prostitute
I thought I might feel different as a “legal” sex worker, but I don’t. It is a bit odd to be able to frankly say what the guy will get and how much it costs. Beyond that, it’s actually a lot more like a strip club than escort work. Since I failed a lot of stripper skills (like upselling), I can see difficulties ahead.
I also re-acquire the clock in my head. There is no clock in my room other than what I bring with me. Nothing that customers can see. The bartender sets the clock at the bar (kitchen timer) when I process payment. I also receive a chit from the cash register that I save as proof of my payment. When time is up the bartender rings me on the intercom and I have a few minutes to get my guy out of the room or I’m fined. If he wants more time, then I have to collect money, get dressed, run to the bar and try to process payment unobtrusively.
The one time this happened (so far) I was completely disheveled, covered in sweat and on shaky legs. Yeah, he was a fun one. Little wonder he needed more time (so did I, frankly).
A certain type of man goes to a brothel. I haven’t figured out their psychology yet. But most of them are indeed truckers or men of a lower class. At least at Bella’s. It is probably different from brothel to brothel.
I don’t have any real issues with this, except there is something of a difference in social graces, education/conversational abilities, hygiene, general approach to life, sex and women between my escort clients and these men. If one is completely hung up on class, then this won’t work. If one is more hung up on quality of person, then this could work. Quality is not always determined by money or social status — at least not in my world.
I admit to curiosity about the men who come here. I would love some studies done on these men. Mainly, I want to see if they’re essentially strip club customers who are taking it to the next level. By and large, they aren’t my escort clients. They aren’t looking for a connection and relationship. Or maybe I haven’t found the key to turn in them yet (very likely).
One client Friday night books me for an hour, most of which was spent talking. This guy would’ve been an escort client.
Mentally, I’m already onto other issues, now that the basics of working are clear to me. I’ll try to recap for you since I’ve left my readers in the dust!
The lineup I’ve already described. Being in the lineup is no big deal, I only worry about doing anything that could be construed as “dirty hustling.” Not that I care about “stealing” guys, but I do care about making waves (which I do anyway, sigh).
If I’m picked, I take the guy on a “tour” of the house. Most of this tour is graceless, thanks to poor floor-planning (like taking them through the scenic passageway of the laundry room and deep freeze). The tour is a chance to talk him up, and I try, but it’s always awkward. More awkward is if several girls are touring at the same line. There’s an amusement park assembly line feel to the whole thing.
The tour is to help get the guy to spend money (though most come in with $100 in their pockets and want the world). It can also be seen as a point of interest if they really have not been in a brothel before. That’s the spin I try to put on it.
The tour ends in my room where we sit on my bed and negotiate. Awkward, especially when their first offer offends me. I don’t communicate well when I just want to toss him out the window and quit wasting my time. But, in the interest of being a team player (more on this concept later), I try to work with him. I also realize my haggling skills are poor and I need to take more control of the situation. Shake the money tree a bit harder.
After running to the bar to process payment, we do whatever it is we agreed upon. The intercom beeps, I escort him back to the bar or the complimentary men’s showers (a lot of men shower before — thank god).
There’s a lot of it. If these men were better in bed, it would be a lot of fun. If they bought themselves more time instead of trying to be cheap, it would be a lot of fun. I’m not sure how they see me — as a fantasy blonde bought for a moment of lust? As a sexual aid? Some see me as a person, I know that. It is quite different from escort sex. I certainly have orgasms, often without even trying. It’s more of a physical reaction to stimulation than anything really heartfelt (two exceptions so far).
There is so much more. Issues of class, worker issues, being a team player, living and working under rules, unsafe situations, the other girls, the money, the time spent earning that money — it’s all boiling around right now. I’m writing as much as I can, though most of that won’t make it to this blog. My thoughts are in turmoil.
And I wonder how well I’ll deal with this. I’m already having severe doubts and questions. Should I stay or should I go? It’s not a big matter of safety, only a matter of sanity, time and money. Yes, I’m doing math and approaching every angle I can.
I wonder how well I’ll deal with other situations around the world. On the big plus side, I’ve already gained some insight into myself and my relationship with men and sex. I like personal revelation.
Anyhow, if you have questions about the functioning of the brothel, ask away!
Oh yes, if he tips me and it’s over $50, I have to split the tip with the house. I think you know how I feel about that.