“Ingredients for Chicken Katsu” by LexnGer, is licensed under CC BY 2.0
Iâ€™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 Iâ€™m just a little princess (ex-boyfriends might agree with that one).
Marikoâ€™s horrifying account at least makes me feel Iâ€™m not crazy.
Still, I didnâ€™t have problems with the people there. I was welcomed. The problems I ran into were more systematic problems. And Iâ€™m well aware Iâ€™m the sort of person for whom the walls close in fast. This doesnâ€™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.
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 Bellaâ€™s Espresso House (where I had taken to eating breakfast), I glanced up the open, traffic-free highway 93. The open road â€“ 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 hadnâ€™t gotten a decent nightâ€™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 doctorâ€™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 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.