My Day At A Nevada Brothel

Oh, I wasn’t kidding.

I was going to keep this thing under wraps (if you will), however, since you guys have been such loyal readers and participants, and since I have taken my innermost stuff out of the equation a long time ago, perhaps nothing’s more correct than to end this son of a bitch by going old school, to candidly tell this final sordid tale.  TW make sure the door’s locked.  GW, do what you need to do.  JP resist taking your wiener out of your pants.  The rest of you who still may be lurking around, bring your jaw up off the table and commence reading if you feel comfortable, or head off to another site if not.

You ready?  You even believe me?

Well believe it suckers.  BN went to a brothel.

Now…of course the details of what actually happened there…well you will have to wait and see…

I have been spending most of my time up at South Lake Tahoe this past month, looking on the internet for jobs down south in Santa Barbara and Santa Monica.  Needless to say, I am alone most of the time, so half of the days are spent in a coffee shop with laptop digitally sending out resumes, while the other half has been spent snowshoeing all over the mountains.  Now a steady woman is not a current part of the equation for BN.  And as we know, a man has urges.  And a man in isolation, well those urges can get a bit askew, or bent if you will, when faced with an echoing cabin and a head full of unchecked thoughts.

So what’s a fellah to do, I ask you?  There’s no internet to divert.  The only salacious material to potentially aid in answering the call of the wild, I discovered, are the adult ads in the back of the local phone book.   Escorts and….well…real live legal ‘working girls’ 20 miles away.

Now, I had no intention of self pleasuring to the phone book since that would just be an embarrassing low for this age.  Age 13-15, it would be more than appropriate.  A current yellow page tug…well it wouldn’t be as much sad as ridiculous.  Hell, it didn’t even cross my mind, to put this thought to an end.

Anyways, I flipped a page, and there it was…  The Moonlight Bunny Ranch. (AKA Red Ryder B.B. Gun -to use a hardly akin visual metaphorical response).  A full page spread trying to coax immoral assholes out of their creepy depths to partake in this hard to conceive of world.

Now my pulse didn’t rise (nor anything else for that matter) however I simply got really curious.

“Eat some lead, Black Bart”.

Curious not in the sense of what it would be like to fuck a prostitute, but more curious what that world is even like.  Like how strange and odd would it be to actually walk into one of those places?  The only time I could ever see myself ‘normally’ doing that is if I were 25, with a bunch of guys and thinking, “What the fuck.  Let’s go!”  All load up into a car hooting and hollering.  Get there pretending to be seriously interested, and fuck with the non-alpha dog of our pack and try to talk him into ruining his life.

“Dude, we’ll pay.  You need to get over Angela”.

When of course he doesn’t, he get’s all flustered, defensive, angry, and quietly upset.  And later only do we tell him that we were fucking with him and go grab some hamburgers.

Well, that situation logically wasn’t going to present itself, so what now?  I had time on my hands, and I was certainly intrigued.

So…I got into my car and headed in the direction of Carson City.  That’s what normal people do, right?

The directions were a bit hard to follow since I didn’t bring any with me.  I hadn’t fully planned on going.  More curious to see if I started driving, would I actually end up there.  An adventure in itself.

And if I did end up there, what then?

It was snowing the whole way as I made my way into Carson.  All I could think of was how funny and appropriate it would be if my car broke down out that way.  Try explaining that one.

Anyways, after a few wrong turns, I finally saw this turn-off garnished with these slew of slutty signs (say that three times fast).

I cranked the wheel to the right.  The brothels lay straight ahead .

Gulp.

Now my heart was fucking pumping at this point.  This felt a little too insane.  What in the hell was I doing?  Gut check and head check time.  Was I actually here to just see, or was something more sinister lurking below, tempting me to do something totally out of character?  I mean hell, my car was revving in front a fucking whorehouse for Christ’s sake.

Was this like a cheating analogy where one puts themselves in such a ludicrous and dangerous position that they inevitably fuck up and go, “what was I thinking???”.  Was I being that guy to a grander scale, deluding myself that I was simply here for a field trip?

Cause if that were the case, and I were to cross that line, the mental stigma of that action wouldn’t be something I could wash off with soap and water…

I can only imagine running into the next/last? love of my life and gazing into one another’s perfectly clear eyes…until…until something catches her eye and she goes, “Hey…hmmm….what’s that little black speck?”  And I would say, “Oh, that.  That’s the time I fucked a hooker.”.  BN and the bathwater would be violently thrown out.  Or at least I hope it would be.

But here I was.  Here’s the check.  Was I in fact curious or was I being self-destructive.

You know, it is possible I could fall in love with a girl who’s farsighted and she may never notice black specks so perhaps the stakes weren’t as high.

I sat in my car for a few minutes and realized I was pretty centered.  I just felt adventurous and thought…rather said aloud, “What the fuck.”

JH and I are honorary Scientologists.

So I head up to this gate where they buzz you in.  I walk up the steps and amazingly I don’t feel like a creep.  I feel ok.  A woman greets me and asks if I’ve been here before.  I can honestly say no.  Then all these girls rotate out and circle me as if they were skating on ice.  I was expecting a slower introduction and acclimation to the place, but this is how it goes.  They all were standing there like shiny fem-bots and each said there name and smiled waiting to be chosen…or waiting to be rejected.

Now, straight out I knew that my member was going to be staying trouser bound, so it was nice to know that my demons aren’t all that subversive.  So for me, it was going to be an interesting experience.

I chose this black girl who was the definition of sex.  Or at least a definition of sex.  5’4”, fake juggernauts, long silky black “hair”, you name it.  She was also wearing this little yellow dress that barely covered anything.  She took me to this rather elegant back room and sat on my lap.

By this point I just felt undercover and it became fun.  She told me that for $200 we could have a quicky right then and there, and if I wanted things to get…well…more “interesting” then the prices and time escalated upward.  She the proceeded to take off her top and asked me to get naked.  A smile radiated from ear to ear, and it was my own.  It was just too entertaining.  I denied her the BN show and said sorry that $200 was a bit too steep and thanked her for her time.

Now, $200 is a lot of money for any type of purchase.  No matter how much you may have stuffed in your pocket, that amount or more spent is always followed with a twinge of buyer’s remorse regardless of the necessity of the purchase.

So what if she had said something lower?  Cheaper?  Would I have been tempted to cross such a forbidden line?  Does a demon still lurk?

It didn’t matter because it wasn’t an option.  I was told $200 was the house minimum.

I left actually feeling kind of energized.  I found it kind of fun and entertaining because how many people really see this side.  Scratch that.  How many relatively normal people ever really see this side?  Not too many I would imagine.

Oh, and the few guys that would be walking out…  Wedding ring still on the finger.  Ring hopefully excretion free.  I had no problem with eye contact that not surprisingly, never came.  I had nothing to hide.

Anyways, there were two other brothels right there and I was just getting warmed up.  For whatever reason, I felt like doing the rounds.  An Earclops undercover exclusive.  However I feared that the last brothel I would visit, I would enter and find Chris Hanson:

“Take a seat”.

“No, it’s cool.  I’m on your side.”

“Well, we’ve found the ads in the back of your phone book”.

“Can I leave now?”

“You’re free to leave”.

“Ooh.  Lemonade”.

Nah, fuck that guy.  I was on a mission.  I walked into the next one like an old pro.  There were only three girls here.  Oh, and by the way, the previous one, the women were pretty damn attractive.  That was observation number one.  Resembling more Vivians (Pretty Woman) than street walkers.  Some certainly had the stripper slutty vibe, but others seemed more apple pie.

Anyways, these three girls lined up instead of ten.  They didn’t glide out so I figured this must be a lower end house.  I chose the blond one and we quickly embarked on the tour.  She showed me a dance floor (was dancing an option?) and the sauna (ugggh).  All in all, it wasn’t too impressive.  I now had a comparison group.

She then took me into her room labeled ‘Coco’ ( though this one was white), sat me down on her bed, and told me that for $100 we could go at it like monkeys.

Monkeys.

$100

Now that is a number that would do away with buyer’s remorse.  It’s a figure that can be rationalized away.  “Ahh, I’ll drive a little less over the next month and it will be like I never spent it”, type purchases.

So there I was.  It was so amazing to me.  For $100 this moderately attractive girl and I would be having sex on this bed.  Here and now.

And this is the beginning to what I found so interesting.  For one, it felt so normal and unseedy even though it was the definition of the opposite.  The concept though just baffled my mind.  She seemed so normal.  Could have gone to high school with us, and didn’t overtly radiate depravity, though she was a bit of a dead fish personality wise.

So I responded honestly,

“Wow.  For one hundred dollars we can have sex.”  She smiled and said yes.  I said, “Unbelievable…  But, sorry.  I was just curious how this all worked”.  She nicely got up and led me out.

So that was that.  I got in my car and began to leave this bizarre little world that had just adequately satisfied my curiosity.  However 100 yards down the highway on the right I saw the sign for the Moonlight Bunny Ranch.  The one from HBO.  The one that was featured prominently in the back of the South Lake Tahoe Yellow Pages.

What the fuck?  May as well round out the experience.

I pulled in and quickly realized that this was the crème-de-la-crème (spared the obvious crude renaming) of the brothels.  Helicopter landing areas, lavish gates, what have you.

I rang the bell and headed up.  A woman answered.

“Hello I’m BN a reporter for the exploding yet ending site called Earclops.”

“Come on in handsome”.

No footsteps.  No sounds.  Out of nowhere twelve beauties are stretched out in a beautiful sweeping arch.  It was amazing really.  Perhaps they floated down from the ceiling or arose out of the floor.

Maybe they were actual fem-bots.

“Which one would you like?”

“Groovy baby, yeah!”

I did a near 360 to take in all the women and locked eyes on this young girl who looked like the late Brittney Murphy to an alarming rate.  Now if I saw a man resembling Elvis sweeping the floors then perhaps this expose would have become much larger than originally intended in finding that this may be the place where celebrities go after faking their deaths.

But no Elvis in work gear.  No Tupac watering the plants.

She took me by the hand and didn’t bother showing me much of anything.  Just took me back to her bedroom.

And her bedroom was a typical looking girl’s room.  It was warm and comfortable and the only thing giving away its other function, was that there were sex toys displayed ON the dresser.  As we all know, “normal” women keep them IN the dresser.

And on her queen size bed was a Playboy bed cover.

So there you go.

And this would actually turn out to be the highlight of my experience.  With this gal, there was no act like one might encounter in a strip club.  It was hardly flirtatious and was more of a natural encounter of chit-chat.  For some reason, we just clicked as I have done with many girls in my life.  Not in the girlfriend/boyfriend sense per se, but in that weird nearly audible click where we are both totally relaxed, are tuned into one another way too quickly, and they in turn begin to reveal too much-too soon in that comfort.  With girlfriends I get to their secrets and what they think they hide, in an evening.  With said hooker, I get to her real dreams and desires in which she confesses with real vulnerability saying, “God, I’ve only told my best friend this”.  I am even more taken aback by her resemblance to the late actress as she answers.  Her mannerisms and energy is eerily similar.

Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes pass.  We are probably only five minutes away from building a fort we’re so at ease and playful at this point.  I swear I could have grown up with this girl.  How she ended up here though….doing this….a question certainly not asked.

Anyways it was time to go and she well knew I wasn’t there for sex.  I did ask though what she charges and she said the minimum was $400.  That sounded far more correct than $100.

We said our goodbyes and I made my way out to the front door.  From behind a call girl beckons, “Where you going red?”  (I was wearing a red North Face parka).

“Church”, I replied.

A chorus of fem-bot laughter sounds behind me.

The door closing marks my exit.   I pass through the iron gate and fire up Pathy.  A few turns down dusty roads and I’m headed back towards the state line.

So here’s my debriefing:

I got to say that I truly enjoyed that whole experience.  And this is what I’m taking from it:

First my eyes are speck free, so let’s celebrate that predictable fact.

Second, I feel like I de-mystified (for myself) that whole other world.  When put in that foreign element, it basically all melted into a sense of what it truly was.  A big old glittery show to pay for the very normal and natural act of sex.  I wouldn’t cross that line in paying for it, but it wouldn’t be hard to imagine what it would be like.  You would do it, be done, and be like “that was it?”  Then obviously suffer endless waves of pain, guilt, and humiliation.  But it really isn’t anything so crazy.  The taboo of it all is.  But I’d imagine if it was socially acceptable it would be more seen as a waste of money more than anything.  And that’s of course suspending the obvious moral implications of exploitation of these women.  Cause I’m sure all of them were molested or whatnot as young girls, or suffered some other heinous, or multiple heinous acts which enables them now to do such work.  (What’s your story “Brittney?”)  But judgments and reasons aside, it is just sex.  It’s just encased in a hard to conceive package.  But when stripped away…it is what is.

A day in the life.

So there you go.  A good, filthy post to end on (so to speak).  Sure, at some point there could be future posts but saving you the time of checking this site like a Blackberry because nothing will be written for a long, long, time if ever.  So in essence it is over, but you’re right GW, one never knows.

BN

-BTW, I am reading Anthony Kiedes’ biography Scar Tissue for the third time.  I am hooked once again.  I believe it is my favorite book of all time, believe it or not.  Who would of guessed?  My final recommendation here…