You were wondering where I went.

20 Mar

I’m sure some of you have wondered where I went.

Judging by the hits this blog still gets – it seems like a lot of you wondered.

Thousands of you, even.

So – what’s become of me?

Well – over two years has passed since I last wrote in the blog.
Things change.
Brothels aren’t what they used to be.
Fewer and fewer men are frequenting brothels in Nevada, while more and more men are getting their kicks in other ways.

Web cam girls.

Websites like “”

There’s two years of adventure that I’ll not say a word of – that would be another memoir unto itself.

I’ve lived in different places.

I’ve traveled.

I’ve been in and out of love.

During my last months in Nevada – I bought a dog. I had a small fluffy puppy shipped to me. I thought, “I’m going to be lonely the next few years.”

I bought the dog because I had planned to be alone.
I spent all day (days, actually) searching the internet – websites that had shelter dogs – rescue dogs. I really did put my efforts towards finding a homeless dog in need of a forever home.

Then I saw this little fluffball on the internet and I melted. This dog’s face. The fluff. I actually convinced the madam to let me go on an outdate with a client – TO THE AIRPORT – and I actually got paid to pick up the dog.

After that – things got dark for a while – mentally – emotionally.

That little tiny dog was the only thing that kept me to this planet.
Who else was going to take care of her, feed her, take her places?
I took that dog everywhere.

Bars – coffee shops. Home depot. People swarmed and coo’d and freaked out at the sight of my dog. My dog became the champion of road trips and became accustomed to the ten hour brothel drive.

She would sit in my lap and curl up and fall asleep and wouldn’t complain or make a peep.

I still have that dog. She’s still the best thing ever.
There’s a lot of friends I sort of lost touch with I think – working in the industry.
My friends are now in two classes of people: Those who know what I used to do – and those who have no idea.

The nice car I bought while working?
I couldn’t afford payments on it. They hunted me down and repo’d the car.
It was ok – I knew the moment was coming. I had a bunch of empty bags in my car as luck would have it – and two of my friends helped me empty the car just in time for the reapers to take it away.

I did some bartending for a while.

I worked at a school for a while.

I did tutoring for a while.

I battled depression for a longer while.

I moved to a different city.

I moved home.

I got off anti-depressants.

I found a cool boss who taught me a lot and taught me how to manage my money better.
I had a lot of money saved in the bank.
I lost my job with the cool boss.
My savings dwindled down.
I moved back home for a while.

My savings built back up.

I moved out of home.
I realized how much I still like my home town.
Now I’m home a lot – away a lot – life is a little chaotic – and I’m working on starting a new business that is unique and combines my skills – that I can be proud of.

As of a few months ago I finally stopped taking all the pills that I started taking when I was working in brothels. I took pills to help me stay away and they became a bit of a crutch. When I ran out of money I thought “well fuck it – guess I’m not going to renew that prescription” – and got off my last prescription – along with all of the horrible withdrawal symptoms that come with it.

One thing that I can’t wrap my head around is that EVERY EX I’VE HAD IN THE HISTORY OF EVER has attempted to re-enter my life.

Including the really emotionally abusive POS who I loaned money when he was going through a tough time. It was funny – I thought “well – I am really broke, and he could pay me back – but that would involve having to talk to him.”

I opted to have him stay out of my life – and never to have that money re-paid.

My ex from when I was 18 came back.
My ex from four years ago came back.
My on again – off again fling came back.
People I told myself would never talk to me again – they all came back.
Leaving me shaking my head.
Leaving me saying “I guess the past really doesn’t matter.”

The future though – the future looks pretty bright.


Read Beginning to end!

18 Nov

Perfect isn’t interesting.

18 Nov

I have some strange problem with perfect, because the distinction most people fail to make is that perfect is not interesting.

I don’t measure value in the standard definition of perfection.
I measure value by how happy I am to see someone
by how many times I laugh
how much more I smile
and how much better each insignificant moment becomes somehow better, just by that person being there.

You can be penniless and according to everyone else you’d have nothing to offer,
but if you make my heart feel full…
that is something I can’t buy.
So I will invest in you.

And instead of me thinking, “oh this person can’t offer the things they are supposed to” I think, “I can work harder, to buy the gasoline, to buy the extra food, to have the people who mean the most to me in my life.”

Is this backwards thinking?
I don’t know.
My happiness is worth more than standard definitions of perf

Pickup artist vs. Pickup artist….what do you do when you’re surrounded?

18 Nov

Having now had more sexual explorations than I would care to admit, my work has blessed me with a sense of endless knowledge – like I know the next step and if I played the game, I could very well get what I wanted in the end.

If you are a pickup artist using PUA techniques with another pickup artist, you’re fucked. They know your game.

They can see the bullshit – the predetermined tactics…the game plan…the white lies…all coming from a mile away.

I had lunch with my friend Genevieve today, and she tried to tell me that I was codependent. She asked me why I put myself through “hell” for these sorts of situations.

I don’t know why….I rarely find men intellectually interesting AND attractive at the same time, so when I do it’s like…real gold in a pyrite world.

I’ve recognized though…overhaul is necessary. Overhaul is in order. Change is needed.
Normally I’m a very uhm…logistical person…I like my facts on paper and my shit in order and I like facts.

Love is so different though.
I have a very active imagination when it comes to love.
My imagination often gets the best of me.

In my creative life, my imagination has led to a quick series of amazing progressions in my life.

In my romantic life, it’s led to a series of tragic downfalls that leave me feeling like a dumbass.

A ne
My best friend for example.
I skipped that moment.
You know, the moment where I should have kissed them.
I’ve spent almost half my life being friends with a guy who I realized I could never like…MARRY…all because he missed that critical moment.

It would be nice however to move beyond it…
But it’s SO difficult to think of life without pining for someone,
without chasing someone
without trying to do some sort of creative feat of genius to win someone over.
Life without the pursuit and the chase would feel so…naked.

The way I’m writing about it, you might think that I engage in it for the sake of it.
I only pull out all the stops if the guy is
A. intelligent
B. charismatic
C. in contention for something long term.

Do you know how long it takes people to figure out their shit in this economy?
Below a certain economic bracket, love takes longer because you literally can’t AFFORD to keep fucking up your shit.

I know my personality, I know myself…I know my propensity to become disinterested in a man after a year because I realize they aren’t so cool or charismatic or as amazing as I made them out to be in my head….and having such an AMAZING imagination, my poor little brain plays tricks on me and I have to give it a chance to separate fact from fiction.

Most people would rather be stuck in fiction land their whole life.
Not me. I want the facts.
I get hung up because…the truth takes a long fucking time.

I want the truth to take a long time.
I want it to take a long time because when you’re used to getting whatever the fuck you want right when you want it…somehow you feel like you owe it to yourself to wait and make sure that whatever you’re getting yourself into is a genuine desire, and is not rooted in the basis of some bullshit sense of immediate entitlement that you think you’re supposed to have.


The End of an Era

20 Oct

You know how you have that feeling that one day things will change, and you ask yourself how it would go in your head when that day finally comes? 

Kind of the feeing that you know somebody is dying, and is going to die? 

I always had that feeling over my home brothel. 

A few days ago, I finally got that call…..

From my only friend still working there…

she tells me the place is to be sold and I have all of my possessions to pick up still. 

I thought, “well, I could make a power drive and go pick up my things in the near future.” 

And she tells me that the big owner mogule guy who has that TV show is snapping it up and will be turning it into a freak show, which makes her want to vomit in her mouth. 

She tells me that I shouldn’t wait to pick up my things, that the new owners take over on Monday. 

I stay up late. 


I stay up late because some part of me is so, so sad. 

I think about lots of things. 

How much of who I am is tied to there. 

How when I get a longing for something…I think of going home, and that ranch is the place I call home. 

Maybe home is not where your stuff is. 

Maybe home is where you define yourself, and find yourself – and thats why my subconscious slips up and calls it that, even though I am currently living in the city that I was born in and grew up in, and will probably die in. 

Thing is – I can stay in touch with the people who I want to stay in touch with. 

I don’t need to drive all the way over there to say goodbye. 

There will be at least ten people I might wonder about – how they are, where they have been, how they are doing. But the five that matter – we are all friends on facebook and I am quite certain we will never lose touch. 

I cried a lot actually – because I was sad that financially I don’t have the money to drive up and say goodbye to a broken down building that holds many memories – the building is like an old friend. 


Where is Bambi? The Last 6 months, abridged.

2 Oct

You may be wondering what happened to me.

You may be wondering where I went.

I have not been to a brothel since about Thanksgiving of last year.

Having worked nearly the entire summer with a mere 10 days off the whole summer…when winter came, the season slowed, and I bowed out with money in my pocket to complete some goals I had, and I met someone.

You may be wondering what kind of person I met.

I met lots of people.

First I met a Lawyer. Who is a friend of a friend. “Friend” if you catch my drift. Lawyer friend owns many properties and is a very reputable business man. He wanted to hire me as his assistant and secretary type, but I convinced him that this was not the best use of my time. Instead he paid me a nice stack of bennies…unbeknownst to the guy I had started seeing right about the time I came home….and this tied me over for a month.

After that, the holidays came.

I went all out buying presents for my family for christmas, only to find that they did not buy me many presents in return, and I was slightly bitter about this, as I had put a lot of thought into the darn thing. I cried on Christmas like a little kid and asked my mom if we could not do Christmasses any more.

On New years, my time was divided between time with the lawyer, and time with the new guy I met.

I dated that guy for roughly six months. During which time I smoked more marijuana than I ever have in my entire life.

I think I’ve been more of a hermit since the summer started than I ever have, really.

Living back with my family, the house is emptier than usual as more people moved out, and new people moved in. I’ve been staying on target as much as I can with the things that matter, and I’ve made friends with people who tell me that I “don’t need to go back there.” and I’ve made friends or…more than friends…with some people who have no idea of my past at all, so its hardly a topic of conversation.

I actually got told by a couple friends that I shouldn’t feel like I “need to dress so slutty” which is weird because in my real life, nobody has ever said I’ve dressed slutty, ever.

It dawned on me though, that this california summer is so hot, that when I get hot enough, I’ve apparently smoothed over that whole self consciousness barrier that tells me I should give a fuck as to whether or not I’m nearly naked in front of others, and I do whats comfortable, which is…apparently more naked than it was before I started this business.

I have a pile of my possessions waiting for me in Nevada and I’ve wondered….why haven’t I gone back there.

Why not go back there.

Except, sometimes I just think….well…maybe its a cycle I can break, if I make myself break it.

Yet this other half of me….I think about it in my sleep you know, where I will visit with old friends from the industry, and I will dream about what its like to have money. I’ve dreamed of raining dollar bills. I’ve dreamed of the security guards I used to pal around with….I’ll dream of simply sitting with them, talking with them, catching up.

I dreamed of one of the madams. That I ran into her a few weeks ago, and it was slightly pleasant, and she was somehwhat happy to see me…..

AND THEN I THINK OF HOW MUCH MONEY I MADE, and how I accomplished absolutely nothing with it.

Like, you think, ok…a certain amount of money can buy me these sorts of opportunities or create these certain kind of experiences that I wish to have – but in reality, that money…and the knowledge that I had the money, and OTHER people’s knowledge that not only did I have money, but I desired to part with it…you know what that did?

It just made me attract a bunch of messy asshole types who sort….made a whole lot of NOTHING happen, with all that money.

And now that I actually have nothing, everything is happening.

Things are happening that I have dreamed about happening for a long time and its really strange to be doing something that isn’t sex…something related to a lifelong dream, and to be in that moment and say “this is how I imagined it starting….I wonder what’s next?”

If I go back though- I already know whats next: That same up and down cycle that happened before, where my dreams got put on a back burner, and I thought money was the missing link, when really it wasn’t….living in the moment was what was missing, and now I guess I’ve found it – and there’s lots of good things I would like to tell you about, but then you would know who I was.

Until then….I’ll see you on the other side.

Dear Lord….

1 Dec

Dear God,

I really hope that 10 or even 2 years from now, the options list of “Ways to make money through the holidays, choices A through Infinity” will one day include better options than it does now.

Now for example, it looks like this:

  • Do a trick tour up the west coast, earning X dollars, respectively, before heading to Nevada
  • Hit that place south of the border where the money is supposed to be decent, to see what all the fuss is about
  • Put my worldly possessions that I no longer need in a pile in a room until I sell them all on craigslist, because I really didn’t need that shit anyway
  • Post an ad on one of those escort sites….
  • Or better yet….try selling as much as you can on Craigslist, before resorting to anything illegal that might land you in jail.

I really do have a lot of legal things I can sell.

Oddly, I’ve done incredibly well for myself not even selling pussy at all, in the last week. For example, I made a nice chunk o’ change doing email consulting, giving relationship advice, to a soldier, overseas. He said he was going to spend the money on something like a stripper anyway, and considered advice from yours truly, much better spent.

Oh yeah….in the last 72 hours…I think I managed to get drunk beyond belief with a flask I happened to have in my car…I vom’d the only food I could manage to keep down…and somehow I vaguely remember being followed to the bathroom…maybe once naked, maybe once not naked….while a house party was still going on, because I had to throw up said alcohol, and the guy I was with was like “Bambi, where are you going?” and I’m like, “no no no, you do NOT want me to stay in your bed right here, trust me.”

So…once I think I made a mad dash for the restroom with just my winter coat on, which was open, and I was naked underneath…and I stood there in front of all of my guys friends and they were like, “hey, are you naked?” and I was like, “yeah, I’m naked, fun eh? enjoy the view!!!” 

and then the 2nd time I made the mad dash for the bathroom…I had said vom in my hand…because it was the consistency that it could easily be held in one’s hand…and I went to the bathroom with just…no clothes on whatsoever….aka in “IDGAF” mode.

Prior to the vom moment, prior to ending up at said house party, I remember stopping, already too drunk to drive, at the 7-11 to buy something that looked vaguely appealing…which ended up being this mexican strawberry popsicle bar…and one of those paper bowls that was filled with hardboiled eggs.

I’m pretty sure you can do the math and guess why my vom was so easy to cup in my hand.

Oh, by the way.  My GP says I have an eating disorder. I say nay nay.

P.S. Prior to this I had not had a piece of sugar, or fucking booze, in like, 3 months, and I didn’t even get laid, I just got naked with my friend, because that’s what good friends do,  fuckin GET NAKED. So there you go.  Prior to my vomming it was actually a pretty fucking awesome party, complete with all my fav party animals, who also tend to get naked at parties…except I always seem to miss it.

P.P.S. In case you were wondering, “Bambi, are you ok?” the answer is simultaneously yes and no.

Yes, because there is such COOL SHIT going on in my world that its almost beyond my comprehension, and I’m so scared of its utter amazingness that it sounds too good to be true to even be spoken aloud, and I’m afraid to tell anyone, for fear I will look like a dumb ass….and then if I admit that I think it is so fucking awesome, then everyone else will think I am lame….and its also lame that I feel like I have not so much in the way of emotional support to lean on for said awesomeness….because everyone expects you to “need someone” when shit is going bad, but what they don’t EVER TELL YOU is that you need friends for when shit is starting to go REALLY REALLY GOOD, too.

So I sorta feel like maybe, if I just…avoid everyone…avoid having those stressful conversations or those heated debates about stuff that won’t really matter in the long run anyway…and I can avoid getting naked with the wrong crowd for like…two more months…or better yet, just get naked with one person consistently instead (how do you even do that!?!?) – then….life will…improve…so long as everybody forgets I ever did this job in the first place.


But then I think…oh hey, I miss my Nevada family. I miss my little sanctuary, my 2nd home, where there’s always a roof over my head and my bed is always warm and there’s always people there who make me laugh, and its secure because a guy is there with a gun, and when somebody has a gun, so little can go wrong. Oh. Nevada. I love you.

Mockery Glossary: The Babe’s List of Brothel Terminology

27 Oct

To amuse and entertain you….here we go:

Lineup = When all of the ladies on shift line up and introduce themselves, and you pick one to go have prices with.
Solicitation = Talking prices in the bar or parlor. This is ILLEGAL in the State of Nevada – ladies can only discuss prices in private.
The Madam = Typically refers to the head mistress, the lady who runs the brothel.
The Manager = This is different from the mistress – many brothels have different managers for different shifts.
Prosti-dude =  A legal male prostitute. As of 2011 – there is only one male prostitute working in the State of Nevada.
Negotiation Room = A room in a brothel specifically designed for talking prices with a client. Prices must be spoken about in private.
Whiskey Dick = When a guy drinks too much whiskey or hard alcohol, his dick tends to get soft and sometimes he’ll be too flacid to cum. Hence the term, Whiskey Dick.
“No Cum is Guaranteed!” = This phrase means that if you HAVE whiskey dick, its not a ladies’ fault that you are too drunk to maintain an erection or get all the men in your boat to swim into her canal.
Two Cums = For you rare breed of men who can have sex and get hard again without the lengthy recharge time, you may  be able to have ‘Two cums” during your party. This means that once you cum, you do NOT keep fucking the girl when there is semen in that condom. You tell her when you’re done, she takes the condom off, cleans you up, puts on a fresh condom, and THEN you can  go again. Most commonly used in a sentence: “Do I get two cums?”
Baby Wipes = A staple of any working ladies kit of supplies. They are usually soaked with rubbing alcohol and are used to inspect you during your D.C., They are also used after sex to clean up all that lube and sanitize.
A Shower = Something you should take right before you get to a brothel, but will likely have to do again once you get there anyway.
Showers are Mandatory =  “Mandatory” means its the rules, god-dammit, and you aren’t getting out of cleaning up your dirty self, Pigpen.  However to ME it means that I tend to skip them a lot, in favor of “going green” (aka making more money in less time since 95% of you already showered before you got here, and Americans shower all the time)
Garlic & Onions = Something you should avoid eating before you go to a brothel, out of common courtesy.
Bidet = Pronounced – bid-ayy. Its not something you should try to pee in. Ever. its a sink the europeans oh-so-clevelrly invented, and placed at the crotch level, so you can easily wash your man and lady bits before and after intercourse. So convenient.
Smegma = This refers to you uncircumcised men who haven’t figured out how to pull your foreskin back and clean the nasty dick cheese that encircles the base of your penis. If your mom or dad didn’t show you how to pull back your foreskin to properly clean your junk every day, they have epic failed at parenting you, and ladies will be merciless about making sure you learn. It typically happens that ethnic males are the worst offenders of the Smegma. Yes, if you are a fresh off the 24-hour flight Indian from India, we are talking to you – its not racist, its just a statistical observation.
D.C. = Refers to a Dick Check. This happens after you pay a lady the money, before you have sex. Working ladies are trained to inspect your nether regions for bumps, open sores, creepy crawlies…anything that looks like an STD. She may also check your mouth for herpes outbreaks if kissing is involved. Be prepared to explain all strange bumps that are not STDs… the scar you have from the  time you caught your penis in your zipper when you were 7. If you have any open sores, no sex for you! This will likely mean that instead, you’ll only be able to jack yourself off, while the lady pleasures herself from a safe distance from any flying jiz.
“Party” = paying to have sex with a lady
“A Kelly” = this refers to a gentleman that came in a cab. It means that in addition to a lady forking over 50% of whatever you pay her to the house, she will also fork over another 20% to your goddamn cab driver, for taking you to her, which leaves her earning a measly THIRTY PERCENT wof whatever you pay her. If you’re going to ride in a cab, be prepared to be generous, because no matter how much you pay her, when she only gets 30% of whatever you spend, she will always, always feel cheated.
“Did you drive yourself?” = This means a girl is verifying that you did not, in fact, come in a cab, which leaves the earnings split at a solid 50/50
Two Girl Party = paying to have sex, blowjobs, or some variation thereof with two ladies!
Half & Half = Blowjob & Sex. Start off with the blowjob, get you going, move onto sex at the proper time. Its not mathematically a 50/50 kind of activity split. It varies from girl to girl.
Straight Lay = Just sex, typically in one position, with no blowjob. Some girls think that when you’re a cheap bastard, it means you should only get sex in one position. I however find this boring and/or tiring and prefer to mix it up.
“GFE” = Stands for Girlfriend Experience. This is when you pay a girl a much more generous sum for her to be your girlfriend for the night. Or overnight, the weekend, or a week. If you’ve got the money, you can make it happen. The best GFE parties include things like outdates and taking a lady shopping to buy cool stuff. AND leaving Pussy Prison! Thats what it means for her. For you, it means extended conversation, cuddling, and kissing.
Pussy Prison: This is the term we use to joking refer to any brothel that is a lockdown house.
Lockdown House: A brothel that does not let you come and go as you please because they are (likely) paranoid that you will “steal the clients and start seeing them on the outside.” Or turn a trick into your boyfriend.  During your first two weeks or so in a brothel, even a house that is NOT a lockdown house, will require that you stay in the house and not go anywhere for two fucking weeks. If you need to run errands, you can go with the driver, who works with the house. If you have your own car there and you’re lucky you can establish enough trust with a house to do things like run errands when you want, or go to Del Taco whenever  you crave it.
PSE = This stands for “Porn Star Experience”, which means fucking a lady in a brothel the same way guys fuck girls in all the pornos you watch. Contrary to popular belief, sex in real life does not necessarily go like this. Not every woman’s pussy can take a pounding. If you are there to pound a pussy, you should be prepared to compensate a lady generously for it. No matter how “Porn Star Experience” you want to get though, its unlikely you’ll be cumming in her face or anywhere with open mucous membranes, as that leads to STDs. STDs are bad, mmmkay?
Pussy Made of Steel = For a woman to say “I don’t have a pussy made of steel!” – it means she’s human and sensitive like a delicate flower, and can’t handle her lady bits being beaten into a bloody pulp by the incessant ramming of your cock into her vagina. Did you know that if you ram her too hard, you can bruise her cervix, cause miniature tears inside her vaginal walls (which are extremely painful), and can bruise her pubic bones? Like the Tenacious-D song says, “Fuck her gently.” 
“Beating off too much” = When you beat off too vigourously and are used to getting off from the kung-fu grip and super-speed rhythm of your own hand, it can cause certain problems, such as insensitivity….thus making you unable to orgasm via the natural sensations of intercourse. Try cutting back on your right hand man, or learning to masturbate with a lighter touch, and this problem should improve. Not every woman likes a marathon man. At some point, it just makes your dick raw, and her pussy sore. Ease up, pronto.
Pocket Pussy = A fake vagina, which may be used on you in the event that you feel like trying something different.
“Be Gentle” = This is a nice way of saying “Stop biting my nipples so hard, you asshole.”
Strap-on = usually refers to a girl wearing a strap-on dildo and fucking you (the male client) in the bum.
Hot Tub Party = Most brothels have a hot tub. If you spend enough for a hot tub party, you relax in a hot tub first. No sex happens in the water, because that’s not sanitary. Foreplay however in the hot tub, is acceptable.
Couples Parties = Refers to a guy/girl couple who bring a working lady into the equation. Not every working lady is comfortable working with couples. If you are going to do a couples party, discuss it thoroughly with your partner and make sure BOTH OF YOU really, really want to be there!
Dildo show = If you aren’t comfortable having sex in a brothel, or if its a bachelor party,you can pay to have two chicks get naked and fuck eachother with dildos. It’s totally fun, and guilt free.
Bachelor Party = In a brothel, this means that ALL OF YOU should have sex, not just the bachelor.
Divorce Party = forget your ex! Spend your money celebrating with us instead!
Out-Date = The process of going through the house/brothel to take a girl on a regular date. Prepare to show your ID, provide details of what hotel or casino you will be at, and perhaps your license plate number. No sex can happen outside of the house because that’s technically illegal. Having sex before or after your date in the brothel, however, is okay.
American Express = A credit cards most brothels don’t take, because they are mormon, and don’t like brothels. Phooey.
BBBJ = This refers to a bareback blowjob, aka, a blowjob without a condom. Its ILLEGAL to do this in a brothel. Everything ladies do in a brothel is with condoms, including blowjobs.
Anal = Something that MAY BE ILLEGAL at a brothel, depending on which brothel you go to. For Anal sex to be legal in a brothel, the entire brothel must test for weekly STD’s not only vaginally, but also anally. (No pun intended) Not every girl does it, and anal usually has a heftier price tag. Be warned.
Titty Fuck = When a girl pushes her boobs together and you fuck her between her boobs. Some girls will do it, some  girls won’t. If you dare ask to do it without a condom, she’ll probably say no, because she doesn’t want you to mess up her makeup. Avoid cumming on her face and you might have a chance. Make sure you bring up cumming in her face beforehand. It’s kind of a fetish thing.
Foot Job: Another popular fetish. Stick the soles of your feet to the sides of a penis like a fleshy hot dog bun, and work that wiener, girrrrllll.
Dom Party = This refers to domination. aka S & M. Whips, chains, you are the sub, she is the dom. If she is the sub, and you want to restrain and/or inflict pain on her, chances are another lady will have to accompany her for her own safety during your party. If you enjoy things like balloon popping, getting demeaned, having your testicles trampled on with a stiletto, or cleaning the base of a toilet with a dirty toothbrush and then liicking her feet afterwards and parading around in a dog collar while she drags you with a leash on all fours, then….a dom party is for you!
Bondage = Getting tied up with official restraints where you really can’t untie yourself. Think sailor nots wth rope, and legitimate handcuffs.
Bondage Light = this refers to beginner’s bondage – aka being tied up  and/or blindfolded with strips of fabric or scarves.
Trick Fuck = if you’re REALLY drunk, you might just be sticking your penis between a girls tiightly clenched  together thighs, thinking its in her pussy, yet not even realizing that it isn’t. That’s when you’ve been trick fucked. When you don’t even know that your dick is not in her pussy.
Coke = I hope you’re referring to the soda, because if you’re asking about doing a line of that white stuff in her company, you’ll probably get thrown out. By the way, if you snort too much cocaine you can’t maintain an erection very well, and you talk so much that it gets annoying, even though you think you sound really cool. So why would you want to come to a brothel coked out, anyways?
A Shot of Petron = If a girl wants to ass rape you before she has sex with you, she will do so by ordering the most expensive shot in the bar, which is usually a shot of Petron. Way to go, champ.
Stage Fee = At some brothels if you want a girl to get on stage, you have to pay her a certain fee to get on stage, and then tip her additional tips, on top of that. Keep in mind pole dancing is the most physically exerting thing a lady will do all day outside of riding you reverse cowgirl style.
Reverse Cowgirl = When a girl is on top of you, but instead of facing you, she turns around the other way, so you get a supreme view of her ass while she’s having sex with you. An Ass lover’s dream come true.
Dirty Hustling = When one working lady barges in and tries to “steal” another lady’s trick. Typical etiquette is that one working lady cannot talk to a gentleman if said gentleman is talking to a working lady already. The 2nd lady may only speak to the gentleman if she has been personally addressed or the gentleman has requested that she come speak with him, or share a drink with him.

Weed Wine and Worship: Just what I always wanted.

25 Oct


A series of misadventures resulted in me having to take a much needed couple days off….I’ll tell you about that later. For now, I’ll just tell you about my last 48 hours.


First, there was this guy who’s always quiet, comes in sometimes….doesn’t always party….but sometimes he does with me.

I was kickin’ it in my room and the voice on the intercom told me I had a request in the bar.

It was this guy I hadn’t seen in like…a year.

We had a gloriously short party, and he has a gloriously petite penis (pain free, yes!)…and instead of leaving a cash tip, what did he leave me?

3 weed cookies.

Special snickerdoodles.

The smell was so strong I was fearful for my life just by taking a whiff.

I said, “I’m a lightweight. How much should I have?” 

He said, “half. And they won’t put you to sleep, they’ll leave you amped.” 

I replied: “Last time I ate any weed food I hallucinated for days and saw jesus n’ stuff. Are you sure I should have half?” 

He said, “OH. Maybe a quarter, then.” 

Now. NORMALLY I’m in a “drug-free house” and NORMALLY I don’t do that shit…except, these weed cookies seemed so….SO LOVINGLY CRAFTED, that I absolutely could not bear to throw them away.

The smell however, lingered on my hands even when I touched the plastic bag.

I have them tucked in a tin, and the tin is in a box, and the box is in my closet, which is under lock and key.

Next on the list we have…….


I switched my night shift to day shift (at the request of the manager)…however I’ve been staying up late because it seems I’m hard-wired to prefer the night time.

So at five AM this couple comes in to request a couple’s lineup.

Normally I would not have done it, because I “don’t do couples”

(read: I had never done a guy/girl threesome in my life because 95% of the time when couples come into a brothel, the woman so obviously does not want to be there, that my morals come into question and I just can’t bring myself to get money out of somebody who doesn’t even want to be there.)

THIS COUPLE was different though.

They came from Napa!

The woman was petite and sweet!

I asked them what they were looking for, and they had no idea!

She was sweet and cute and giggled and when I asked for specifics, she put her hand over her mouth as she smiled and said “what about pleasuring you, or you pleasuring me? Teehee!” 

I asked “is this your first time having a threesome?” 

She shyly replies, “yesssssss” 

and I say, “perfect, it will be mine too!”

She’s obviously nervous.

Her BF is obviously standing there like he’s here because SHE wants to be, not  the other way around. It was like the brothel gods themselves hath aligned solely for The Babe.

When we get into a suite with a hot tub, she says she doesn’t want to get into the hot tub.

Reason being: She’s wearing a wig and doesn’t want to get it wet.

So I instruct them that we should all strip together.

The cute lady hits her first obstacle when she realizes the neck of her shirt is too small to take off without also taking her wig off.

I tell her she can go to the bathroom to properly undress,  take her wig off, and put it back on. She lets me guide her there and does her thing.

Back in the room, they both start to get naked, and I realize how wonderfully pre-meditated it is:

He’s wearing some kinda festive g-string that turns his dick into Big Bird,

and she’s got this whole red sparkly crotchless jodpur thing going on.

Stifled and clueless, we start with Simon Says.

Eventually things got natural. Once she’s had her box of Cheerios for breakfast, she pulls herself away from the pleasure and says, “Wait!!! I have a toy! Can I use the toy on you?” 

And I say “Yes! I have a condom you can put it in!” 

Long story short, our 30 minute adventure ended in happy hugs and smiles for all.

Before they leave however, she peers her head back in and says “Wait Bambi, we have a present for you. Two bottles of wine from Napa!” 

I run excitedly to see what kind of wine it is.

Behringer. White Zin.

AWWW. They weren’t from Napa! They were role playing!




Last on my list!


I’m mining my own business, reading my book in the  parlor, and this guy with a silly accent keeps glancing over.

I frankly ask “are you here to have sex?” 

He says yes, but I think he’s full of shit.

He invites me to join him at the bar. This other girl, who presumably hates my guts, is sitting on the other side of me.

He pressures me to buy a drink. I say I don’t drink. The bartender confirms I don’t drink. I’m so the angel.

The devil bitch to my left, however, pushes him to buy her a shot of Petron, which we all know is brothel speak for saying: “I’m going to start by robbing you in the bar and let every ho in this bar know that I have you by the balls because you are buying me as much Petron as I want.” 

She’s blab blab blabbing like a bitchy devil woman. I’m staying super quiet and innocent and mysterious, like a good little angel.

It was like an unsaid staredown. A competition of who was going to get the guy.

She admits defeat when she asks for money to go  buy a pack of cigarettes.  I seize my window of opportunity and ask oh-so-frankly for the third time, “So are you really here to have sex?” and then whisk him away to negotiate.

He happily hands me his money.

Once we start having fun in my room,

He starts a long monologue of worship.

Saying that I have “Class A Pussy” and that I have the most beautiful pussy in the world that he’s ever seen. That I’m a goddess, that I’m like the women in playboy. That I am “all class. ”


For every compliment, I’m just laughing, and laughing more.

I’m thinking to myself “this guy is hilarious, he doesn’t quit!”

As luck would have it, he re-books.

I proudly prance through the bar and don’t even give that devil-woman any eye contact. Looks like I won this competition, biatch!

I prance back to my room, and more worship continues.

He tells me if he won money gambling, he’d give it all to me.

That he’d pay any price, just to lick my pussy.

I say, “no no no, you have to play by the rules. “

“Don’t you understand I LOVE YOU? I hope one day you find a man who LOVES YOU as much as I love you, and he gives you all the money you want and takes you away from this place.” 

The beautiful thing about it in the end was he gave a monologue about how much he loved his wife, and his three beautiful children, and how he would never ever destroy that for another woman. He will stay with his wife, no matter what, but he thinks I’m amazing.

Fuck yeah. Good day.

Negotiation Song

17 Oct

A couple nights ago in the parlor, I decided to break out my guitar. It was slow and the girls like to hear me sing. I got all of four dollars in tips.

There’s this new girl here named Paris. She needs to be on SNL because she’s so damn funny. She sings a little bit too.

She found this cute musician guy she thought we should do a two girl party with.

I’m still playing the guitar.

She says, “oh Bambi, just bring it with you!”

so I wear my guitar into the negotation room.

I proceed to tell him how the process works.

Paris interjects.

We’re singing the whole thing.

The client, who is also a musician, sings back.

“I only have this much to pay”

“But you could use credit cards!” we sing

“Put a couple hundred on the card?” we ask

“I can probably doooo that” he replies.

Agreement made!

Mission Accomplished.

Next move? The Dick check.

No Dick check would be complete without musical accompanyment.

I play a nice boom-chick boom chick kinda song in the key of C.

It’s like we’re in our own goddamn musical.

“So what we’re checking for is STDs! Herpes! Warts! Open wounds! Things that move!”

once he passes, Paris says

“its clean!”



We all sing.

Then? Off to have the funnest threesome ever.