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Conversations with the Ex man.

10 Feb

My ex texted me today.
You know, the one that bought me a ring because he thought I was the love of his life…

I thought for a brief glimpse in time that I might have had a good thing going.
He was rock solid. Available. Unusually consistent. Incredibly predictable…almost….too predictable.

The only thing that wasn’t predictable was my discovery that he had, in fact, bought me an engagement ring.

This was right about the time that I met Mr. Wrong. A wild display of Alpha Male behavior kicked in with Mr. Wrong – he did everything in his power to win me over. Truth was…my ex was a Beta male…and I, being an Alpha female….did what any young 20something would do when encountered by copious amounts of whiskey after late nights at the banquets: I let myself get “woo’d.”

My ovaries took off without me, and I “fell” for Mr. Wrong. If it were the mating game and not the dating game…Mr. Wrong would have succeeded in winning life’s most coveted prize: The best female his social circle had to offer.

My Beta Ex, however…couldn’t be bothered with such masculine displaces of chasing the female, courting her…fighting for her love…none of those crucial things ever happened with my ex. Not in the beginning of the relationship, not ever.

So as I was saying, he texted me.
Wanting to know how my travels were.
I told him I was back at work.

He said, “I thought you quit that shit.”

I asked if he was still with that girl.
He said he was, and that things were going well.

“Why are you texting me then?” I asked.

He said, “To say hi. You said you wanted to stay in touch and be friends.”
(NOTE TO SELF: I forgot I said this. BAD IDEA.)

I told him about the new person in my life, and that it wasn’t exactly easy right now. He was nothing short of cruel…..

Giving me the “What do you expect, you’re in a fucked up situation.”
I told him it wasn’t fucked due to the economy. I’m paying my bills and getting things done.

His response:
“Yeah it is. You’re at the bottom of the totem pole no matter what you think or tell yourself. Don’t blame the economy, you can do better.”

I told him what a low blow that was.
He said “I’m not bitter I’m just trying to encourage you.”

WOW. If that’s any indication of his future encouragement skills as a parent, I pity his future children.

I told him, that its helping me rebuild my life, stick with my business plan…the money from this job keeps my dreams in check and puts my mind eat ease.

He said, “well I saw you at it and I don’t think it was worth a damn and it sucks out your soul and makes you insane. If I’m wrong then I’m wrong. That’s just what I saw. ”

Yeah, Mr. Ex…
He had no….fire in his gut….the essence of what most of us need if we’re going to make a successful existence for ourselves.

I needed a fighter…someone with spunk.
The person who could be the spark to ignite a raging firestorm to light up my life.
All I ever got from him was a candle with a too-short wick.

In contrast…while I am not certain of the future of this new guy…I am very certain of key things:

This new man has fire.
And not only that, he’s encouraging me to light my own, and keep them burning.

In the end…sparks in the bedroom only take you so far….I think living in the dark with Mr. Ex drove me crazy, not this job.

In reference to my ex’s comment about being at the bottom of the totem pole…
I like to think of it this way:
Sharks swim at the bottom of the sea….
Some sharks even sleep on the bottom of the ocean.
They can also swim to the top when they have to and make you their dinner.

And like a shark, if you want dinner…you have to wait for the right moment, or else it’ll pass you by.

If you know the right moment to strike…that dinner is yours when you need it.

I’m just a shark…and my moment to strike?

It’s coming.
When the water is burning.
Thats when.


DICKWAD OF THE WEEK AWARD (Captain Asshole vs. Zombies Edition.)

6 Nov

Wouldn’t you know.

No less than 24 hours after I hang out with Max, I get a text from the illustrious Mr. X himself.

Mr X: Want to go for a drink?
Me: Were your ears burning?
Him: Just wanted to see if you wanted to hang out.
Me: Mmm….I don’t have the resistance to say no. So. No.

I tell him, “Hey uhh…you think you could manage not to tell any more of our friends that I’m a ho, you asshole?”

He says, “you got it.”

Cool. Glad I cleared that one out of the way.
He’ll keep telling people but, whatever.

He asks,
“So why don’t you want to hang out? Are you pissed at me?”

I say, “No. I love you and you know that.”

So he says, “Then lets hang out.”
I say,
“I’m in my PJ’s and broke and blahblahblah.”

He says,
“I’ll buy you a drink.
C’mon Cutie Pie lets go.”

W T F.

“Where did my asshole friend go?” I asked him.

He says, “Far far away.”

Reluctantly….I ask where he and his friends from work are planning on going.

He says, “Where do YOU want to go?”

I say: “Seriously, is this some kind of cruel joke or something? Where is my old friend. wtf.”

Somethings not right!
My gut tells me so!

I text Max and say,
“Did you tell Mr. X that we hung out? yes/no?”

Lo and behold – they talked earlier in the day.

Looks like CAPTAIN ASSHOLE (aka Mr. X) is trying to swoop in on Max’s game.

You know, Mr. X, if I was a Pickup Artist, I would thank you for doing me a favor.

You just propelled me past the “Competition Phase” of dating, and we could argue that I now get to choose my proper suitor.

UNFORTUNATELY I don’t give A SHIT about any of that stuff, because I’m a Zombie Princess, Captain Asshole, and all I care about is BRAINS!!!!

You are NO MATCH FOR ME, Mr. X!
I saw right through your foolish folly!

I inflict my Atomic Nipple Ray Gun upon you!
Melting your evil-doing Dickwad self until your two braincells have been condensed like canned milk and have become suitable for my consumption!

Max and I will ride his Dick shaped rocket, off into the sunset!
We will use your entrails as streamers, as a fiery signal to all that CAPTAIN ASSHOLE has been DEFEATED, and Mr. X is NO MORE!

There will be happiness throughout the Whorish Land!
We will celebrate to all mankind by making every day Steak and Knobber Day,
and we will give blow jobs with after-dinner mints.
We will celebrate with fruit roll-up underwear,
and candy necklace garter belts.

We will celebrate with mutual masturbation,
and with glow-in-the-dark live dildo shows.

We will decorate our Christmas trees with Cherry-flavored condoms,
and Penis-shaped holiday lights.

We will hang our shiniest sequined bikinis in our Brothel windows as a glittering symbol to the sex-long people:

That you may disrespect a whore,
but you cannot defeat the reigning ZOMBIE PRINCESS, aka BROTHEL BABE.

Enough of that.
Only time will tell what Max has to offer in terms of brains.
But….Mr. X, with your unfortunate Captain Asshole alter go….
I only have one word of advice for you Mr. X’s across the land: Don’t use words like “Cutie Pie.”

A smart chick will know you are up to something.
In fact, maybe study the Pick up Artist website included above, so at least you can get laid.

Do Hookers Have Morals? A Gaze into Brothel Babe’s Past….

29 Sep

Do Hookers have Morals?
Do Hookers Move Slow?
Do Hookers Have Boundaries?
Do Hookers know where their line is?
I don’t have answers to these questions,
as every hooker is different, but I can tell you a story.

I went to this big uppity social gathering for charity a while back when I was home.
Among my circle its like the “party of the year.” It was there I ran into one of my dear friends. A photographer took a photo of us which I later found on the events website.

It dawned on me…
It’s taken five years of friendship to even get a photo together.

We have never boned.

Lets rewind – to four years before I started this job, when I met him.
I met him at the restaurant where my friend bartends.
When we went back to her house and everyone was doing cocaine,
he and I were the only ones who weren’t. So we spent most of the night talking.

I was interested in him.

I asked that same bartender friend if he was single. She told me yes.

My friend was mistaken.
It was only later that I found out he was married.

The moment that he told me he played the victim to the hilt, his deep eyes begging for me to carry his burden. He played a sad and lonely husband, with a wife that is here only half the time because of her job. I was innocent enough to feel bad for him….young enough to be confused.

The first time he and I ever hung out 1-on-1, my other friend was bartending, and pouring the drinks very strong.

Too strong enough for me to keep my filters up. I was not an experienced drunk. I only started drinking when I could manage to finagle my way into bars. Filter down, Brothel Babe was ADAMANT….wanting answers to questions:

“Why are you married if this person does not make you happy? I don’t understand.”

I wanted desperately to understand.
It never dawned on me that I would never get the truth from this man.

When I went into the bathroom to barf….he literally followed me in the bathroom before I could shut the door behind me, and kissed me on the lips. Without warning, without my permission, without ever asking me if that was ok.

Driving home, he pulled over to the side of the road for me when I had to barf.
He asked if he should come inside. I lived by myself, and I told him no.

For some reason we have always stayed in contact on and off, because he’s a great conversationalist. He’s often pushed or encouraged me to cross that boundary line….but I’ve always wrestled with the idea that I would never be his one and only, and I could never call him mine.

Some years later,I was talking with a friend of mine and we realized that we had this same friend in common. Her discovery? “oh hey, this same guy hit on you too, but he never wore his wedding ring, and when I asked if he was single, he said…”yes.”

A couple years after that,
I found out ANOTHER GF of mine had sex with him.
I brought up how he was married, like it is common knowledge.

She said,
“He was married? But, we had sex! He came over to my house many times.
I figured he was divorced because he never brought her up!”
“Did you ask him specifically if he was still, in fact, married?”
I asked.
“There is your problem.” I said.

I hit a breaking point when I was traveling across country for my other work this summer, taking a break from my ho-status. I was feeling very much alone, and wanted a familiar funny exchange. His normally humorous texts took a turn for romantic:

“I wish I could be there,
holding you right now.”


I said, “Fuck you, you have chosen your shitty marriage for 12 years, and how dare you hijack my emotions when I am across country. I think the only reason you’ve stayed friends with me is because some part of you still thinks we will fuck someday, and you don’t really care forme at all, you just see me as a potential lay. If you are going to be my friend, you can’t do that shit ever again.”

He stopped talking to me after that.
Two, three months went by.
I returned to my job back here at the Brothel…
Returned to my long drives where I spend 10 hours on the 395 with no one to talk to.
I was somewhere in Barstow when I texted him….

“Can we reconcile now?”
“Yes.” he said.
“Thank God, I’m dying for intelligent conversation.”

Maybe I’s ghey. Baby Pipe Dreams and Car Ride Reflections

5 Sep

I have not told you the aspirations I have had since the tender age of 17.

When I was 17,  I went to this hippie raver fest that was in the afternoon on a perfect spring day in the park.

There were DJ’s, an old VW bug that little kids were painting with bright colors, a man on stilts, massage tables, people with kites, and somebody had tied a tire swing to a tree.

I decided this would be a perfect time to take Ecstasy and sit in the warm sun with one of my closest gay male friends, Wesley.

At this time in my life I carried around a small book – a “Quote book” – it was black a hard cover and had gold gilded pages. I filled it with all the funny things my friends said.

Like when I was 16 and one of the first times I had sex and my first boyfriend had eaten lots of curry.  I said, “You have lava semen.” I was told to put that in the book.  That gives you some idea of its content.

There I was, enjoying people watching and all the happy children and puppies and the wind blowing in my hair, and I said, “I don’t think I want all my kids by the same dad.”

Wesley gets a quirky smile and says, “You are writing that down,  NOW.”

That phrase has stuck with me more than any of the things I have ever said regarding relationships

When I daydream about the kids I have…there’s multiples.

The one my Wesley and I will have. That child I hope will be a girl. Even if she gets the worst features from each of us, she’ll come out looking damn near PERFECT. That’s a deal he and I made that if I couldn’t find the love of my life by the time I was 30, I would call him up and ask him to be my sperm donor.

There’s also the metal drummer that I fell for. Smart fellow, who could have been a scientist in another life. But he’s all about metal.
He got married to his metal girlfriend, even though they decided they don’t want kids. I asked, “If I can’t find anybody to have kids with, wanna help me out?”

And he said YES.

Then I think about Mr. Wrong. I have yet to determine if he will be part of my baby-daddy fantasy.
After spending 3 weeks with Katrina….kind of falling for her a little bit…
I thought to myself, “Wow, his is the first time somebody GETS ME this much. What I’m……gggg-g..ggg”

I realized right then and there, I love dick too much to go gay.
But it would be the easiest way to live out my baby-daddy fantasy.

One of the regulars who I told this fantasy to while I had a boyfriend…said I should disclose such matters to a boyfriend. I keep thinking I’ll outgrow the fantasy, but it hasn’t happened yet.

P.S. These were all car ride reflections I had on my 6 hour ride home.  I’m taking a 3 day vacation and am hoping to rendezvous with Mr. Wrong. Whilst technically this is a blog about living IN a brothel, part of what is essential to brothel life, is life away from the brothel, and how well you manage to blend the two.  I’ll tell you more about that tomorrow.

A Love Letter to Mr. Wrong – affairs done right

1 Sep

I wrote Mr. Wrong a heartfelt letter about how I feel about him. Yes he has a girlfriend, no he isn’t planning to leave her any time soon. I am challenged with the “I don’t want a typical relationship because I don’t have time, but having mind-blowing sex on occasion would be nice.”

We concluded that having a once-a-month rendezvous would be good for both his sanity and mine. I mentioned that I was “falling” for him a bit, and he said he thinks of me a lot, and when I look at him “that way” , he finds it hard not to fall too.

He said that its a turn-on that I do what I do now,
and it would turn him on if we went to a club and he saw me
flirt with another guy, or watched us fuck even….
but if I was his girlfriend, he would be jealous,
and he would want to keep me as his and only his.

He asked, “if you were away at work, and I slept with another girl,
would you be jealous?”

I said, “No, I’d want you to tell me all about it. What she looks like,
the color of her hair, what you did to her….”

I explained the following:

The rule with sleeping with other people, is only this: When it gets too emotional, you have to cut things off.

The economy being the way it is, us professionals understand
how men and women co habitate for financial reasons. I tend to
think I have a keen smell of when a guy is only with his chick for convenience.
The only way to break the fear cycle is by shocking them and letting them know,

“if you worked a little harder, you could have a hot piece of ass like yours truly.”

There is no one at home who can possibly understand my situation outside of my mother, who originally dated my father in secret, because their relationship was a sort of “taboo.” In fact, when they got married, only a couple of their closest friends knew they tied the knot – secrecy was that important.

My aim isn’t to steal him away from his woman…well, not right away. As a ho, I have learned to understand just how essential ONE WOMAN can be in lifting up a mans self esteem, sexuality, and restoring a new sense of vitality in him. When words of praise come from a vixen like me – if you’re feeling like Joe Schmoe, you might feel like an angel visited you the day you get my precious letter. I read it to Katrina and she said if she was him, she would have been speechless when she read it.

I gave him a detailed character analysis
and discussed how life for some begins at 40.
I mentioned how he is by far one of the “Sexiest men I have ever met.”
The lead in to such compliments was a story about me talking
with this customer at the bar about sex. And that when I was talking with this guy about
having good ol’ sex, I was thinking about boning Mr. Wrong.

Being normal has never worked.
Normal relationships and courtships have never worked.
I’m a thinking woman.
If I say what I truly think and believe,
perhaps things will start going in the right direction.

Of course, to properly pursue any affair, you have to avoid careless mistakes.
They call text messaging and emails the new “Digital Lipstick.”
They even have a service now that encrypts your text messages
from your lover, making them look like news updates.
I’m saddened that a true affair would mean no more steamy texts,
but….I can’t stand when things get ugly.
As a Brothel Babe, I feel that its my duty to have only the most discrete of affairs.
I will let you know how things progress as time goes on.

Money vs. Freedom – do you really need days off?

1 Sep

The last time I really left the house (yes we call brothels “houses”) was to go to Los Angeles for a certain opportunity which seemingly did not pan out. That was on the 16th. I took a day off or two, and as of tomorrow I will have been here working for about two weeks without a day off.

The Mental Day Off
My mental day off was probably yesterday, when I knew I needed to work but didn’t feel like it.
I slept a little more, didn’t do my typical workout routine, and stayed up later than usual.
Mondays and Tuesdays are our slowest days, so no big loss.

Even when I’m mentally “on the clock” waiting for people to come in, sometimes
you’ll still have a day where you don’t book.

So I figure, why not mentally set it up in my mind that today is my day off?
If somebody comes in, all I have to do is take off my pajama pants, put on my high heels,
and make it to a lineup.

By mentally going somewhere else…its more rejuvenating than mentally sitting and “waiting” for somebody to come in. Why waste that energy? Conserve it.

In other news, I’ve been talking w/my friend Katrina about going into business.
I think she and I would be great going into business together – she wants to be a sex therapist.
I told her that to promote it, we could go to a sex club and stage a live sex show. Sex-as-art kind of thing.
Then raffle off tickets to have a private counseling session with her. Could be an adventure, no?

ALSO, this just in: I have surpassed my $1500.00 goal, finally. I am now free to have a social day, but more than anything, I feel like getting my nails done, not being social.

Love in Different Forms – Ho vs. Ho

28 Aug

You may be wondering how I could have made a post about being all hung up on Mr. WRONG, and then less than 48 hours later, start up a post about my co-worker.

The answer is simple: I’m a ho. I fall in and out of love easily.
Furthermore, there’s more than one kinda love.
However, one you won’t encounter outside of here is:
Ho vs. Ho love: the love of one working girl for another.

My #1: Katrina. Katrina was my big sister, who educated me during Whorientation. She has incredible ho-tivation. (Motivation.) I’ve known her over a year now and she is the person who has stayed here when everyone else has come and gone, and without her here, life would be miserable.

It’s only been in the last day or two that I’ve realized my love for Katrina. I woke up to my morning (7pm) to dinner being put away, and the staff said “Katrina made a plate for you so you would have some to eat.” There it was, “BB’s food, do not touch!” with my name emblazoned with a sharpie on the tinfoil, and little hearts all around.

Last night I let her borrow one of my outfits (her request of me) for the first time. It’s shiny and red and makes her look like a stripper. I LOVE her in it. She loved it so much she wore it a 2nd day in a row.

She’s been teaching me how to pole dance and when she dances, she knows I like to watch her.
She winks and licks her lips in my direction.

When I walk by, she slaps my booty with wreckless glee.

She constantly brings up the day she will turn me gay, and get me naked.

I’m her most recent bed buddy. She falls asleep quicker when I’m in her bed and keep her feet warm. Our primary goal for sharing a bed is shaking the other awake when customers come in late at night.
And lately, I’ve been thinking about it.

Especially after last night.
I’d never given a lap dance before in my life and she came up with the brilliant idea that I could watch her do a lap dance (on a guy) and then try some moves myself. Amazingly she convinced this fellow to pay for the both of us.

Watching her is one of my joys of this job, as she is an amazing dancer. Never would I have guessed I’d get turned on watching her dance, but like I said, it got me thinking.

Hardly an hour or two goes by where we don’t share a laugh, a hug, or a kiss on the cheek.
When I discovered it was her that made the dinner plate for me, I hugged her and said,  “you’re the best!” and she said “I love you too.”

What a gal.

BrothelBabe wants scientific answers! The 10 day fallout.

26 Aug

Every time I come here to work, about at day 10, plus or minus a few days, something happens which I call the “10 day fall-out.”
10 day fall-out
Call it homesickness, heartache, or a break down.
What I imagine is….your heart is a vessel for all these positive emotions.
Everything from your cat wanting to be held when you get home,
to the hand you hold with your forbidden lover, to your mother saying, “lets get lunch this week.”

All of your most recent memories have a 10 day holding time.

When the last drop of love drips out of your heart, like the last grain of sand
in an hourglass…something in you also runs out. Your body knows it, feels it, senses the loss, and doesn’t like it.

You’ve been physically cut off from all of the comforts of your other world back home, and when this moment of loss hits, all you can do is cry.

This time is strange as its the first time I have been back here not having an official boyfriend.
I HAD a boyfriend.
I HAD a ring. Well…he had it. Waiting to give it to me.
I didn’t want it.
I fell for somebody else – somebody forbidden.

Not intentionally either – I’m talking about the kind of love where you tripped, you fell hard, and there isn’t shit you can do about it. The kind where you say to yourself, “Really, heart? Are you sure?! I think you might have lost your mind.”

Knowing my heart no longer wanted to be with Mr. Sensible…I ended things with him some weeks ago, in favor of the untested waters of Mr. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”

My boyfriend and I had a very different routine than this time’s 10 day Fall-Out.
Day 10 was when we would fight, and I’d want to break up.

This time all I could do was cry.
Because I miss everything that’s right,
but mostly I miss Mr. Wrong.

I wish I knew the science of “Day 10.” Alpha female, biological chemical warfare, explained. Maybe my ovaries sense the loss. Maybe after 10 days of a night shift, my dopamine levels are low, and the crying is due to a lack of natural sunlight. Its certain that exercise alone doesn’t fix it. No amount of treadmill running and pole dancing is a suitable cure.

Having this much free time working the night shift allows your brain the opportunity to get a little too imaginative. Your head spins around all the magical “what-ifs”.

What IF Mr. Wrong was suddenly available. What IF Mr. Wrong knew how I felt.
I don’t know that he knows. There’s plenty to dig up. We have facebook, after all…where I’ve left plenty of pieces making it easy for any love detective to put together.

Talking with my genius writer friend online, he said that I should tell Mr. Wrong how I feel. I type out a practice letter, as if writing to Mr. Wrong. My friend revised it. It became brilliance and simplicity, all in one.

I took that letter and re-fashioned it to my liking in an email.

Then I got reasonable, and asked myself questions.

What is the result of a whore saying “I want to be with you”?
You can’t really be with a girl while she lives in a brothel.
I’m here to take care of my life. Relationships seem imaginary.
Mr. Wrong is just as broke as I am so saying “lets run off and be together!”
is the biggest joke imaginable.

Unlike other women, I don’t seek to possess or own any man.
No man can truly call me “his” right now, and knowing somebody is the keeper of my heart would not change the reality of my situation.

That email? I saved it, and it will never be sent.
I have too much pride to be anything other than realistic.

Instead in my moment of longing, all I could do was text Mr. Wrong and say,
“How’s the weather back home? I’m missing it.”
As if to say, “I’m missing you.”
His response?
“It’s hot here too.”