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Secret, no secret…moments of judgment

6 Nov

Here’s how my life goes lately:
There’s my bodyguard.

My body guard was there for me the very moment I knew for sure I would be heading off to work in a brothel. He was there for me when I was in a crying flurry over getting kicked out of this project I really wanted to be in. He was there for me to toast in my misery. In fact, it was my body guard who told me that Monkeys have actually been trained to prostitute themselves. Apparently some study was done using candy as currency, and some of the male monkeys would save up the candy to give to the female monkeys. The female monkeys would have sex with them, and would keep all the candy.

It was then that I knew my bodyguard was/is one of the coolest people on the planet.

Then there is my bodyguard’s friend, who I met about at the same time I started working in the brothel biz. I had a crush on him at the time….so I told him about my job. You know how it goes, its the “hey I like you, but I’m leaving town to be a ho. Wish me well.” We went bowling once last July and it was fun.

Then there is a girl, and she is my new female friend. She’s the first cool girl I have met who is not a ho in like, a year and a half…so its up to my bodyguard and this other guy to keep it a secret from her the fact that I work in a whorehouse.

Imagine two guys knowing a secret, and one girl remaining oblivious to the secret.

The girl is very petite and the rest of us are taller, so its easy for all of us to make brothel related jokes and commentary, and have it all go over her head, literally.

Then there is a guy, who I will call….Max. Max is an adorable fellow who I met a few weeks ago at the art show I did. We talked for a good chunk of the night and he asked for my number. Normally I’m reluctant to give out my number, but he seemed very likable, so I gave it to him.

I hadn’t talked to him in a couple weeks because I’ve been busy with…being hung up like a dumbass on other boys, other projects, vomiting from stress, etc. (YES I am vomiting from stress…do you like that?)

I invited Max out last night.
To my horror, about 20 minutes into a group of us hanging out,
he tells me “I’ve been working with Mr. X”

Allow me to introduce Mr. X:
Mr. X was the person I named myself after.
I re-fashioned his real name into a girlier version of the name, and made that my working girl name.

Mr. X was the last guy who ever screwed me over in the art world.
Mr. X was the last guy who broke my artist heart.
Nobody has broken my artist heart harder than Mr. X.
Mr. X has a magical way of speaking without words.
When Mr. X kicked me out of his project, what he was saying was,

“Here is your Art. This Art is the Love of Your Life…I know you love your Art more than you will ever love any man, and more than you will ever love me. And now, I’m going to deny you of that thing that you love SO very much. You will never get to paint your pictures with us. You will never make a masterpiece with me and my friends. You will paint alone, because I love you….because you can’t love me back.”

Or so he thought.
Mr. X thought I could never love him back.
I will always love Mr. X, because the way Mr. X and I love our art and our work is the same. We are equally passionate about the art we create. The purity of my love for Mr. X is untainted and unadorned…just like my love for art. Mr. X’s love for the art itself is as pure as mine. His love for me is unfortunately….not so pure. I will always have a space in the corner of my heart where I carry my love for Mr. X. In that corner, it is precious and unharmed.

But he took something from me…..so I took something from him:
His name.

Last night, Max tells me, “oh I am working with Mr. X. We are working on a project together.”

I say, “Really, what did Mr. X tell you of me?”
“He said they kicked you out of the collective, but didn’t say why.”

I in turn explained my reasons.

I kept waiting for it.
Waiting for it.
Waiting for the moment that Max would tell me that Mr. X told him about my job.

“So he didn’t tell you?” I asked
“Tell me what?” he gives a funny look.
“About my job.” I say.
“Well. Yes. Yes he did. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.”

“Does it bother you?”
I ask. Awkward. Feeling embarrassed.
“No.” He says. “I don’t care.”
“That’s what they all say. You’ll change your mind later.” I tell him.

I had my phone out to text Mr. X to tell him….BEG HIM….
“Hey please stop telling new people that I named myself after you and I went to work in a brothel. I want to start my life over one day.”

Max, seeing the text, said, “NO PLEASE don’t text Mr. X. That is a secret between the two of us…and I probably shouldn’t have said anything to you about it.”

Max gets into the specifics of exactly what Mr. X told him.
Simple story:
That I went to work in a Brothel.
That I named myself after him.

Ok. I can deal with that.

The interesting thing though after this was…
After Max and I had cleared the air and he had assured me that my job didn’t matter….I was a couple drinks in and I told him part of why I ended up working there in the first place.

About how I ended up in a brothel because there were other aspects of my life I wanted SO DESPERATELY to work out, but for whatever reason, things weren’t happening.

Max in turn, tells me that he’s been through the same thing with his art.
That he went to college.
Got his degree.
It hasn’t done him any good…
and there’s nothing he would love more than to do his art for a living.

We walked back to my bodyguards house.
Drunk.
(Well I was…)
and sat and played video games for a while.
My knee touched his.

It felt good…just for a little bit, not to be judged.
I can tell Max has the scales out.
But….like that judgment lady, he has a blindfold on, to play fair.

That feels good.

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My friends who inspire my work, netiquette, textiquette, and the weirdos who I hope to have my “assistant” deal with one day.

1 Nov


I am a proud member of the “Groucho Marx Dating Club.”

Meaning, I run horribly from anybody who would have me as a “member” [girlfriend] in their “club” [world].

Actually. No I’m not a member [technically.]
Lately however, I find that nobody gets on the inner circle without a strict unsaid battery of psychological tests.

Most men fail these tests with flying colors before the unsaid testing even begins.

While its “possible” that I would date somebody who was notably interested, I find that most men leave me questioning their sanity when dealing with them through various forms of electronic media.

You might be asking,
“Brothel Babe, what is YOUR etiquette of dealing with electronic media?”

Simple: If I text somebody and they don’t text me back, I don’t badger them five minutes later for not giving me a response. In fact, its unlikely I will respond at all.

There have been some occasions….If I have a “side thought”, its possible I will text somebody with a “secondary after thought” before they have had a chance to reply to my first text.

If I do not get a reply from either of these, I do not bug them for a response.

Why? That would be harassment. I have a very low tolerance for harassment of any kind, and refuse to inflict the same kind of annoyances on those I consider my friends.

What I consider appropriate exceptions to the rule:
Do you like somebody?
Are they a busy person?
There is something I call the “electronic wave” (i.e. a “wave hello”) that I consider appropriate to do when you haven’t heard from somebody in a few days.

What The Electronic Wave looks like:
Should be a text that takes place at a relatively reasonable hour.
Its a text that does not require an immediate response.
It’s harmless, and has nothing to do with hanging out in real life.
It’s like a “facebook poke” via text.


Plus, things get a little tricky when you deal with people on a personal level AND on a business level:

For example a few of my friends, I will write about them in my blog, or I will contact them about helping me with my art projects, I will invite them to my art show.

I do not expect people to read everything I do, or everything I write about them, or respond to every story I make that might involve them.

If anything I feel bad for those of my friends who are regularly inspire my work, because its probably pretty nerve wracking always having to go online thinking, “Oh shit, what did Brothel Babe say about me THIS TIME?”

I hope my dear friends understand that when they inspire a whole fucking story, its really nothing personal. I’m merely writing as much as I can within the next 2-3 months in hopes that I can take the “best of” posts and compile those blogs into a book in print form. There’s not a lot of my friends who I share my blog with who I talk with often. In fact there’s fewer than five of you. You are my wonderful muses and I thank you for that.

Then there’s the rest of you weirdos.
The ones that lack manners.
The ones whose sanity I question.
The ones where I’m oh-so-thankful for maintaining various forms of anonymity.
You should know that if you embarrass yourself and cross the line of what is and is not appropriate with me, I reserve the right to anonymously re-publish your crap in my blog.

I want you to know:
I’m not depressed.
I’m annoyed.
I’m not interested.
Mostly disgusted.
I am talking about work.
You took a turn on romance.
You make me wanna vomit.

Below is some correspondence that I have received since Thursday (its now Monday).

======From my internet stalker:==========

“Aww shit! I’m not stalker-guy right????”
My friend called me, and jokingly asked me if I was.
I never saw the post. Holy shit, that’s just wierd.
Was it the guy with a grey beard? It’s not me!!!
You should of texted us, we would have intimatated the shit out of him/her.

My Reply:
no its you, please stop.

His Reply:
I will, sorry.

2nd reply, 5 minutes later:
I wish you a lovely career, take care.

=======Weirdo #2=====


From the Videographer who asked if he had a “chance” at a relationship:

Hey you…just writing to say hello. I realize how I came off the other day when we were chatting. I am sorry about that, I really did not mean to pigeon hole you like that. I am curious about you…would love to chat more and eventually hang out. Just wanted to make sure my intentions were clear despite how they may have come off…hope all is well and that your projects are going well.

========Back story on guy #3:========
This fellow is actually a helpful fan. I figured I’d partake in a lone phone call with said fan, which took place last nite around midnite. I normally consider midnite an ok time to talk as a nite owl. I will now be re-thinking this idea.

Text next morning after phone call:
9:51 am: Good morning sunshine. When is your bday? I want to see what the secret language of birthdays has to say about you.

I foolishly give my birthday.

10:06: He tells me what my birthday title is.
11:08: [from me] “Dunno what that means, but cool.”
11:47: I’m pretty sure I adore you. You are indeed adorable. If I had the green light I’d be arse over tea kettle in a heartbeat.
11:53: [from me] If only you could explain the rest of the male population and their lack of interest.
12:01: The rest of the male population doesn’t concern me. They’ve only made things more difficult for a guy like me.
12:03: People are trouble. I’d like to find someone worth the trouble.
12:22 [from me]: Not ready for pressure of any kind or dating or a relationship k thx.
12:31: I know. I’m right there with you. I was speaking objectively. It’s good to be en garde but don’t mistake me for a fool.
12:40 [from me]: Need space sorry.

Follow up email, 1:38 pm
don’t be a stranger

Just to clear the air, I just got out of relationship and don’t plan on being in one again for a while (if ever, after the last few). I’m sorry if I said too much or sounded like I was threatening to woo you. I can’t help being open and honest, and you can’t help being adorable. I don’t even know what you look like, yet I find you adorable. I think that’s kinda nice. At the same time neither one of us is where we’d like to be and we’ve both got a lot going on.

If I accidently sent you running, that’s fine, it sucks but I will have live with that. I don’t think we shouldn’t be friends. Let’s not reduce ourselves to anything if we are in fact going to be friends. If I like you, so what? And if you like me, cool. I didn’t say I had the green light. I’ve walked away from quite a few green lights lately. Maybe I’d prefer a red one at this point.

Please know that I don’t expect anything from you, not even a response to this message. Feel free to surprise me, though.

On a good note, I have a couple cool ideas about reading for the video. If you still want my help I’m here. We can talk when you get back. See you then?

Ciao, bella


If you made it this far and you are my friend:

I just want you to have an understanding of this weird bullshit I go through on a regular basis.

Our relatively sane communications are a blessing in my weird weird world.
I’d use the world “normal” – but I know that normal doesn’t really exist.

I feel strange for having ever worked in the weirdest job on the planet,
but I am glad you all are in my strange little life.

You are my salvation from the weirdos.
Really.

I need a bodyguard…..now accepting applicants who want to get a license to conceal and carry.

16 Oct

Dirty dirty.
This makes me incredibly nervous as there is always the chance that some wacko could kill me and I might die…
And I prided myself on the fact that I was just a legal ho…
But…I can’t fuckin do it any more!
I can’t brothel it up!
It’s too hard to keep a secret when you have to disappear for weeks at a time just to make ends meet.

In my fantasy of how I wanted this whole ordeal to work….NEVER did I want to work in a brothel.
Oh no no! I wanted to be one of those VERY EXPENSIVE, VERY HIGH CLASS escorts.
Why you may ask?

Wellllll….cuz…instead of fucking a gaggle of men in small increments,
you have one night with one classy guy and he gives you a big wad of cash.
You can take care of your expenses in two days, vs. two weeks.
The longer you work in a brothel, the more steam you lose.
When its slow like it is with this economy, it’s a crapshoot going in.
Get one indie client, he can pay you up front with paypal.

Its ONE DAY and then you make enough money to do whatever the hell else you want to do with your life.
FUCK, no, I am NOT proud of it…but…I WANT TO GET ON WITH MY LIFE.

So I have an out date on the 21st.
Yes.
I will be disappearing to Vegas for the day to visit a particular client.

And who knows,
maybe I will visit another this month.
See I have a website.
A website that is strictly my working girl website.
With my working girl name.
There are photos of a topless girl on this website who theoretically could be me,
but really they are stock photos I found and I photoshopped the photos so her skintone would more closely match mine,
and I blurred out her face.
The guys will never know its not the Babe.
They see T & A and a blurry face and think I’m legit.

Actually…one fellow (***waves hello…Hi!!!****) narrowed down the real life me by using these non-real-person photos that I have plastered on the internet!
He did a compare and contrast of a photo of my real life cleavage compared to a photo of a girl on my blog that the assumed was me.
I felt so bad breaking his heart letting him know that the rack with no attached face that he was comparing and contrasting with, was not my rack…but some model.
It’s nice to know that I’m good at picking out photos of girls who resemble me though. Good enough that somebody who has never seen me naked feels like they’ve got it down.

Yea I know, I’m a fucking genius. Thanks.

Back to my working girl website.
This website was made by a genius web guy and he educated me on the magic of how to get discovered in Google.
I put in a couple of posts on my website about seeing me privately. They are like, posts interwoven with other posts so there is nothing blatant in the front, but if you explore the website EXTENSIVELY (or perhaps google that shit, I don’t know), you will find the words that say you can see The Babe exclusively. Privately, for your own date or corporate event.

I get a couple emails a month from my website, not having ANY IDEA where they came from.
I haven’t even followed the web guy’s directions of updating the thing every 10 days, and I STILL get emails from random dudes from all over the country. Impressive, no?


Here is one I got last nite:

I’ve only been with my wife and want to experience everything she won’t do. I want to rub your body all over. Lick and suck your tits. Lick and suck your pussy. Lick your asshole. Fuck you doggy style and fuck your asshole. Will you do all of these things? It’s not worth it to me unless I can do this once and get my desires satisfied. Thanks in advance. Tom.

Just so you know…in brothel land…that guy just listed ALL OF THE THINGS I WOULD NEVER DO. (for less than a certain ungodly amount….ahem.)
So the question comes up….will this guy pay, thousands upon thousands of dollars to have a priceless experience with yours truly?

I wrote him a reply.
We’ll see what he says.

I’m sure I’m making all of you throw up in your mouth a little.

In all seriousness though…a wife who refuses anal makes me want to barf way more.

What a crappy ass wife.
This is where Brothel Babe comes in to save the fucking day!
Unless his dick is too big, and it won’t fit.
Yes there are dicks beyond a certain size you turn down for anal since you don’t want to shit blood for days. Ew.

Yes, I did inquire as to his penis size in the email.
I also said he had to be gentle.

Enough about that. Lets get all chick-litty for a second.
On a side note….I feel like goddamn George Washington. I’m somewhat disappointed in myself that I have not yet found a way to quit my job, and instead I am pursuing the most dangerous side of the biz. I WISH I could find a job as a fluffer in the porn industry. I would take it. The reason I quit the job was simple.
I have straight up not been interested in being social for the last few years of my life. Nobody’s been interesting or been able to keep my attention. Nobody has been worthy of my loyal friendship…or the wisdom of my heart. UNTIL A FEW WEEKS AGO.

I finally met someone who I found interesting, and engaging. Except, it wasn’t just one person. It wasn’t just one guy. There were multiple people. It was like life was showing me what I was missing out on…and life was saying, “Hey Babe, this is just the tip of the iceberg, there is more cool stuff like this waiting for you if you quit this job.”

So that is why I quit the job.
I haven’t had the balls to tell the specific people involved that they kinda sparked my interest for living again…
cuz its that neo hippie lovey dovey bullshit….but its true, every word of it.

Part of it aint so much the people tho, as knowing yourself enough to be able to figure out what you like.
Once you figure out what you like, things you like find you.
And I was really liking what life was finding for me.

Hell. I’ve even been meeting interesting people who I have managed to not blab my ho status to. And I wonder….is it like the ultimate betrayal? I don’t have an answer.
If I work in a brothel, it’s like saying I fuck a shit-ton of dudes….it’s like saying I’m willing to throw my whole entire life away just to pay my bills. If I’m a private escort, it’s like saying I go on dates with rich men, or I have sugar daddies…and I sleep with guys after dates…and they buy me things because they are generous. By trade I’m a “ho” but technically, I’m less of a ho if I’m a private escort. And I know damn good and well that if men could get paid big bucks to fuck a girl twice a month, they would do it.

I….I don’t know. I feel like people who know the truth will never rid themselves of that barfey taste in their mouth. If I tell them the truth…even if the truth was ultimately that I have quit….would any dude who knew my past believe me? It’d be like any time I left town, I would be suspect for whoring. There would be no way to prove that I wasn’t whoring, and the mind of any real life man would probably spin wondering what the “real truth” was.

Its as if this is the one job on the planet outside of Porn where a person feels awful for telling the truth.
You go your whole life hearing how important the truth is.
But….something has changed. My gut tells me…some truths are too devastating for some people.

I’ll never know when its too much for somebody to handle.
I’ll only know when it’s too late.

I will lose people because of the truth.
I will lose people because of this job.
The person I love will be different because of this job.
I will never get my first choice in who will be my best friend.

I’ll get my 2nd choice of some wonderfully clueless man who does not know my past.

Or maybe I won’t.

Maybe it’ll open up some gateway for freedom.
Some gateway of an advanced way of being.
The knowledge that I’ll never be that jealous insecure one.
The knowledge that I think its cool when a man loves more than one woman, so long as his real woman knows she is always first in line.
The openness that its ok to find people attractive…it’s ok to check out a girls ass…it’s ok to stare at her tits when you should look at her face.
I’ll be that old woman who is satisfied as fuck when my husband walks into a room and scopes out the hotties.
I’ll be that old woman who’s happy my man is a real man with primal instincts and he LOVES WOMEN…as in the species. In general. AND loves me.
I’ll be cool as fuck.
But…without the truth…I’ll be playing into that status quo.
I’ll see my my man flirt up a lady at the Christmas Party and I’ll have to PRETEND to be jealous.

Deny the threesomes.
Deny the gay for pay.
Make like some of the craziest moments of my young adult life never happened…play as if I’m some normal chick when I am anything BUT normal.
Feign pure sweetness when I am the dirtiest sweetheart I know.

Ridiculous.

Life is weird, guys.

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 LOST IT.

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.”

Virgin vs. Ho, take one.

13 Sep

I found out today that a friend of mine is a virgin.
How unlikely is it, a virgin and a ho being good friends?

Where does one even go to find a virgin these days?
I don’t know. I give virgin lessons to geeky 20something/30something males,
and indian boys….but a virgin female is like…seeing the last unicorn walking about the fucking city.

I was explaining to her that in real life, the only time I have ended up with boyfriends is (literally) when I have thought to myself,

“sigh, I want you to be my boyfriend.
The only way this will happen is if I fuck you now. “

And then I take the guy by the hand, drag him back to the nearest bedroom, and as soon as the fucking becomes a regular thing, we are a couple. If it wasn’t for taking the guy back to the bedroom myself, I would never get laid, because most guys don’t talk to me.

There was one other time I got laid outside of this rule. It was when I wore pointy heels and when I wore a shirt that put my boobs right out there. In real life I am a t-shirt & sneakers girl but when I wore pointy heels and a cleavage shirt, the guy knew, “game on.”

But I have found that if a guy wants to fuck me, and I let him do the chasing…
first off, the fucking isn’t very good.
Secondly, I feel like a slut whore because it was all for nothing and I usually don’t even get off.

Some months ago, Mr. Wrong said, “It’s all about the mental buildup for you, the moment leading up to that point, isn’t it?”

I realized he was right: I’m all about the mental buildup, and all about conquests. Yet….if I lay out all the cards and set it up JUST SO, and the GUY doesn’t ultimately “drive it home” – I am disappointed. This is why I end up with mostly taken men. Taken men are perfect for conquesting. They like to drive it home, they know how to fantasize and daydream…and hopefully they are good at giving head. All things younger men are not so good at.

If I could hire one of my married guy friends to just go down on my friend so she’d feel fucking AMAZING, I would.

If you’re a guy, you can do that. You can hire somebody to help your friend get off. Not when you’re a girl. What the fuck. Can you even imagine what a brothel filled with straight “working men” would look like?

I bet there would be a bunch of really hot heartbroken women cumming in for some amazing cunninglus.
It would be so damn beautiful. Conversation would be useless. All of the men would have mouths too tired to talk, from licking too much pussy.
The younger men would be up for conversation though, because younger men are better at fingerbanging. (Why don’t older men like to fingerbang? I don’t get it.)

Back to my friend, though
I was trying to tell her that her happiness was more important than what God thinks,
and if she needed a companion and most BF/GF things require sex, then SO WHAT if her relationship with God takes a detour.
She can come back to it later, or just find a church that’s down with fucking!

We were discussing what was worse…
people finding out she was a virgin or people finding out I was a whore.
That was one of the questions of the night that we didn’t answer.

Sometime later, oddly enough, I got a random text from a friend who was probably at a party or something:

“Your secret is out but it wasn’t me, it’s all you.”

Damn right its all me! I suppose I’ve told a “couple people.” about my hooking habits…………yup.
Strangely, I feel like I’ve gotten more respect with my guy friends (and men in general) once they find out I am a ho.

Being able to talk openly about sex has done wonders for my friendships, whether its a friendship with a virgin, or a friendship with a 50 year old man.
Sex is something everybody needs to talk about. I think everybody needs to be hedonistic once in a while. The Greeks did…why not us? My job has taught me – it’s GOOD FOR YOU.

Plus when you do this job, you find out a lot about your friends real fast. The true friends I have left?

They know I won’t judge them,
and they don’t judge me.
In my friends, I think that’s
the best you could ask for.

P.S. If Jesus was the only one who didn’t throw stones at the whore, maybe he was fucking her.
Just a thought.

BrothelBabe asks, what are you saving for?

22 Aug

I am Brothel Babe. I work at a legal brothel in the state of Nevada.

Here I am, saving up for my ever important existence.
Make it Rain!

One girl down the hall from me has been working here for four years. She is paying for her mortgage.

Another girl is saving for 100k a year tuition at a prestigious arts school.

A lady is saving to put herself into law school. She already has a business degree.

Two of the hardest working women here are saving up to go on a trip to Jamaica.

My one year anniversary for working in this industry just passed, and this week I established 3 financial rules for myself:

1. I can’t get social time til I make at least 1500 dollars

2. I can’t go back to my home town (to see my family) until I make 5000 dollars.

3. I can’t sleep with a guy on “the outside” until I make 10 grand.

You’ll learn why I set up these rules later.  Seeing that this is the 2nd great depression, falling in love is a mistake I can’t afford to have right now. And the way to my heart is through my vagina.  I think for the rest of the female world its through a man’s wallet. Not for me though.

About

21 Aug

Brothel Babe is a very real, very attractive young 20-something girl, who is living and working in a legal brothel in the state of Nevada. There are roughly 15ish brothels in the state of Nevada…5-7 of which the ladies find “worth working at”. Brothel Babe frequents one or two of them.

These blog posts are humorous and true accounts of her experiences living inside a brothel.

The blog has a weekly format that it adheres to Monday thru Thursday:

You will also find more spur of the moment posts that talk about the “drama” that revolves around everyone who lives and works here, which goes into some of the following categories:

In addition to the wide cast of legal prostitutes here, we also have a dynamic staff:

-The loyal security guard
-Cashiers, who are like our confidantes
-Bartenders
-One crazy boss-man
-The Maintenance guy
-The Cleaning lady
-A chihuahua we share
-Owners who are never present, but are always on the phone

Together, we make up one crazy, weird kind of family.

First and foremost – this is a humorous account of life inside a brothel!

We are living in the 2nd great depression. If you are going to work in a brothel,
and deal with peoples weenies all the time, you have to be able to laugh.

I laugh here constantly.

You learn about relationships, unique friendships, and how to deal with every taboo imaginable.

Hopefully, you’ll have as much fun reading it as I have writing it.

XOXO,
Brothel Babe