Tag Archives: affairs

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.”

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BrothelBabe’s #1 fear: Secret identities 

29 Aug

Who knows?

Hypothetically, lets THEORIZE…
lets say a gal like me (brothelbabe!) told a lot of people about her “other life” and wishes she hadn’t.
Reasons why a gal might reveal her brothel status:

Because you want to put a wall between you and the other person.
As if to say, “Here is some drama in my life, here is why I can’t go to lunch with you, can’t talk wit you, can’t date you, can’t have a relationship with you, can’t fall in love with you.”

Because you want to take DOWN walls between you and another person.
As if to say, “Here’s why I’m great at meaningless sex, having affairs, and why I’m so goddamn candid. Here’s why I’m the most frank and forward person you’ve ever met when it comes to relationships….particularly taboo ones.”

Because you are tired of men trying to use sex as a tool and as currency.
“Please, dahling. I’ve heard every trick in the book and you making like you will help me get famous if I sleep with you is useless. Show me your private jet first and hand me a bag full of 80 thousand dollars. I’m a professional.”

Other reasons you might talk about this job:
– It’s too tiring keeping all of your lies and cover jobs straight
– The first year is unusually emotionally draining, and you could use a friend (or 30….woops) to help you cope.
– BECAUSE IT’S THE COOLEST FUCKING JOB ON THE PLANET. GIVE ME MY BADGE OF HONOR NOW!

Can you guess which reason my reason is? 😉

The conundrum facing Brothelbabe:
Suppose a gal wanted to start over. Pursue another life. Hypothetically Brothelbabe could be a genius of sorts. A modern day Leonardo da Vinci….who fears being discovered as a generic brothel ho. How does one cover their tracks?

This saga is TO BE continued…..
I love you.
P.S. My coworker cooked us all breakfast wearing an apron, a bra, and NO PANTIES, so we could all laugh at her completely exposed bum. GOD BLESS THIS JOB.
P.P.S. The security guard also had it with the brothel down the road who wouldn’t give him beers, so last morning he came in completely wasted, crashed here, and got so drunk that we painted his fingernails black. I love him.
P.P.P.S. I sent a letter professing my love to Mr. Wrong….which started with me talking about this guy who wanted to fuck me, but instead of fucking the guy, I was thinking of Mr. Wrong. Isn’t that romantic?