I heard an NPR story called Ghetto Life 101. They gave two teenage boys in Chicago a tape recorder and told them to record everything that happened in a day. One asks his mother, “Who is my father?”
“Your father is a felon named Toby Flipper. He saw you when you were about two and I ain’t seen him since.”
“What do you think happened to him?”
“He’s probably dead.”
LeAlan Jones and Lloyd Newman are great.
I thought, there’s a recorder on my phone, I should do that. I don’t live in the ghetto; but, I work in one of the world’s fanciest brothels, and people might be interested.
Here is a day in my life at work:
The audio isn’t perfect because the recorder on my phone seems to skip, especially the first few seconds of this, but you’ll get the gist.
This is what I look like when I wake up in the morning.
This is what I look like after I put on my makeup.
I get called “Girl” ten times a day. I’m forty-four years old; I’m not girl.
Why do they do it? Maybe because girls are easier to control than women. Girls can’t be expected to take responsibility for their actions, do anything competently, aren’t expected to have articulated opinions, haven’t been to school yet, need help, can’t do things for themselves, need to have things explained to them. Maybe girls are less threatening than women.
It seems so obvious how insulting it is to call women “girls,” and yet everyone does it in this business. At first, I thought it was mildly irritating, and looked at it like an outsider as if I were studying a different culture. Now, I’m just sick of it.
“Ladies” is also annoying and patronizing. Eat like a lady. Stand like a lady. It’s something a parent would say to a child. Act like a lady. The subtext being: not like the dirty, ignorant, child that you are.
One of the bartenders called me Sweetheart the other day, “Sweetheart, I need to get by there.” My chair was blocking his way. He couldn’t remember my name? I pay your salary motherfucker, don’t call me Sweetheart.
Women who work in this industry are adult professionals who deserve respect. We aren’t girls. And please don’t call us “Ladies” like you’re scolding us for slumping at the table.
Naturally, I thought this was satire when I picked it off the bar. I laughed merrily through the Forward until I got to “…choosing not to judge but to build relationship with the prostitutes, the pimps and the “tricks,” until they see with their own eyes that God is love and He is the love with them.”
It would be easy to make fun of the spelling and grammar errors throughout this book, but that would set aside how profoundly ignorant it really is.
How dare you explain to me what love is?
Take your relationship and be off with you.
I ran over to Riley to show her the book. She scoffed and laughed. Olivia Bently scoffed, huffed, and stomped away.
A section in the book called Gift Giving and Services of Love describes how groups of church people bring gift bags to brothels for the women who work there. I’ve seen these bags. Inside are usually earrings made of fish otoliths and aluminum foil, Fruit Loops bracelets, and treasures I’ve never seen but are described in this book: rocks with words painted on them.
“The girls (we’re women, please don’t infantilize us) don’t save many things (Kay hasn’t seen Riley’s room). They travel pretty light (by railroad car or Mary Poppins umbrella). The fact that this girl (she was a woman) saved her heart-shaped rock with the message, Jesus Loves You, must have been something very special to her. Praise God for the rock of our salvation.”
Your gift bags have necklaces made out of dirty pop cans strung on dental floss for women who are accustomed to wearing Tiffany. If you are trying to bribe us, you are sadly missing the mark.
Take your rocks and be off with you.
A couple in the bar waiting for a tour asked what we were laughing at. I showed them. They rolled their eyes and said it was insulting. Yes, very.
Kay describes putting women in brothels through “Foot Detoxes” — her polite term for an exorcism. It would be easy to trick a tired woman after ten hours in heels to agree to a foot massage. Bliss!
But what Kay describes is crafty and treacherous. They set the woman up with a foot bath, and just as she’s settling into a nice treat, Kay whips out the Bible and prays over her for a half hour. Then pulls her feet out and drips anointing oil on them. After which, the woman is allowed to select any of the free materials: evangelical books, CDs, and DVDs. Kay says, “We never charge for anything.” Then, she drys the woman’s feet with a towel embroidered with “I am God’s Girl.”
“Each girl was given her towel to keep.” Good for hurling into as soon as Kay leaves.
The worst foot massage imaginable.
Kay goes into brothels uninvited to supervise the morality of others with her barely disguised contempt and appalling lack of sensitivity.
She writes about what she does in such a self-satisfied way as if she should be congratulated for dirtying herself. Thank you, Kay, but we have all been exposed to evangelicalism, your version is nothing special. She congratulates The Girls, “These girls are real live human beings!”
If you care about prostitutes:
- Work to legalize and regulate prostitution everywhere.
- Don’t let men get away with sexual assault.
- Support programs like WIC.
- Demand equal pay for equal work.
- Support Head Start.
- Work to make higher education more affordable.
- Spread the word about sexually transmitted disease.
- Support affordable health care.
We don’t need your moralizing or your pity.
Take your proselytizing bag of rocks and be off with you.
If I were a tree, I would be so pissed if they turned me into this book. I’m taking this book to the Fernley recycling center and, hopefully, they’ll turn it into a Planned Parenthood pamphlet.
Hard to believe I first came to the Mustang over a year ago, which means I had to spend Tuesday renewing my Sheriff’s card.
Some of the questions on the form:
Have you ever been convicted of a crime with a deadly weapon?
Have you ever been convicted of theft?
Have you ever been convicted of drug possession?
Are you now or have you ever been defunct in paying back child support?
Have you ever been arrested for any reason?
Well, I got a DUI in college. That doesn’t count, though, does it? I was a different person then.
Brothel workers in this county — including prostitutes, drivers, housekeepers, bartenders, cooks, office workers — who have ever been arrested must now get an FBI report.
As the driver took me into Reno to the FBI place, I was so embarrassed, explaining that I got arrested on Halloween dressed as a mermaid, with my boyfriend who was dressed as a pirate, I had two whiskey sours in two hours, and I promise I felt fine to drive, and we were parked waiting for our friends at midnight, when a police car pulled up, told me to get out, and said because the keys were in the ignition it showed an intent to drive, and I blew just over the limit, and they took me to jail…
The driver said it was okay, he did something stupid in his twenties too so he had to go to the FBI too.
We work at the discretion of the Sheriff’s office. If the Sheriff digs through our histories and finds an unreported arrest, he may pull our cards. They may allow us criminals to explain our bad memories and beg for our jobs back in front of a panel sometime in the future. Or not. So it’s best to reveal everything.
I said mean things about the Sheriff. The driver said the Sheriff was just doing his job and he’s in a tough situation and we’re all doing the best we can. The driver looks like he could pound a nail into a board with his fist; yet, he won’t say anything bad about anyone. As we drove, I tried for another ten minutes to get him to say something unkind and failed.
The Mustang car is a sleek, black, beautiful, movie star car, a starlet should be stepping out of it; instead, when we reached the FBI place in a strip mall, I got out wearing shorts, flip-flops and my hair in a pony-tail. Accompanied by a large, bad-ass looking man who is a Koala Bear in disguise.
We waited an hour. I got fingerprinted, and forty-five minutes later they emailed me the results. And sent a paper copy to my house. Love, your friendly FBI Support Staff.
Mom, please don’t pick up my mail next week.
The election broke my heart. I had trouble breathing on Wednesday and cried for days.
I had an appointment with my orthodontist in Vegas on Thursday and so had to drive through red states for two days to get there.
When I crossed the Nevada border at sunset, a little relief came over me; and, when I saw the lights of Vegas, I felt happy for a few seconds.
My orthodontist is a rich white guy, and I wanted to punch him in the face when I saw him. Three more Invisalign trays and then I’ll never have to step into that shiny office again or look at his smug, privileged ass.
But I can’t stay mad for long in Las Vegas. Too many good things have happened to me there.
I went to the Mob museum on Friday morning and my mood lifted a little.
I learned things about Las Vegas. That it was a railroad stop midway between Salt Lake and Los Angeles at a natural spring.
Please Don’t Waste The Water
We Have to Buy It
The town built up around the rail station.
Of course, Las Vegas has always been a place for escape. Far into the Mojave Desert, you can pretend that the world outside doesn’t exist.
This gave me ideas:
I think about killing the president with my hands — he is old, fat, and weak — it wouldn’t take much effort, then joining the secession of California, Oregon, and Washington.
This is what it feels like to be a woman in America right now:
Standing in our bathing suits with our hands behind our backs in a sea of smiling white men.
But violence is a spear that’s sharp on both ends; it hurts the perpetrator as much as the victim. My friends and I take turns talking each other down. We believe in the checks and balances of democracy.
Dear Everyone Who Voted the Republican Ticket,
You have poked the bear. Liberal people will peacefully and purposefully wait for midterms, take back congress, and four years from now we will get Elizabeth Warren or Michelle Obama as our president.
Until then, I’ll store liquor in my bloomers for comfort.
I spent Friday afternoon at the Korean Spa. A woman who seemed as angry as I was scraped my body with a brillo pad. I lay on hot clay balls and then scalded myself in a hot tub. Some anger boiled off.
Friday night I went to Cirque du Soleil O and got lost in the beauty that a few amazing athletes and artists can create.
After the show, my friend and I schemed about how to quit our jobs and get hired by Cirque.
Is it too late for me to be a trapeze artist? My friend said, I think they want young, healthy people.
Maybe I could be one of the people in red on the horse.
Saturday night I went to Cirque du Soleil Love. And again, felt my spirit rise. People can do such gorgeous things.
My friend made me a portrait on the yellow submarine:
By Sunday morning, I didn’t feel like killing anyone. Some compassion had slipped back in and I started thinking about the way forward. Mom told me to go out and do as much good as possible, to love as many people as I can – the best form of protest.
Sunday night at sunset I was in my corral for my third Las Vegas half marathon. Who can be sad when there are people like this in the world?:
My coach wasn’t with me this year, so I ran alone. With almost 50,000 other people. Nobody seemed to talk during the race and because there was no traffic, the strip was wonderfully silent. All you hear is the tread of thousands of runners’ feet on the pavement; each foot a mallet, like 100,000 mallets on a drum. As the miles went on, occasionally, I would hear someone under their breath, “Oh my god.” or “Shit.”
Like every year, people lined the sidewalks with signs. One woman’s read,
“I like your endurance. Call me.”
Every time I passed a drink station, one of the runners would shout, “Thank you, volunteers!” I wanted to shout that too, but I could barely breathe.
Of course, the Trump tower loomed above. Every time I accidentally looked at it, I searched the sky for the almost super moon and concentrated on that instead. One man held a sign that read, “Run faster, Trump is behind you!”
My legs weighed a hundred pounds. I didn’t have my coach’s encouraging words in my ear. The last three miles I bonked. Every time I felt like walking, I looked around at the other miserable people still running, and I didn’t stop.
When I rounded the corner and saw the finish line at the Mirage, it seemed impossibly far. Instead of looking forward, I looked down and counted to a thousand. When I looked back up, the finish line was in front of me and a huge white guy was on the sideline to my left. He saw me, spun his arms like a windmill, and shouted, “Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!”
I crossed the finish line and burst into tears.
Next day, in the car driving I-95 to the Mustang, another good place for my spirit, I felt tired and happy.
Dear Las Vegas, thank you for renewing my faith in human beings.
Crave something you’ve never tasted? Remember the perverse, dirty things you joked about in high school – have you ever thought of actually doing them? You’re not the only one.
Getting tied up can be a lot of fun. If you’re curious, you don’t have to buy a zipper mask and go straight to the hardcore BDSM Beat and Fuck Club (yikes!) – you can dip your pinky toe into the world of domination.
If you have a lot of responsibility in life, there is nothing like turning over the reins to a powerful woman, relinquishing control, and taking a mental vacation. Restraints and other toys are optional for beginners, but I can wrap my red panties loosely around your wrists, and give you gentle suggestions. “Close your eyes, please. And don’t move until I tell you to.”
Maybe you just want to be ordered around, “Now it is time for MY massage.” Or maybe you’re ready for one ankle to be tied to the bedpost while I do a striptease inches away from your reach.
Are you ready for more? What if I tie you loosely (no handcuffs), straddle you, and let a few drops of candle wax hit your chest?
Maybe I’ll push you down on the bed, hold your wrists, lean my body weight against you, grind my hips into you, and gently spread your legs with my knee.
Not in the mood for that? What if I lightly run my fingernails down your back and nibble your ear? We can do whatever you’re comfortable with, as much or as little.
The beautiful thing about a brothel is that you can tell your most vulnerable secrets and not be judged. I’m here because I have a kinky streak.
Maybe I’ll tie you up, sit cross-legged a millimeter away, and make you give me stock tips while I drink green tea.
These sessions can be exhilarating but also exhausting in a way that’s hard to describe. Afterward, you may want time for tender cuddling and petting. Or not. You get to be cared for in any way you want.
Although women in brothels get far more requests to be dominant, we can also be submissive. Whatever your preference, be sure to ask. If you’re interested in dominating a woman at a brothel, another woman must be present. The observer gets paid the same amount as the woman being dominated. Safe words are a must.
Tell me, in as much detail as you can, what your fantasy is, so I can give you exactly what you need. What are your limits? What are your desires?
Then, flop on the bed, relax and trust me.
Women at the Mustang are independent contractors, and we all do things differently. The only way to find out what we charge is to go into the negotiation closet and ask.
We won’t talk about prices anywhere else.
We won’t talk about prices in the bar. We won’t talk about prices on the phone. We won’t talk about prices over email. Not a text message. Not a DM. Not on Twitter. Not on a forum. Not in the parking lot. Not in the parlor. Not in the laundry room. Not if we crawl in the tanning bed and whisper it. Not while spinning on the pole. We won’t mouth the words while underwater in the pool.
Only in the closet.
Some put on a production during the negotiation, bring out printed menus with a la carte options.
My negotiations take five seconds. I tell him how much it costs per hour and that we have to use a latex barrier for everything including fellatio and cunnilingus and that we can do anything we want except anal, which costs a gazillion times more. And that’s it.
I say the number first, because if I start talking about all the amazing positions we can try and all the foreplay… leading up to the number… I get embarrassed and feel stupid. Dr. Reality Injection says this may be because I am conflicted about what I do.
But if I hear myself being salesy, I get the urge to say something like, “And along with that, for an additional $6.99, you’ll get these fabulous faux gold cufflinks.”
It’s easier to rip the band-aid off, tell him how much it costs, and wait. If he turns color like a squid, it probably won’t work out. If he remains calm and doesn’t seem shocked, it will probably work out. Simple. Leave the closet and go to the bedroom.
We did this interview over many days around the resort, in the bar, in the parlor. I sat with her outside where the cool girls smoke. People came and went, commenting. Including her awesome customer Fire Bear who spent twelve hours with her. I love Taylor’s honesty. – Tatyana
Your name is all one word. Where did you come up with it?
My daughter’s name was supposed to be Taylor, and Rae is my mom’s name. I didn’t want a double name and there was a woman who used to work here named Taylor, so I didn’t want people to get confused.
What’s your favorite thing about this job?
I get to have a lot of interesting sex with a lot of interesting people without emotional attachment.
What’s your least favorite thing about this job?
Being away from my family for so long.
How does your husband feel about this?
He considers it just another form of employment. We talk on the phone every day and debrief. He doesn’t get jealous. When I have a good party, he says he just has to work harder when I get home.
Also, he knows what to say to me when I’m starting to lose it. If he hears a certain tone in my voice he’ll say, “Have you eaten yet today?” Food pushes down my bitch button.
I think my husband came around to this because we had invited another couple into our sex life and when he saw me with another man he realized he wasn’t jealous. He knows I’m coming home to him and sleeping next to him.
I lost my virginity to a boy named Chris and I married a Chris. My first and my last had the same name.
Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be?
My lockbox. Which contains all four ultrasounds. The very first photo my husband and I ever took together when we first met and a drawing he made me with a letter on the back.
How did you meet Chris?
Drug court. He was there for drugs. I was there for modification of my probation.
Did you see him across the room?
He saw me in group session. I dressed to get attention back then. The first time I noticed him was May 6, 2006. I said, “You’re kind of cute, can I take you home?” He smiled, and I was done.
I gave him head the first time I went to his house, and he fell in love. It took me a few moths but I didn’t admit it for a long time because admitting to someone that they meant that much to me gave them the power to hurt me. I didn’t even really start to feel comfortable enough to show him how much I cared until we had been together seven years right before we got married.
The relationship has been phenomenally good for me as far as opening me up emotionally. It took me ten years to tell him my whole life story. We talked for eleven hours. We can talk now without me throwing things.
What do you think the difference is between a sex worker who shares her money with her husband and a sex worker who has a pimp?
My husband and I have an agreement. I make the money and he takes care of the kids. There’s no coercion there.
How long have you been married?
Three years. But we’ve been together ten.
Why did you get married?
We realized there was nobody else out there who would tolerate us. For our wedding vows, I looked at him and said: “I will love you until the end of time because there’s nobody else who will put up with my bullshit.”
What do you think pimps are for?
Fuck I don’t know. I’ve never had one.
Why do you think women get involved with pimps?
Daddy issues. The sense of security and stability. Codependency.
Did you go to college?
I went to school for criminal justice. Some deputies I know told me I would be good at it, but I couldn’t pass the mental evaluation to get into the academy.
I did sixty-four days in the county jail here because I unknowingly cashed a forged check. A kid was renting a room from me and it actually was his grandmother’s check. It looked like the same signature to me. If you go to jail just do your time and don’t give the COs a hard time.
I could still do correction work in the future, and if we move to Texas that’s probably what I’ll end up doing.
Jasmine: You went to jail! That is so scary! What was the food like?
TaylorRae: Breakfast is hot. They used to give you salt and pepper. Idiots decided to throw pepper in a CO’s face so they don’t get pepper anymore. Lunch was cat food sandwich. The next three weeks would be a bologna hotdog lunch. You get four draws a week, and people put money on your books so you can buy food at the commissary.
What was it like around the table when you were a kid?
Aside from holiday meals, I ate alone. Otherwise, I wouldn’t focus on the food and eat because I had an attention disorder. Dad was strict about it.
Mom bounced in and out from the time I was six months to when I was fourteen.
How are you a different parent than she was?
My priority is my children not my relationship. And I’m actually there for my kids.
Do you plan on telling your kids about prostitution?
When my kids are old enough to understand what it really is. My oldest is fifteen. So probably when he loses his virginity… so maybe by the time he’s thirty.
There’s an eleven-year difference between my youngest and oldest. I’ll probably sit them all down at the same time. Not telling them isn’t an option. Right now they think I am a server at a motel, which is not exactly lying.
I’m mostly the disciplinarian. Basically, I lead and Chris follows. Since I’ve been away, he’s taken up my role and realizes parenting is actually a full-time job. He missed their early life working upwards of four jobs so he’s really happy now that he gets to be with them.
Our daughter is four and she argues like an adult. Serenity looked me dead in the eye and said, “I’m almost grown up and when I am, I’m going to buy all the gum I want.” She is me in miniature form.
Have you ever ended a party early because the customer behaved badly?
No. But the other night I had a hot tub party, no sex. The negotiation was clear. But when we got back to the room he got pushy. I told him to get his clothes back on and get to stepping.
What’s the strangest request you’ve ever had from a customer?
He wanted me to watch two movies with one of my feet in his mouth and one on his face. He wanted me to wear my socks every day for a week and then send them to him. I can’t wear the same pair of socks every day because I am in a brothel and I have to have clean feet.
Fire Bear: Would you ever put on a mask? Will you put on a dog collar? I own a dog collar.
TR: No, I won’t put on a dog collar. Or a mask. I’m afraid of clowns. I can’t party in the Mardi Gras room.
Do you ever get grossed out during parties?
TR: Large amounts of alcohol and breathing in my face.
Do you remember your first party?
TR: Yes. He tried to eat my face. I guess I have a small mouth. It was a GFE so he wanted to kiss. Gross.
Do you ever get nervous before a party?
TR: Depends on if I’ve been drinking. Alcohol is my personality magnifier. Last night, I walked out here in my wrap and flip-flops to get a glass of ice water before bed and it was so busy I walked back to my room with another client. My shit is sore today.
Fire Bear: Aren’t you guys machines, though? Can’t you do it all day?
TR: No, I can’t do it all day. I like the way my vajayjay looks and I want to keep it that way. I’m getting liquid latex and have them cover the inside of my vajayjay with it, so everything stays in place.
Fire Bear: That would be like putting a latex sock in your vagina. Would you still have to use condoms?
How did you two meet?
Fire Bear: I picked up a hitchhiker who was standing outside the church in the town where I live. He was going to Reno, which was several hours away. I thought, what the hell and drove him all the way to Sparks. I was so exhausted, I got a room at Circus Circus and slept a few hours. I needed to go home because I had to take my dog for a walk.
TR: He had never left her alone over-night before.
FB: But I had been researching the Mustang for years. I’ve seen JR Carrington movies so I’ve known about her for a long time.
Anyway, I stopped in. Mostly to get a feel for how much things cost. I took a tour with a woman who made it clear she wasn’t interested in me. She was aloof. I wasn’t into her.
She asked if I wanted to negotiate, and I didn’t know what she meant.
She took me back to the bar, Taylor came up to me, and the rest was history. I don’t want anyone else. She’s freaking amazing. We had a short party that day. Then I came back three days later and spent the night with her. I’ve been back to see her four times now.
Taylor, Do you ever get nervous before approaching a man in the bar?
TR: Yes. Because unless he knows about hunting, fishing, cars, trucks, machines, motorcycles, unless he’s a cowboy, redneck, Shinglebilly (a hillbilly from Shingletown, California), salt of the earth, blue collar man – I don’t know what to talk to him about.
Fire Bear: In Shingletown, the vet rides his horse to the voting station.
What did you do for work before?
TR: Bartending. I don’t dance. I’m that white.
Fire Bear: You can Elaine dance.
TR: Rain dance? He can remember that I’m part native but not that I have a Facebook page. I loved bartending.
FB: The customer is always right and the bartender decides who’s a customer.
Why did you decide to try this line of work?
TR: The convenience of getting quick cash. I also needed to keep a roof over our head after my husband and I both lost our jobs three days apart. I don’t plan on doing this all the time. I can’t be locked down this long. It gets to my head. He’s going to go back to work now that we can afford a nanny.
I came to the Mustang looking for a bartending or chef position. My husband came with me and we sat at the bar. Instead, they presented the option of being a working girl. My husband and I talked about it the whole drive home, then got online and researched the industry for sixteen straight hours. We set a time limit of three months and as it got closer to the three months we extended it to a year.
The Mustang didn’t have room at the time so I tried one of the Hof brothels but quit after a month when a place opened up here. I went from basically having a pimp to having a business partner. That’s how I think of Lance — as a business partner.
What do you mean by “pimp”?
TR: If you’re not fucking Dennis, you’re not getting the high dollar clients – unless you get lucky and one walks in the door. Dennis sends clients to the women he’s fucking so there is a lot of incentive to have sex with him. Also, like a pimp, he threatens to sue you if you go work anywhere else. He also threatens to send graphic photos to your family. But my whole family knows what I do so he can’t hurt me in that way.
I don’t do graphic photos anyway. If you want graphic, come see me in person.
How was it telling your parents?
TR: It was fine. My parents understand me. My dad calls weekly to see how I am and to make sure I sound happy. As long as I’m happy and his grandkids are cared for that’s all he needs to know.
My mom is in prison for vehicular manslaughter. She’s done nine of a thirteen-year sentence. She has to do at least eighty percent of her time. The driver died and she was just a passenger. But she was drunk and high, so they blamed her. The hole in the window right in front of the driver’s side says who was driving. She had an idiot for a lawyer.
I’m related to half the prisoners in the Siskiyou County prison and half the guards. That’s how small this town is. I was raised on a cattle ranch around there.
How do you feel about lineups?
TR: I feel like cattle going to auction.
FB: Have you ever accidentally mooed?
TR: I feel like a piece of choice meat. Because that’s what they’re doing. They’re looking at your legs, your body, and they almost never look at your face. I look above their heads at the gift shop area and smile as pretty as I can.
FB: I would never have a lineup. I’d rather have a referral. I need to talk to the woman beforehand.
What advice would you give to women considering doing this work?
TR: Come in with your eyes open and always remember that it’s just a job like anything else so keep it classy.
What do you mean by “classy”?
Don’t be a cunt. Have respect for yourself and the people around you.
What would be something “cunty”?
We’re all doing the same job — but thinking you’re better than everyone else and walking by without being friendly or acknowledging anyone except a few of your friends. Being rude doesn’t make you cool, it just makes you an asshole.
How is prostitution different from what you thought before you started doing this work?
It’s a hell of a lot cleaner than I thought. The facility. But also, knowing that the girls aren’t all damaged drug addicts with missing teeth and so fucked up they’re waiting to get paid so they can get their fix. It isn’t like that. I haven’t met anyone even close to that.
I never met anybody who did this work before I came here. I did it once, though.
What do you mean?
Met a guy at a casino. I told him I gotta make rent and get diapers for my kids so you have to pay me. I felt dirty afterward. I used a condom. But I don’t know. I did what I had to do. I went to the casino that night with five dollars in my pocket hoping to put it in a machine and win. Instead, I bought a pack of cigarettes and sat at the bar and one thing led to another. It was the Sands in Reno. I was living in a motel across the street called The Lido Inn. The kids were with a friend.
What advice would you give to people considering hiring a sex worker?
Relax. It’s just business. And don’t be scared to approach a woman and tell her exactly what you want. If you have fetishes or desires, be honest and ask for it. If she doesn’t do it, she can always find someone who does.
Do you have any fetishes?
I have a thing for ankles. If a woman doesn’t have nice ankles I can’t sleep with her.
Are you into BDSM?
I’m switch. I can be either Dom or Sub. The level I will go to just depends on what kind of trust is there.
Would you ever let somebody tie you up?
No. Not at work. At home is different. I have children so people know they have to untie me if they want anything done around the house.
Do you have any advice for men trying to budget for this since it’s impossible to find out how much it costs before coming here?
TR: I would say, be as generous as you can afford to be.
FB: That was the one thing that no matter how much research I did, I could not figure out. I knew what they charged on Backpage, but I had no idea what to expect from a place like this. I didn’t know that you couldn’t discuss prices anywhere except in the negotiation rooms. I really had no idea what to expect.
She’s given me ambition. I want to make more money so I can see her all the time.
What would you say to a woman who found out her husband saw a sex worker secretly?
TR: What are you not giving him at home? Why do men seek out sex workers in the first place? Because they aren’t getting what they need at home. That’s how I see it. I would tell her to try to be more open-minded about the things sex workers do that she doesn’t. God, I sound like a guy don’t I.
Long time married men don’t get sex in general. But they’re also missing that feeling of risk that you get on a first date. The excitement goes away. Don’t ever stop dating your husband or wife. Because once that happens, it’s no fun anymore. Spice things up. Go to a kink convention or a sex shop – some place where everything you look at makes your face turn red. A lot of married women read romance novels because their marriage is dead in that aspect.
Veronica: Do my pants look see-through to you?
TR: Your pants would look better on my floor.
Veronica: Yes, and your legs would look better around my neck.
Taylor, what, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?
Rape. Child molestation. Sex-trafficking. Pedophilia. Animal abuse. Illegal hunting. I can’t stand poachers.
Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?
Finishing school. I always start things and don’t finish them. I get bored and distracted. I’m interested in both criminal justice and veterinary medicine. This will help pay for exploring both those things.
What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?
My kids are good kids. They don’t think they’re automatically entitled to anything. They know what work is for and how to work. My son is very personable and he might get a sports scholarship. He’s five-foot-seven. If he gets his dad’s height with my stockiness he’s going to be a well-built man.
If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living?
I’d travel. Everybody says that they would travel more. I’ve been everywhere you can go on foot around the United States. I would take my kids and travel to the Appalachian mountains. And we’d go to Florence Italy because there’s a massive library there.
If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone?
My husband and my dad. That they mean more to me than I show. Especially my dad. That I forgive him for a lot. He was strict and violent. But I forgive him.
What’s your schedule and when do you work?
I work days and by appointment.
Call the office for my schedule or check the website.
I went on a tour with TaylorRae. It was a group of men, so she had to take a second woman or security would have had to go with them. Tatyana on security!
Taylor sold it in such a cute way that I wanted to take out my wallet and party with her. She put one of the men on the sex chair in the suite, climbed on top and started grinding. He had his arms politely to the side, and she said, “This isn’t a strip club, this is a brothel. I want you to touch me,” she took his hands and put them on her thighs. Then she turned around, did reverse cowgirl, and put his hands on her ass. When she climbed off, he had to pull his shirt down as he rolled onto the floor.
Next, she told me to stand in front of the bed, put my hands on the mattress, and bend over. I liked being told what to do by such a wee little tart. She’s only 5’2.” She came up behind me, reached her tiny hands around, planted them on the mattress next to mine and grinded me like I was a pile of millet.
Oh, that’s right, we’re selling sex here.
As we all walked back down the hall, she explained, “We sell experiences. The Girlfriend Experience. The Porn Star Experience. The Three-some Experience.”
As we walked past the kitchen and gym I hoped she would say, “The Gym Experience. The Kitchen Experience…”