As the ol’ punk rocker from New York City, Dick Manitoba of The Dictators wailed, “There’s two things that make the world go around…. PUSSY AND MONEY!” It should be the welcome sign over the door at the Love Ranch North.
Negotiations for doing the deed in Room Six. My room. Now the fun begins.
So one time, I was hanging around in the parlor and a customer/client/john (pick one) saunters in. We make small talk (he didn’t want to see a line up that day), and I manage to tease him enough to want to take a “tour” with me (Darn. Remember those pesky quotes?). I held him by the arm and immediately detected an accent.
Now accents fascinate me because they’re quite personal and easily designate where you’re from. I love to figure out where someone has lived (and most likely grown up) by their accent. As you may or may not know, my Mom was French (from Paris) and was lucky enough to marry my handsome American GI father after WWII so I think the way my ears perk up when I hear an accent has to do as much with her as anything else. Well, maybe the prostitution thing, too, but my parents always told me they met on a blind date.
WAIT!!! That’s what all my tricks are! A one hour blind date! I figured it out!!
End of blog.
So I start making small talk with this guy as we head down the maze of hallways and I couldn’t quite figure out his accent. I thought maybe some quasi-Middle Eastern country (they keep changing names, just like the Russian countries do) so I just point blank asked him where he was from. “Cyprus” he replied. Oh yeah. I couldda guessed that one in a heartbeat.
As we were heading to the VIP room (natch, I love putting that in the brush script typeface it so richly deserves), he mentioned to me that he had been to the Ranch ten years ago. I, always the curious conversationalist no matter what accent you have, asked if the Ranch had changed much since then. His answer: no. I couldda guessed that one, too.
He just wanted to poke around the VIP room – wait, that’s what I wanted ALL of my clients to do in there for an hour! – and it was clear he really wanted to find out how much it would be for him to have his face not see the light of day within my thighs. Negotiation takes place in the room, not in the hallway, so I double stepped it a bit to Room Number Sex, I mean, Six.
Now, I know you’ve all been panting in anticipation about HOW MUCH MONEY DO YOU MAKE?!?! HOW MUCH DOES IT COST?!?! Now, well, you’re going to learn.
Us girls, as independent contractors at the Love Ranch, get a lovely, non-taxed til April 15th, 1099 form from Dennis Hof and his band of accountants… or would that be accuntants at a brothel? Hmmm. So we set all of our own prices much like any other conslutant for any other company and dammit spellcheck! I DID want to say CONSLUTANT!
When I arrived at the Ranch, Adrianne, the lovely house madam, wisely assigns you a “Big Sister” to show you the way around the inner workings of the Ranch and answer any questions you may come up with and believe me, even a gal like me who’s played the field and been around the block (a few times, at least!), still had questions with one major one I was dying to know the answer for.
‘HOW MUCH SHOULD I CHARGE TO DO WHAT?!?!?’
Now, I’ve done plenty of freelance jobs in my life, with various rates for various things. The last time I turned tricks for fun and profit was from 1988-90 and I sure as hell didn’t want to charge THOSE rates anymore.
I had always heard that the rates were set by what you did more than anything else but still had no idea what to charge. $50 blowjob? Well, considering the house’s portion of the take (which I considered fair and most likely pretty typical in the brothel world), my take would just about cover a nice pair of shoes from Payless. But I don’t get my shoes at Payless so I wouldn’t charge $50. You also don’t want to lower your standards because, in a way, it lowers the whole house down because Mr. John can say, “So and so charged me less last time” and basically go comparison shopping like one would do at Best Buy.
Besides which, we don’t want to lower anything at the Ranch, we just want them to get up.
I learned very quickly that not sharing what your rates are definitely one of the big whore secrets none of us girls share amongst ourselves. Fortunately, my big sister was the one that very quietly told me what to do which made it easy for me to figure out since I suck at math (bad) but suck at other things, well, (good).
Charge for your time. Yep. Nice and simple. When you’re a pro ‘ho (or non pro because, girls, you’ll know exactly where I’m going with this), you can pretty much guess, in general, how much time what is going to take. Add to it the excitement Mr. John will experience being with a prostitute at a brothel along with the most likely scenario of no foreplay as well as being in the clutches of my talented and well-experienced PC muscles, I can pretty much figure out how long things are going to take. 15-20 minutes. Yep.
So I sat Mr. Cyprus down on the edge of my bed and asked what he had in mind and, as I said earlier, no matter what creative ideas you come up with, it’s ALWAYS gonna be fucking and sucking. But, as with any negotiation that’s going to take time, you can always ask first what they plan to spend.
“Howmuchforhundred” he garbled in his lowered, slightly embarrassed, half-nervous, fully accented voice. I listened to him carefully and replied “Oh, well, for that we can do some fucking and sucking,” after which I smiled with a sly wink. “CanIeatyourpussy?” he responded and, um, for me, that’ll cost you extra. I just wanted to get him in my door.
When negotiations are finished, usually within a minute while your bedroom door is wide open, you casually bring your client back down a hallway almost to the parlor to plant yourself at the Dutch doored office window where the lovely cashier will process your trick. She’ll be the one to write down the time you start, how long you are going to “party,” (damn quotes again), take the client’s cash (we ARE whores and always get paid in advance, of course!), and give you the all important large towel, small towel, and trick sheet to toss over your lovely velour bedspread. God forbid you get cum stains on it ‘cuz then you’ll have to get it washed, never mind roll around on a dreaded wet spot.
So, I’m beginning to get moist thinking of the combination of sex and money, not so much that Mr. Cyprus is turning me on (I DO have my priorities), and come to the moment that I have to turn around to him to have him grease my palm with his hard earned dinero.
He gives me A HUNDRED.
I decided then that I actually hate accents.
“Howmuch FOR A HUNDRED?” he should have clearly said when my ears heard “How much FOUR HUNDRED?” Four hundred yes, for a hundred, you’ll be lucky if I show you a pubic hair.
The negotiation did not go well. He had a disappointed look on his face as I had to give him the answer to his question that he didn’t want to hear. “Are there any girls I can get here?” I’ll tell ya, I shop at Goodwill but I’m not gonna lower my price for a pubic hair show. I looked at him and gently shook my head “not at the Ranch.” And then the obvious….
“It was a hundred last time I was here.”
The compassionate whore that I am leaked out at that moment, trying to comfort him the best I could. I gently put my hand on his shoulder and uttered “Ah yes, my friend. A lot of things cost more than they did ten years ago.”
I slowed down in front of the ATM machine, hoping he’d extort a few extra hundred to have a good time with me, but alas, he said the same thing any customer in a retail store would say to be polite and escape without buying anything: “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
And we all know how that worked out.
But there was another day in my week in the brothel and many more stories to tell.
To be continued..
And be sure to check out the past entries in this on-going series:
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