So where we last left off, your intrepid whoreporter (I dare you to read that in three syllables) was sweating in out in the comfort of the County Sheriff Department’s Satellite station down the road from the Love Ranch. Turns out the computers were down for several hours after lunch and instead of waiting around in the sparsely decorated room with nutrition information for your babies and a time lapse photo series of the degradation of a female meth addict, I decided to leave my cell number with the nice clerk, who assured me she’d call me as soon as the computers were on line again. By doing so, she made both of us hope SOMETHING would get UP soon!
By the time 4:00pm rolled around, I was hanging out at the Ranch (something one becomes very good at doing but more on that later), and my phone rings with the odd Nevada number on it. I answer breathlessly and before I could hang up, my ass was in the saddle of the Big Vibe and I was tearing down the 50 to get processed before the clock struck 5:30.
It takes the better part of 45 minutes to get processed into the state system o’ sex workers. They had to see if there were any outstanding felonies on me (there weren’t), check the finger print database (there weren’t any there either because I never had been) so I had to get fingerprinted in order to make sure I wasn’t going to be dealing drugs or supporting a habit OR stealing from a john while I was flatbackin’ for fun and profit.
Welcome to the ‘OOs… fingerprinting ain’t what it used to be. It’s all done electronically now – hell, I didn’t even have to get the pads of my digits inked to get it done. First, you wipe your fingers on baby wipes (hey, I thought they were only needed for sex acts and babies), then roll your finger over a small screen. The images of your fingerprints come up on a huge screen making them look like they belong to the Jolly Green Giant. But they’re yours. So first you take the fingerprints of your pads, then you take an entire SET of them with your lonely opposable thumb as a stand out and your four other fingers on their own screen. THEN you take images of each one of them with your fingertip ROLLED over the screen to get a full, ¾ way around image of your identifier. Whew! I had never had that done before and actually took some comfort in getting them registered so now, if they find me upside down in a ditch after getting run off the road on my motorcycle (god forbid), there will be a record of my fingerprints somewhere that were taken for WHORING and not for some measly shoplifting bust. That’s the way, uh huh, uh huh, I like it….
So after that was done, I paid my $50 for my good-for-a-year sheriff’s card, making me a legal leg spreader in the Silver State of Nevada! Woohoo! The state where the vices of gambling and prostitution are LEGAL, baby! I hit the jackpot now!
I hopped on my bike all sorts of proud, knowing that when I returned to the Ranch, I was legal. Guess that’s what it feels when you get your citizenship, only for me, it was much more ancient. Sure, I’ve worked as a call girl before (that’s sooo much classier than saying “prostitute” but of course, we all know it’s the same) but that was in Boston and it wasn’t legal and it certainly won’t be there for a long time. But they just voted in casino gambling so maybe, just maybe…
But I digress. Yes, this is something I’ve always wanted to do and now I know I can and could. I cleared my snatch test and the county and state said it was okay, too. Back to slutting…
My room. Ah yes. The bedroom that becomes my home for the week. The room that I trick in, the room that I sleep in, the room that I work in doing all the things on my Kimputer I’ve been meaning to do for months. My room. Room number 6 down one of the labyrinth of hallways that hold together the rooms that we suck, fuck, sleep, apply makeup, dress, talk, gossip, and everything else you do in a bedroom. Having never partaken in a dorm setting in college, I finally felt that at my age, I was getting the experience of living in a sorority for the first time. A slut sorority. My kind of place. It felt good.
Before my arrival, l had spoken to a woman who had worked at the Bunny Ranch for a few weeks and I hadn’t known she had done this until she sheepishly admitted it to me. The advice she gave me was a godsend. What to pack, what to expect. It was all invaluable for this virgin (I love having the opportunity to say that. It happens so rarely).
When you research the Ranch (or any of the brothels for that matter), they are somewhat vague about what essentials you need to start to work. Sure, there’s heels and lingerie but there’s so much more.
Here’s what packing advice she shared with me: bring baby wipes, condoms and flavored lube (they have them but fortunately, I can get them wholesale!), sexy lightbulbs to create an ambiance, Christmas lights (for aforementioned ambiance), battery powered candles since they don’t allow flames in the room (I have remote controlled ones from Costco! They’re totally cool!), your own toiletries, tissues, towels (they have them but it’s easier to bring your own), PAPER towels (for quick clean ups and YES, you have to supply them) and any other sex oriented supplies you may need. Basically, it IS like a dorm room furnished with a nightstand light, nightstand, bed, bed linens, and plenty of furniture to load up with your stuff. Oh, bring a padlock for the closet, too, because that’s how you lock up your valuables in your room. Glad there weren’t any sex toy kleptos working there the same week I was.
So I decorated my room with Christmas lights, sexy fabrics, carefully placed the remote controlled candles in different corners of the room, and lined the shelves with fabric to highlight my gigantic sex toy collection which I shipped up a few days before along with everything else I couldn’t cart on the Big Vibe. I also had a goddess looking over me… in the corner of my metal framed bed, I delicately hung my precious possession of the autographed G string of one of my favorite porn stars: the late, great Erica Boyer. She would be watching my every move while occupying the queen size bed in Room 6 at the Love Ranch North. I was ready to roll.
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