Posts

‘Ho Tell – My Week at the Love Ranch – Part fi-aaah-ve

/1 Comment/in /by

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.

Mind the Gap!

Mind the Gap!


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.
Only kidding.
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:

‘Ho Tell – My Week at the Love Ranch – Part One

/0 Comments/in /by

Well, well, well….a week at the ‘Ho Tell. What was it like to work a week at the brothel known as The Love Ranch? I’ll tell ya – it was everything I expected and more and less, all at the same time.

My lovely room

My lovely room


It began with a lovely 400+ mile ride on my motorcycle out of the stifling traffic of Los Angeles to a scoot over to the 14, cutting through the dry desert. I left shortly before rush hour and THINK I avoided it, and traffic thinned out once I hit the 14, heading northeast through Palmdale, Lancaster and the Antelope Valley, skirting the edge of the Mojave Desert and the mountains. I rested my head in Bishop, past half way up on 395, slicing its way through the Eastern Sierras, although I can do the ride in one day. I just didn’t want to arrive tired.
Departing early in the morning, I continued up 395, winding my way up to Carson City… the Nevada state capital. I was excited with anticipation and it felt like I was going to my first day on a new job.
Which it was.
I arrived with dust in my hair and a smile on my face. I had made it just in time to get my initial gynecological exam which gives me permission to work in the sex industry in Nevada. The doctor signs off on it and, well, I’m getting ahead of myself.
When I arrived, I was warmly greeted by the staff and the house Madam, Adrianne, who had helped me every step of the way when I toyed with the idea of parting my gams for money. She scurried me over to the doctor’s exam room while I was waving the papers that I was just given. The doctor’s room can also double as a trick room if a client wants to play doctor with any of us. Oh boy! Blending fantasy with reality!
The doctor visits the Love Ranch weekly to give the girls (as we’re known as – “women” would reek of feminism) their weekly health exam to make sure the plumbing is in perfect working order and there’s no leaks in the system. I’ve got to say that it was one of the most impersonal gyno exams I’ve ever had but I guess us girls and the doctors all in the same business under that roof – we get paid to spread ‘em and the more we can do in an hour, the more money we’ll make.
At this point, I finally had the time to go through all of the paperwork, filled out forms, read basic rules of the house and generally started picking up on the ambiance of the place I’d call home for the next week (gosh, I almost had a typo there by leaving out the “m” in home, making it “hoe” but I guess that would have been appropriate, too).
The Love Ranch. Home for the next week. The brothel at the end of the cul de sac which offers not one, not two, but THREE different ranches where men (and sometimes couples) can get their rocks off with the girl of their choice without having to worry about catching cooties or avoiding a phone call the next morning. Whores. Prostitutes. In the words of Charlie Sheen, “I pay them to go away.” No truer words were ever spoken.
The Love Ranch is owned by Dennis Hof, aka Big Daddy or Big Pimp because, well, that’s exactly what he’s doing but more on him in a moment. On one side of the cul de sac is the Kit Kat Ranch that has been open for over SIXTY years! It was family owned until recently and apparently they had let it run down to a pretty sad state. Along comes Dennis Hof who bought the place and is currently going through a gut rehab to offer more pleasures of the flesh in yet another location close to home.
The other brothel is the Sagebrush Ranch, which has something like 60 rooms in it to service those in need of a quickie, a blow job, or anything else that might be on the agenda. The Love Ranch is situated between the two other brothels and there’s even a “Gentleman’s Club” at the top of the cul de sac which provides enough entertainment to establish a well-earned boner for the customers to successfully relieve themselves with the woman of their choice. Dennis is creating the country’s first legal Red Light District in the US, much like the Red Light District in Amsterdam only here, the canals are different.
Okay, so after the spread ‘em and scrape ‘em doctor exam, the results are faxed over the next day (in the morning when you’re lucky, as I was), which gives you clearance for the next step in become a legal flesh peddler. It’s called “getting your Sheriff’s card” and anyone working in any aspect of the adult industry in the fair state of Nevada, whether it’s fucking or showing your junk on stage as a stripper, you have to have one to be legal. So I had my signed and faxed seal of appr’HOval in my hand and jumped on The Big Vibe to make the 6 mile ride to the Sheriff’s office to get my well deserved card before lunch.
Wouldn’t you know, the state computers were down and I had to wait for their return to workability. In the meantime, I got to check out a new slate of working girls that were going to work at other ranches and needed their cards, too. I had a feeling that some of them thought I was several girls’ Mom. NOT. We come in all shapes and sizes and ages, honey! I ended up returning after lunch and breathlessly awaited the computers to come back on line, which was just an hour before they closed for the weekend. Had they not come back up, I would have been shit outta luck for the weekend – usually the busiest time at the Ranch.
I’m gotta run, but stay tuned for part 2! It has all the good stuff. 😉

Love Ranch North in Photos

/0 Comments/in /by

And I’m back. From a week at the Love Ranch North, that is. If you follow me on Twitter, you’ve already heard a lot about my experience, but not everything, I assure you. I have plenty of stories to tell but in the meantime, here are some photos from the adventure to whet your appetite for what’s to come.

Stockings and heels.

Stockings and heels.


I also recorded a USTREAM video while I was there, Friday Night at The Love Ranch. Dennis Hof interview some of the lovely ladies at the Ranch, including yours truly! Check it out.
I spent a lot of time in my lovely room at the Love Ranch North. Be sure to check out the full gallery below.

Sexy legs and sex work

A New (Old) Line of Work for Kim Airs

/0 Comments/in /by

Sexy legs and sex work

Not my legs. But if they were, I’d be spreadin’ em. Ha!


I’m doing something I’ve always wanted to do…
You know, I’m pretty comfortable in my own skin. After being in the sex toy biz for 20 years now, I think I gotta be. And, to add even more years to the whole sex thing, I really got my swerve on in 1987 after I got officially divorced after 7 ½ years of marriage. True. But that’s another blog.
I’ve always been one to live out my fantasies and encourage others to do the same. I mean, why just always THINK about doing something without ever ACTING on it? Sure, there are some that you just don’t want to go there with (underage sex, fucking your horse, swinging from the top of the Empire State Building), you know, stuff like that. But there are many others that you CAN go for, ones that may be considered extreme or taboo or just plain crazy enough that you’d be crazy enough to do it.
Well, I’m happy to report, I’m doing it. “It” is something that I’ve done before but in a different situation. “It” being something that I got such absolute pleasure from, I want to do it again. “It” being something that I told no one else about except someone who had previously been my boss and who I trusted with all of my secrets. “It” being a job that I didn’t even tell my boyfriend at the time about. “It” being sex work.

“It” being a whore.

Yep. I said it. Many years ago, I worked as a call girl for two years while I was working full time at Harvard University. Yes, THAT Harvard.
During those two years flat backin’ for fun and profit, I experienced countless amazing episodes of expressed sexuality whether it was being intimate with a recently widowed young man, watching porno while chomping on popcorn with a guy, listening to someone’s life story without judgment, and of course, providing plenty of men with delightful handjobs, blowjobs and plain ol’ fucking.
Yes, I miss sex work and I’m going back for more.
From August 16 through August 23, I will be working for a week at a well established brothel up in Carson City, Nevada, where whoredom is plentiful AND legal. It will be the first time I’m holed up (so to speak) with a herd of other gals all out for the same thing. A gaggle of gals where I’m probably old enough to be their mother and probably for some of them, their GRANDMOTHER but I’m not gonna go there with that.
I think of the maturity and experience I can bring to the table or bed when I think of working at the brothel. You know, there’s PLENTY of young, studly twenty somethings that are willing to part with hard earned cash to be intimate with a strong, older woman who doesn’t care about how many posts she has on Facebook and Twitter (okay, actually, I WOULD but that’s not why I’m parting my legs). There are many men who want to get nailed in privacy, plenty of guys who for no other reason, want to have sex with a stranger. There’s plenty of guys who may be disabled and want to experience passion for the first time. But I’m not doing it for them, no, I’m doing it to experience my fantasy because I’ve never worked in a brothel before and I have always wanted to.
Besides which, you wouldn’t buy a book from an illiterate bookseller, would you?
Plus, it’ll give me a lot to write about and post here with anonymity guaranteed. So stay tuned for more ramblings about being a living, breathing sex worker. And if you’ve ever wanted to get with that mature and experienced woman, just book an appointment with me at the Love Ranch North. I promise I won’t write about you unless you really want me to.

See ya at the Ranch…