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.

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. 😉