Short People at Brothels

During my 23-year marriage, my ex-wife and I had an open relationship. This had little or nothing to do with why the marriage ended. It is merely a fact. It isn’t much more interesting than bowling; we did that too. We bowled together most of the time but, if we wanted to, we were free to go bowling with other people. Sex was the same thing, except we never brought the kids along, and neither of us needed the bumpers (I may have fallen off the bed once, but there was alcohol involved).

In many ways, sex was similar to bowling. Sometimes we went head to head. Sometimes we’d practice on our own. We thought about joining a league, but that was too much commitment. Twice I went bowling with another couple. They asked if I wanted to tag along and throw some balls around.

In bowling alleys, there is usually a snack bar, an arcade, and a pro-shop. In sex, there is sometimes eating, toys are available, and in Nevada, there are several pro-shops.

In the United States, Nevada is the only state where prostitution is legal. The laws are up to the individual counties. Prostitution is not legal in Clark County (Las Vegas), but there are eight counties where it is (Nye county also allows fireworks, so there is always a big bang going on there).

Lyon County, near Lake Tahoe, where HBO filmed a few documentaries, is home to five or more brothels. I owned a condo in South Lake Tahoe for many years. My family and I went up there every Christmas. Every year my wife would watch the kids for a few hours, and I would drive down the hill to support one of the local ranches. I wasn’t sneaking out; this was one of my Christmas presents. I was looking for a little variety and an adventure.

On one of my annual trips, I rang the bell, and the madam buzzed me in as usual. There was a line-up waiting for me by the time I entered the parlor.

I’d learned that if you see someone that grabs your attention, it’s best to speak up quickly. First timers politely excuse themselves and meander to the bar.

Pro Tip: If it is around Christmas time when visiting a brothel, do not make any “Ho, Ho, Ho” jokes. They’ve heard it before. It wasn’t funny the previous fifty times, and they will probably charge more just for acting like a jerk.

The bar at a brothel is astonishingly overpriced (similar to a strip club). A well-drink can run twenty dollars, and they charge even more when buying a drink for one of the ladies. The apprehensive first-timers line the bar, trying not to seem horrified by the prices as the ladies take turns chatting them up and asking for drinks. The more nervous a person is, the more money he will spend at the bar before even getting to a room.

Tonight, one of the women in the lineup caught my eye right away. She was blonde and easily stood six foot two when barefoot. This evening, in her platform heels, she easily towered at least a foot over me. “Perfect!” I thought, “An adventure. I’m up for the climb.”

I asked her to show me around. On the way past the bar, a nervous stranger gave me a thumbs up and asked if I needed a ladder. She gave me a quick tour of the VIP rooms (the rooms with the hot tub, the stripper pole, and the fancy sex furniture). We stopped in the room with the furniture and negotiated.

The ranch has a menu, but it’s mostly to get the conversation started. Each girl is an independent contractor. There is a minimum that the house will accept but, if it is a busy night, if she is a recognizable adult actress, or if the guy is a jerk, the price goes up. Multiple positions, a romp in the VIP rooms, or some specific activities come at a premium as well (yes, the pun was intentional). Just like an omelet bar, some of the ingredients cost extra. Sometimes, there are Greek dishes on the menu, but these tend to be quite pricey.

It was a quiet night (not entirely silent, and I could clearly hear some creatures stirring in the other rooms). We agreed on a price that I knew would not set off alarms on my credit card, and she said we could even use the furniture-room for no extra charge. This room had a big, round bed, a lounge chair that resembled a lopsided, two-hump camel, and something that looked like a sawhorse or a very skinny picknick table, padded with red vinyl.

She took my credit card, returned a few minutes later and undressed. She gave me a inspection to make sure there were no visible problems, put a condom on me, and we started getting frisky. Well, we started figuring out how we were going to get frisky. The height difference posed a few logistical predicaments.

The law at a legal brothel is that no exchange of bodily fluids is permitted. Kissing is not allowed. No problem there, my lips couldn’t even reach her boobs, let alone her mouth (although either one would have been fine). My head came to the middle of her stomach when we were standing.

From a standing position, the only thing I would be able to do was to hump her calf like a frustrated dog. I thought about popping out to the bar to see if ladder-guy really knew where to find one. We searched for something else to try.

She asked if I wanted to try the sawhorse. “Sure, “, I said. “That sounds like fun.”

She climbed up on the sawhorse. Her perfect, round, ass was beckoning me to mount her. However, she was just a bit too high for me to do anything about it.

I thought sex furniture in a brothel would be highly adjustable, like equipment in a gym. If I want to do a leg press, the bench can slide more than a foot to accommodate almost any height. I imagined the same would be true here. I was wrong.

I tapped her butt to get her attention, and she started talking dirty to me. It was a little embarrassing when I had to stop her to say that I couldn’t reach. She looked back over her shoulder and said, “Oh, sorry. It doesn’t go any lower.”, she said.

At that moment, I felt like the fat guy on the airplane who has to ask for the seat belt extender. I considered asking for something to stand on, but in my head, I pictured myself falling off, hitting my head and ending up with stitches. After sex, most people want to hear something like, “Wow,” or “That was great.” No one wants to hear, “Are you ok?”.

We decided that the camel-like lounge would be the best option. She was able to straddle me. My height didn’t make any difference, and our story came to a happy ending.

On the way out, ladder-guy was still sipping his overpriced Budweiser at the bar. I gave him a thumbs up as I left.