Chapter 9

Topic: Here Goes Nothing

Private Message to: Pamela_HER

From: ChazWazzle

Here Goes Nothing

Sent: July 20, 2018, 6:14am PST

Dearest Pamela,

Another message from me! I promise not to keep bombarding you like this. I know you’re busy and don’t want to be a nuisance. But I’ve done research on brothels and the women who work at them since our date, and I’d like to apologize if I said or asked you to do anything which was offensive or out of your comfort zone (same applies for Scarlett and I’ll send her a similar apology). Most working ladies HATE their job and do it strictly for the money, and I know you’ve been doing this for twelve long years. We’re from different ends of the spectrum, so PLEASE remember this. I was a virgin until age thirty-six, just three days ago, and wanted to try so many things with you. I have no experience and you, I now realize, have too much.

There is no way you enjoy your occupation the way you say you do. No way. I’ve read all about courtesans and how they do certain things during parties to survive and make it to the end in one piece. I am glad you’re not a heavy drinker and refuse to touch drugs like others do.

Still, you must be desensitized. I remember Scarlett drinking alcohol nonstop. I understand why now. She did that to cope with the stress, right? I feel guilty now for asking for so much from the two of you.

I will not use my masturbator toy and think about you at night like I said I would. That was stupid to say and offensive. I told you I often speak without thinking and am disgusted with myself now. And this is the truth, Pamela. I won’t think about you that way again.

I was just being honest with what I said.

That’s me. Honest to a fault.

I meant what I said halfway through our first party on Tuesday, too – I would have been happy to snuggle and do nothing but talk for the rest of it. But I’m a man with urges and won’t have sex again until I see you at the end of September – such a long time out after the joy I experienced. That’s why I kept going. I was living in the moment but now realize perhaps you weren’t, and that troubles me like you wouldn’t believe.

I’M NOT UPSET! You (and Scarlett) still receive a 5,000-star review regardless, and I still want to come back in the future. I’m serious, I want you to be happy and comfortable. Next time, if you’d simply like to cuddle and talk (you seemed to enjoy that) and keep our clothes on most or all the time, I’d be happy to oblige. We don’t even have to have sex! I’ll still purchase as many hours as I can. Perhaps I’ll keep you away from a rude client (you said you have many of those) and treat you with class, dignity, and respect, unlike him. You deserve the best! Let the other dude see someone else.

I care about you, Pamela, more than you’ll ever know.

You said you have time off coming up in three weeks and have the freedom to go wherever you want. Please consider visiting me in Detroit. We could be platonic friends. You may be apprehensive because I’m a customer, but I know in my heart I could make you happy. You told me you’re one hundred percent single. I wouldn’t expect anything physical from you. You could come here and relax for a few days in a new place with someone who is non-judgmental and cares about you. I know you’d enjoy the Motown Museum and the riverfront. You love animals as well and would have fun at the zoo and Belle Isle Aquarium.

Do you know how enjoyable it would be for me to go to these places with someone? Everything I do, I do alone. It’s not fun. People were together at my cousin’s wedding last weekend. People were together on the flight I was on. Me? I’m all alone.

Your company would be well more than enough. I wouldn’t lay a finger on you.

Everyone wants love, Pamela, and I know you do as well. You know you can trust me. At least, I hope you do. I want to be loved. I want to do silly things like the Beavis and Butthead dance and have fun with someone who cares about me equally. I may be all wrong (and probably am) but I felt so close to you. I sensed a connection with loads of potential. Please don’t discredit me because I’m a customer.

Colt, Jim, Scarlett, your friends Kayleigh and Nicolette, and all the other employees would never have to know about us. I’d never do a thing to jeopardize you or your career.

We seem like the perfect match. I want someone sweet and heavenly and friendly and caring. You want someone who won’t judge you, wants to care about you, and treats you the way you deserve. All working ladies want that, right? You mentioned that true love has always run away from you because of your profession.

I’m here right, Pamela. And I want to run TO YOU, not away from you.

I’m not asking you to do anything but consider my offer. We can do this in small, incremental steps, and I’d never pressure you. That’s why I’d like you to visit me first. I imagine you’ve been searching for love for quite a while, like I have, and I can give it to you. Will I need to change things about myself, improve myself? Yes, I will. And I will. I promise. I’ll do it for you.

Keep your job at the brothel, continue to save money for your future. I have no issue with you working there. If everything pans out, I’ll quit my job and move to Nevada or Miami so you and I could be together. I’d do it in a heartbeat.

I’m going to shut up about you visiting me and won’t mention it again unless you do. There is a genuine opportunity for us here. I may be wrong; you may feel different. I can handle it if you do. You won’t hurt my feelings as long as whatever you say is the truth.

I will pull myself back if you’re not interested. Please don’t take this the wrong way and never want to see me again. You’re so precious. I’ll still come to Flagstone if that is all you allow and I’ll treat you a million times better next time. I want you to relax, feel safe, and have an experience like you’ve never had with a customer. Lunch, cuddle, and talk. I enjoyed all the sex we had, I admit it, but enjoyed YOU more.

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, don’t push yourself away from me if you don’t like what I’m saying or offering. It would destroy me. Brothel Pamela is better than no Pamela. Again, being honest – what I am – I want Pamela’s heart to be mine if she’ll allow me to have it. I will cherish it, worship it, and always defend it. I want to give Pamela what she’s always been yearning for.

If she affords me the opportunity...

Please consider it.

If not, I’ll never mention it again.

Love always, Charlie

***

“Oh. My. Gawwwwwd.” Scarlett placed both hands over her mouth and stepped back from the laptop monitor. “Wowwwww.” She wheeled to the side and focused on Pamela, who was seated at the backgammon table in the recreation room, her mouth open, no words leaking from her twitching lips. “I told you last night, girl, Charlie is a creeper. He sent you fourteen e-mails in less than thirty-six hours before you’ve responded to him once.” Scarlett skimmed through the private message on Pamela’s Happy Ending account one more time. “Wow. He’s fucking obsessed with you.”

Pamela pushed through and shrugged it off. “I don’t think Charlie is obsessed.” He’s lonely and emotional. With a little time, Pamela trusted he’d calm down and come back to his senses. “I agree, he went overboard, but it happens sometimes.” She tucked both hands beneath her thighs and glanced up at Scarlett with a fretful gaze. “This isn’t the first time a customer has fallen for me.”

It threw Pamela for a loop an hour ago when she first read the latest in a never-ending stream of e-mails from Charlie Winters. The possibility of having a stalker in this industry was a grim, dark reality, and a constant fear for every working lady. I have no issues connecting with a client on a personal level, but it makes me nervous when they ask to see me outside work. That’s never going to happen.

“I’ll take some time later and sit down, send Charlie an e-mail, and set him straight.” Pamela’s stomach pitched and rolled. “He doesn’t understand the way things work here, or our world. That’s all.”

“I’d be scared shitless if a customer sent me a message like that.” After the initial shock of reading the e-mail, Scarlett kept her distance from the laptop as if were a burning oven. “Holy fuck. If I were you, Pam-Pam, I’d ignore him from now on. Don’t say another word to him.” Intensity radiated from her. “Block his e-mail address and refuse to party with him if he ever comes back to the house. Ask Colt to ban his account. Hell, ask Colt to call the sheriff if he ever comes back and have his creeper ass arrested for trespassing.” Scarlett’s high ponytail swished from side to side as she shook her head with conviction. “I’ll never see him again myself ... not after reading that.”

The expectation for all brothel customers, though an unwritten one, was to understand a working girl’s professional and private lives were to be kept separate. That was why exchanging personal information violated house rules. Not only at Happy Ending Ranch, but at every brothel in Nevada, period. No house would ever allow it.

The idea behind visiting a brothel is it’s an adult playground where a customer can live out a fantasy. The client can lose his or her virginity in a safe environment, for example, where they won’t be ridiculed (not to their face, at least).

Or perhaps a married man who has been with his wife for what may seem like forever can come to one and spice things up and add a little excitement to his routine, boring life. A couple wants to try a wild, crazy adventure and enjoy a threesome. Maybe a bachelor hopes to improve his game.

Or, the most common reason, someone yearns to get their rocks off with a gorgeous, highly skilled lover.

“I’ve never seen a trick go after a working girl this hard and heavy.” Scarlett cast a vicious glare at Pamela. “These fuckers need to realize brothels are not where you go looking for your next wife or girlfriend. This isn’t Tinder. We’re not lonely and desperate like they are.”

Pamela crossed her arms. “But that has happened before, Scarlett, and it’s led to successful real-life relationships and marriages. You know it has. It’s rare, but I’ve heard stories about girls who’ve fallen in love with a client and left the business to be with him full-time.

“We had a girl here eleven, twelve years ago, in fact, who had a loyal, recurring client. Her name was Brindle. The client, Kevin, lived clear across the country but would still come to visit her every two to three months. He’d been doing it for years, long before I started working here. And Brindle was the only girl he was ever interested in seeing.

“Anyway, one day, Brindle took Kevin to her room for a party. It was like the dozens of times they’d partied together in the past. Nothing was out of the ordinary.

“But a few hours later, they walked out with all her bags packed and Brindle told Colt’s father, William, that she was quitting the house and moving off to North Carolina to be with her john. They were getting married.” Pamela witnessed the exchange firsthand and smiled at the touching memory. She and Colt were dating, and Brindle’s stunning declaration gave Pamela added hope a bona fide relationship could materialize within a brothel and manifest itself into something spectacular. “They’d been planning it through e-mail and text messages for a long time. Last I heard, Brindle and Kevin are living the high life near Charlotte. They’re married and have two children.

“Point is, I guess, clients aren’t the only ones who fall in love when they visit a brothel. Sometimes the provider does too. I know of stories about the same thing happening in other houses as well.” I remember that day well. William was pissed. Not only did he lose one of his best girls, but also a high-spending customer too. Oh, he was angry. Pamela skedaddled back to her bedroom and hid there out of fear.

The next day, William had a tech company come out and install microphones all throughout the house so every provider-client interaction could be monitored and recorded from that point forward. Strict rules for interactions with customers were added and vowed to be enforced, unlike before, through constant monitoring.

Nowadays, about a third of those microphones need replacing. They still work, but some not as well as others. Colt has been looking to upgrade the entire system and I hope it’s done by year’s end.

Inexplicably, Scarlett somehow ignored all those words about Brindle and Kevin. She was far too immersed in the e-mail and paced about next to the table. “I think I have it bad with Randy, that fat-ass who comes to party with me every month and talks about marriage, though he doesn’t really mean it, but he ain’t got nothin’ on this guy. Charlie picked you out of a lineup three days ago!” Sweat beaded Scarlett’s forehead and she dabbed at it with a tissue. “He didn’t even know you existed until then.”

Did you hear a word I said, Scarlett?

“And now, three days later, he sends you this?” Her jaw ticked and her eyes cut to the monitor, then back to Pamela. “He must be really fucking hard up and lonely. Mentally deranged too. You’re the first girl who was ever nice to him, I bet, and he thinks you should drop everything and go visit him. Marry him too! Wow. Some people.” She put her hands on her hips and spoke with a deadly calm. “What a miserable loser. A fucking nerd who’ll never experience pussy again unless he pays for it.” Her lips pressed into a firm line. “And Detroit? Detroit? Who the fuck wants to go to Detroit anyway?”

“He’s not deranged. It’s okay, Scarlett. God, lighten up, will you?” Pamela flexed her fingers. “You’re always so cynical and distrusting of people.” Charlie is such a good guy, an incredible guy. He doesn’t mean any harm. But he doesn’t know any better either. She took a slow breath to dispel all this negativity. “Honestly, I don’t mind his e-mail.”

Pamela dealt with older virgins like Charlie – vulnerable men – regularly. This isn’t anything new.

Like most seasoned sex workers, Pamela was an expert at drawing clients in and distorting the lines between fantasy and reality. Virgins like Charlie don’t have the experience to realize there’s a line to begin with. Everything became blurred and they wound up with irrational thoughts and ideas and, worst of all, expectations.

It was Pamela’s job to make her tricks feel love, to feel special and cared for, but they also needed to understand they were paying for a service.

It. Wasn’t. Real.

And once the service was over, whether it lasted thirty minutes, an hour, or fourteen-and-a-half hours, it was over. That was the unwritten rule every customer was expected to understand. The service didn’t extend beyond the walls of this house.

Sure, like many of the other ladies, Pamela kept in contact with her regulars through the website, but that didn’t mean she wanted anything to do with them in the “real world.” I have a husband and love him. Her sole purpose in being active on the bulletin board was to help promote Happy Ending Ranch – she was the co-owner, after all – and attract new and returning clients alike for herself. Colt says the bulletin board is the best, most potent advertising campaign we have. It’s why I check it eight to ten times a day and am always posting and responding to private messages. Relationships, even camaraderie, could be forged before a face-to-face meeting took place.

“Stuff like that, it doesn’t spook me. I have thick skin.” Pamela stood before Scarlett, putting an end to her frantic pacing. “I mean, think about it: Charlie is thirty-six and has been alone his entire life. He babbled on and on to us about how lonely he is and how he wishes things were different. His story made me cry. Lost his virginity and spent a whole night getting pampered by two women who submitted to his every whim.” Of course, he is going to be high-strung and say something he may not mean. “The man went through a life-altering experience, the most enjoyable experience he’s ever had.” Her shoulders slouched. I understand his reaction. He’s only human, and truth be told, I led him on. It’s what we do here as sex workers. “People can become emotional, go overboard. Overreact. It’s okay.”

Scarlett grabbed Pamela’s arm. “So, you’re saying a customer sending you an e-mail like this doesn’t concern you? Scare you? Because it sure as hell would scare me.”

It concerns me to an extent. I had my initial reaction, and it wasn’t good. But... “Considering who sent it, no. No, it doesn’t. Charlie wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Pamela differed from most courtesans and had her own unique way of looking at and dealing with things. She possessed a keen fascination for the human mind, hence her major being Psychology, and its behavior. Pamela characterized herself as having an INFP personality, meaning she was an eternal optimist who looked for the good in everything, and even in the worst of people and situations. She was caring and compassionate and encouraged others to be the same way.

Pamela’s easygoing, live-and-let-live attitude came naturally, and she always gave others the benefit of the doubt. Good exists in everyone and too many times, as people, all we want to do is focus on the bad.

“What did Colt say?” Scarlett’s lips pursed tight. “I imagine you told him?”

“Not gonna lie, he had his concerns.” Pamela fisted her hands and bristled. I feel bad for Charlie and the fact he’s lonely. She wished she could do something more to help him, but that wasn’t going to happen. Not outside the confines of these walls. “Colt understands how I am. We had a long talk about things and he’s fine with me sending an e-mail back to Charlie and explaining the ground rules for any future visits. I must remind him, nicely, that what we offer at the house is a fantasy, nothing more, and he cannot develop any legitimate, long-term love attachment.”

If Charlie can’t accept that, I’ll have to cut ties and ask Colt to bar him from the premises. Heck, he wants to do that already. Pamela never wanted to blacklist a recurring client but would if she had to. I must protect myself and all the other girls here too.

“You’re too nice, Pam-Pam. Way too nice.” Scarlett clenched her teeth and reached for her smartphone. “I cannot stand it when these fuckers ask us for things we cannot or do not want to give to them.” Scarlett had received a text message and began typing out a response.

It was from Sammy.

“What am I supposed to do?” In Pamela’s mind, Charlie deserved an opportunity to redeem himself. What did he do wrong? Anything? All he did was put his heart out there and ask if I’m interested. Scarlett doesn’t understand what it’s like to be lonely. Nor does she have the heart to look at things from his point of view. “Take all the thousands and thousands of dollars he gave us and run? Have no contact with him again because of something he said in an e-mail?” Plus, Charlie stressed toward the end of the message he’d be fine seeing Pamela exclusively at the house. It’s not like he demanded I go visit him in Detroit.

“I’d run as fast as my legs would take me.” Scarlett’s eyes, usually soft and peaceful, resembled an impenetrable brick wall as she gazed up from her cell phone. “You’re insane if you agree to party with that man again. Totally batshit insane.”

“I’ve always tried to be extra nice and attentive to virgins. If the roles were reversed and I were Charlie, I’d be crushed if I had such a wonderful experience, spent all that money, and the courtesan refused to see or share e-mail with me ever again.” It would be the ultimate “fuck you” and a slap in the face. I’d grow to resent the courtesan over time and may wish bad things on her.

“He had an emotional, irrational response, and probably regrets it.” I’ll be an integral chapter of his life story forever and want it to be a positive one. Despite her profession, Pamela still realized a person losing their virginity only happened once and should be a momentous, cherished experience. Mine wasn’t – had a little too much tequila one night after school – but that’s beside the point. She didn’t have it in her to shut Charlie out just like that. I’d feel more guilty than I already do.

Not every customer understands this is a fantasy world. They’re supposed to, but some don’t. It’s not their fault. We don’t offer a handbook to go by.

“Pfft.” Scarlett swatted the air and put her phone away. “I remember what Sammy told me when I had my first party with him three years ago. I was still new to the scene. Sammy said visiting a brothel, to him, is sport fucking. It’s a hobby, nothing more than a fantasy. Sammy compared it to picking up a chick in a bar for a one-night stand. He said he loves coming to brothels but loves his wife more.”

“I wish all our customers were like Sammy. He gets it. All the other old-timers do too.” Pamela plodded to the window facing the backyard. “The worst-case scenario happens and Charlie becomes obsessive, maybe a stalker, I’m safe here, right? We all are.” She turned back toward Scarlett. “The brothel is under airtight lockdown and the sheriff’s station is less than a quarter-mile away.” Get that thought out of your head, girlfriend. Charlie is not a stalker. He’s one of the sweetest guys you’ve ever met.

Pamela bent the truth when she was entertaining Charlie in recent days. She claimed to be single and still looking for love. But Pamela was a working girl and that was her perogative. Pamela figured if she told clients she was happily married, it would detract from their fantasy and overall enjoyment, and hurt the chances of repeat business with them.

Colt encouraged Pamela years ago never to tell a client she was married or had a boyfriend. He suggested the same to all his employees. Sure, some hardcore regulars who’d been coming here for years, like Sammy, knew Pamela was married (and to who). But every single one of them respected both Pamela and Colt enough not to go on the bulletin board and blab to the masses.

A few of Scarlett’s most ardent customers, for example, were aware she had a fiancé back home in Cincinnati (Sammy, Steve, and Bob – the three she sees away from work (illegally)). Scarlett told everyone else who asked that she was single and happy. “It’s impossible to have a relationship working in a brothel. I tried but gave up. When I retire from the business, I’m sure I’ll find someone. Besides, I don’t need a boyfriend. I receive all the action I could ever want here at work.”

If Randy knew Scarlett was engaged, she feared he would never want to be with her again. It would destroy his fantasy. Randy annoyed her with his talk of commitment and honeymooning, but the bottom line was, he was an easy $350 on Scarlett’s paycheck each tour (and an Amazon gift card on top of it).

Why would she risk that by telling the truth? It wasn’t Scarlett’s job to tell the truth. Besides, she believed no customer had the right to know anything about her private life anyway. It was none of their business.

How many of them had lied to her over the years about their own lives?

But Scarlett didn’t care. Her motto for this job and the way she dealt with her customers was simple: “I don’t know these men, I don’t want to know these men, and I could give a rat’s ass about these men.”

Scarlett had learned, in this business, shutting out her feelings was necessary for survival and the only way to keep her sanity. She trained herself to tolerate situations that were otherwise intolerable to her healthier instincts. She also learned to control any voluntary impulses johns may find off-putting, such as anger, shock, repulsion, and even vomiting.

Scarlett developed an expertise in these and other similar skills and became the highest grossing earner Happy Ending Ranch had. Although she’d only been at the house since 2015, Scarlett had over a decade’s worth of experience as a streetwalker and traveling escort. After her son was born in 2006, times were tough. Scarlett lived in her car for eight months and thought she had nowhere else to turn to for money.

Faking orgasms with her clients was an art form, a talent that took countless hours of practice to perfect. Concentrating on doing it right, putting all the energy into the vocal sounds, shakes, moans, watching all the porn she could find to study the women’s acting, thinking of new and interesting dirty talk, and forcing herself to sweat wasn’t as easy as many outsiders believed. In Scarlett’s mind, sex work was abhorrent, an unpleasant workout with a creepy guy she didn’t know.

Pamela, of course, preferred being honest during her parties, but had to draw the line somewhere. I’ve never faked anything with a client, orgasm or otherwise. Pamela was not about to divulge any sensitive information to anyone either.

And certain things, such as her dating and marital status, would get fabricated. There’s a reason I tell my clients I’m from Miami instead of Baltimore.

Scarlett closed the distance between them, hugged Pamela, and kissed her on the forehead. “Colt won’t let anything bad happen to you, sweetie. Not only are you one hundred percent safe in this house, but you’re safe wherever you go because Colt is always protecting you. I love my fiancé, Jason, but I must admit you struck gold with Colt. He’s the perfect man for you. You’re a lucky girl and you’re safe with him.”

----

“Dammit!” Lindsay bounced her cell phone off the bed. Her muscles were tense, her pulse pounding. “Why isn’t he responding?” She bit her lip, her head vibrating.

It was Friday evening and Lindsay, confined to her bedroom, was still serving her two-day suspension. Thanks a fucking ton, Colt, you asshole. I feel like I’m in jail! Veins popping in her neck, the young woman was agitated because the lineup buzzer had been going off all day and she was missing out on a host of potential clients. I don’t know why you gotta be so super sketch with me.

Even if she had two one-hour parties at the house minimum, that would be $500 in profit. How am I going to afford a car at this rate? There was no way in hell she’d stay at the Twin Tops Motel down the street during her mandatory week off in August. I’d be all alone and would go insane. Lindsay’s number one priority was to have an automobile so she could go on a road trip to somewhere exciting, like Vegas. I want to skurt-skurt off to The Strip and hang out with some cute guys.

But how would that be possible without a car? Why does nothing good ever happen to me? Life was so unfair. I’d leave this dump and snag a job at one of the Reno houses if it wasn’t for Pamela. She’s the only reason I’m still here.

Fuck you, Colt! I don’t know why you hate me.

Being suspended was one thing (and Lindsay was convinced she did nothing to warrant it), but not yet having received a response from Sammy after the emotional e-mail she sent him yesterday afternoon was far worse. I wrote him over twenty-four hours ago! Why hasn’t he written back? Is he mad at me for something too?

Lindsay picked up her smartphone and refreshed its mailbox again. Nothing, still! What the fuck? She slammed it back to the mattress.

Lindsay harbored some irrational thoughts of her own as she’d taken a strong liking to her first-ever client. Never mind the fact that forty years separated them and Sammy was married and lived 330 miles away in Salt Lake City, but Lindsay found herself in love with him.

He fucked her so long and hard three nights ago – like a real man should – and one of Lindsay’s greatest fantasies was to be in a relationship with a far more experienced, domineering lover.

Between their bouts of hardcore fucking, Lindsay and Sammy cuddled and talked in bed or the bathtub, or she was submerged on his lap, and they made out. He offered multiple lessons on how to give a blowjob and what men enjoyed from them. Sammy called me an overactive chatterbox and said I need a dick in my mouth at all times. He also fucked her in several unique positions.

Those were the most amazing three hours of Lindsay’s young life, bar none. Her body had a desperate craving for more. It ached to be with Sammy again, his hands, his mouth, exploring everywhere; his hips slamming against her ass, his cock fucking her. Being with Sammy was beyond anything she’d experienced with her ex-boyfriend, Zack. This strong, dominant man had taken her, no questions asked, and bent her to his will.

“You are a bad girl, Kayleigh. You know that, I know that, and Pamela and Colt know that. It’s why they hired you.” At those words, Lindsay’s gag reflex was being tripped as Sammy thrusted his cock all the way into the back of her throat, causing her to drool, and for her nose and eyes to run. Lindsay’s body, her soul, her nature, was being turned upside-down. “You are the type of girl men like me will pay top dollar for. You can pretend that you’re sweet, you’re innocent, but both you and I know you need me to fuck you tonight much more than I need to fuck you myself. In all seriousness, you should be paying me.”