The Slut Power 2

red-onion-saloon-brothel

So I’m going through these girl’s applications, and I couldn’t believe what I am seeing. Pictures of some very attractive young women, 18-30, dressed in the sluttiest clothes imaginable, with lists of things they will do. Yes to modeling. Yes to topless modeling. Yes to runway. Yes to “events.” Wants this much per hour. Yes to dancing. The applications get sorted by various things; looks mostly. But also for some very, er, “politically incorrect” reasons. Hot blondes with Russian names get picked first.

So that night I show up at the address, some typical looking building in midtown. There’s an intercom, I buzz in, say I want to go to this club, he opens the door. Inside, he asks me what I want again, I say the same thing, give him my card. OK, he says, go down the hall take the elevator to the 8th floor. So I go. Outside the elevator there’s another doorman, a big beefy looking white guy with a shaved head. I tell him I’m here for business, to see so-and-so, and show him my card. He tells me to wait, pulls out his phone and calls someone.

“I have a so-and-so here to see what’s his name?”

“Ok, he tells me, go to the office in the very back.” He pushes a button, a buzzer goes off, and I go through the door.

It’s quite an interesting sight, all right. A huge loft, with luxurious couches, dim lighting, and about 50 girls walking around in tight dresses and heels. Maybe that many men, some dressed in suits, others in street clothes. The girls look about 20-28 years old, the men about 30-50. There’s a bar and everyone is drinking.

Now I’ve been around the block a few times. I’ve traveled. I’ve seen some crazy things in my time. But what I saw next was something that I did not expect. Over against the wall, there is a nude woman laying on her back on a table. She is covered in sushi rolls. Guys, and girls, and walking over to her and grabbing the sushi rolls off her body. She is just lying there, a silly grin on her face. They are serving food off of her body. I actually love sushi, but I decided to pass. Interesting sight, though.

I walk through, thinking to myself, “don’t touch anything” towards the back office. I knock, announce myself, and it opens. I see what’s his name and two other guys inside.

“Hey there, welcome. Like the club?” He smiles. “Bill, I want you to meet this guy. He’s helping us in the so-and-so department.”

“Hi,” Bill says.

“Want a drink? What are you drinking?”

“Scotch.”

“Ha!” he says, “good choice. Bill, get our man here a scotch.” Bill walks out and a minute later comes back in with my drink. “Thanks,” I say.

brothel-2

The guy says, “so have your drink hang out for a while, go talk to a girl. I’ve got some calls to make so we’ll talk in a bit. He leads me out the door, shuts it, and then wanders off.

So I’m looking around. Some of these girls are incredibly attractive, easily the kind of girl you’d see in a fashion magazine. Frankly, many of them look a bit mercenary. I fend off one 30-ish looking blonde who immediately comes over, asks me how I know what’s his name. “Oh, honey, I’m here for business. You sure are beautiful though.” She wanders off.

I sit down on a couch near the back, sipping the scotch and getting an eyefull. Lots of guys sitting down with a girl draped on his side, talking in low voices and copping feels. There’s some stripper dancing around a pole in one corner, with a few dudes watching. This pale skinned petite girl with short black hair comes over, sits down next to me. “Hi sweetie. Look, I’m just waiting for Bill, ok?” She pouts, wanders off.

So maybe 10 minutes later I hear this woman laughing, really cracking up. I look over and see this girl. She’s probably 21. Sandy shoulder length hair. Voluptuous, big boobs, wearing a ridiculously tight dress. Her voice is soft, there is no trace of that mercenary look. She looks a bit tipsy, too. She says, “so he’s like, April, I can’t believe you did that.” She stops, puts her hand over her mouth for a second. Then says, “er, I mean Candy.” She cracks up, the girls she’s sitting with and the two guys they are with start laughing.

“Good job, ‘Candy'” one of the girls smirks.

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A second later, she glances to the side and sees me looking at her. She pauses for a second, then puts on a hilariously awkward come-hither look on her face. She walks over. “Hi, I’m Candy.”

I just sort of grin. “Hi Candy. So, um, where are you from?”

“Baltimore,” she says. “Hon! Baltimore? I’m from Baltimore,” reacting with honest surprise.

“Oh cool!” she says and kind of giggles.

“So, Candy, what high school did you go to in Baltimore?”

The look on her face was priceless. She kind of half-sarcastically, half-seriously sort of moans, “uuum, heh. You don’t know me do you?”

I just laugh. This girl has no business in this line of work. For one, she’s obviously too soft, and too innocent. Far too trusting, far to open with her emotions, which play across her face in the most transparent fashion. I think to myself, if I had met her in the coffeeshop down the street, I would totally have asked her out. She seems so, normal. She’s real, real cute too, with an amazing body spilling out of her dress like that. Every time I went to the club, I’d make a point of chatting her up, hearing the presumably heavily censored stories of her various adventures in New York.

Just then the guys comes back, motions me into his office. I tell Candy, “ok, Baltimore, nice meeting you. I’ll see you around” I follow him in, he closes the door, sits down at the desk. “Ok, here you go,” he says as he hands me a brown paper bag. I open it up, inside is a fat stack of $20 bills. “Count it. Call me Monday,” he says.

“Will do,” I say. “Thanks.” I stuff the bag in my coat pocket and walk back through the club, take the elevator down to the street, say thanks to the doorman, walk a half a block to the Avenue and hail a cab.

sex-club

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