a sexual disneyland

wayne scheer
Mrs. Amescroft runs one high-class whorehouse. Sorry, bordello. You see, she bought this old, run down hotel in Nevada that used to cater to businessmen and politicians traveling West, and turned it into an elegant Victorian House of Ill Repute, which still caters to many of the same businessmen and politicians.

What's unique about what she did is she created a sexual Disneyland, as she calls it. We all have to keep up the fantasy. Sometimes we wear these old-fashioned straight skirts with girdles and garters and full slips and heavy-ass stockings. The johns, (sorry, I'm supposed to refer to them as "gentlemen,") seem to get off on unwrapping us like we were Christmas presents. Other times, we wear cowgirl outfits or ballerina tutus. I even wear a baseball uniform for one ... gentleman.

Don't get me wrong. Although this place is strange, it's fun. And Mrs. Amescroft is a doll, really. She's more than generous with the girls and she treats the gentlemen as if they really were gentlemen. She gets half of what we make, and we also get to keep the tips. That's a whole lot better than I could do on my own. I used to work for this pimp who called himself King Benny, a real shit. His specialty was young girls; I was only sixteen when I hooked up with him. He used to keep us so high on crack and coke that we didn't know which end was up. Which is a real problem in this business.

But Mrs. Amescroft -- that's not her real name, by the way. She's really Mary Blejma or something like that, but she says English sounding names bring in more money. That's why she calls me Gertrude. I hate the name. I think Lottie, what my mother named me, is much sexier, but Mrs. Amescroft tagged me Gertrude, so that's who I am when I'm here.

I was saying how much I like Mrs. A. She has only two rules. "No drugs and no private deals with the gentlemen." That's only fair. I appreciate the no drugs rule, too. When I was eighteen, I was so strung out that King Benny dumped me. I tell you, you have to be in bad shape to be dumped by him, unless you're old, nearing thirty, like I am now. Back then, I was so out of it that I bit a john. I mean like I came damn close to biting his dick off. All I remember is this guy screaming and me with a mouthful of blood. I thought he was coming so I kept right at it.

Anyway, someone called an ambulance and the cops, but they were laughing too hard to arrest me. The john didn't press charges -- my guess is he had enough problems trying to explain my overbite to his wife. But you can bet he never went back to Benny's corner. That's when Benny dumped me. It was the best thing that ever happened to me because I got myself clean. For a while, anyway. I even had a legitimate job as a secretary for a few years. But I was expected to give it away to the boss for free, so I got back into the business. I've been with Mrs. A. now for over a year and she's so righteous, she even waters down our drinks.

I get to read a lot, too. When we're not working, Mrs. A. wants us to improve our minds. She brings us books she says we should read and she has paintings on the walls she's always talking about. One time, she had us all go to the big party room upstairs for a lesson, she called it. She told us to dress like we were students. I figured there was some rich perv who wanted something special, so I wore this short plaid skirt and starched white blouse I wear for one of my clients. With nothing on underneath. You know what happened? She had a speaker talk to us about 401K's and mutual funds and stuff.

This is a strange place, I tell you. But the weirdest thing happened just the other day. Mrs. A sent all the girls away for two hours, except me. She put on this fur stole and hat with a veil that made her look like an old biddy. And she told me to just sit quietly in the lobby and read while she talked with a gentleman. Then this older man who looked a little like the rich guy in the Monopoly game came in all dressed up and carrying his coat.

"Now dear," he said. "We mustn't be late for the concert."

"Oh, Henry." She fanned herself and put on this phony English accent. "I so don't want to disappoint you, but I'm feeling a bit ill tonight. Perhaps you should go with Gertrude."

"No, don't be silly, my love. Gertrude would rather spend the evening with her book than with her old father."

I wasn't sure if I should chime in and play along, but Mrs. A. gave me this look that told me to stay cool.

The horrible dialogue continued for a while until he suggested that Mrs. A. take off her clothes and go to bed. So that's where this is going, I thought. But then he said, "Come Gertrude, help your mother with her garments."

I got the nod from Mrs. A. and the scene eventually changed to me and Mrs. A doing a twosome while he watched wearing nothing but boxer shorts and black socks held up with garter straps.

Afterwards, Mrs. A gave me twenty-five hundred dollars, which she said was half of the four thousand he paid, plus a five hundred dollar tip from her.

This is a strange place, like I said.