She asks me if I have been to a brothel before. I lie and tell her, “No, and I have no idea what to expect. I don’t even know if I can afford to be here.” This is not actually a lie, since I assume that prices have gone up since 1995.

She is very complimentary and skilled at putting me at ease. This is good because I’m surprisingly anxious. I’ve been close to hundreds of nearly naked, gorgeous women in the Vegas strip joints, and I’ve had more hot lap dances than I can remember. But today I’m going to get naked with this girl and anything can happen.

After 20 minutes of conversation I learn that she lives in Los Angeles and comes to work at Sheri’s two weeks per month. She claims that when in L.A. she has a completely different career and does not do any kind of hooking. She’s very likable and I’m impressed at how intelligent she is.

By this time I had seen about ten other girls in the bar. All of them were attractive, but my girl was outstanding.

I tell her, “It’s not going to get any better than you. I don’t need to see a line-up. But I don’t know if I can afford your time.”

“Well, let’s go to my room and talk about it,” she says.

“And if I decide I can’t afford you, there will be no hard feelings, right? And I can come back here for a line-up?”

“Absolutely,” she replies.

With that, I let her take me by the hand and lead me away.  

Negotiating the Price at Sheri’s Ranch

We leave the bar and walk out into the area you’d be in if you came in by the door marked, “Girls Girls Girls.” It looks like a large living room with upholstered chairs and love seats. This is where the girls present themselves to customers for the so called “line-up.”

I’m impressed with the tasteful décor. Recently renovated, it has none of the stereotypical “whorehouse red” velvet. It’s a classy, comfortable, brightly-lit room that would put anyone at ease.

We walk along a long corridor. To my left are large windows that open onto a landscaped central courtyard, with a beautiful swimming pool, highlighted by a rock scape waterfall in the center. As we stroll along I occasionally drop back a few paces so I can admire the work of art that is her magnificent ass—her firm, round cheeks “covered” by only that black g-string.

We pass a room with a Jacuzzi and another outfitted as a dungeon.   As we walk, she compliments me on how I’m dressed and tells me she loves my salt and pepper hair, and that I’m really sexy. As much as I’d like to believe these things, I’m still thinking clearly enough to know we haven’t even begun negotiations yet.

Finally we arrive at her room. It’s clean and comfortable but unremarkable—simply a bedroom with a queen size bed, a large bathroom and a walk-in closet. It’s surprisingly free of any personal items and nothing about its décor can be described as erotic. There are no pictures or photos on the walls, no sensuous fabrics. The mood might actually be heightened by some of that old-fashioned “whorehouse red” velvet.

She invites me to sit down on a love seat opposite the bed and asks me what I want. I’m pleasantly surprised to see, in the good light of the bedroom, that she’s actually prettier than she looked in the dim light of the bar. A natural beauty, she is wearing very little make-up. I estimate her to be 27 years old, tops.

I say, “Please make this easy for me.”

“Okay,” she says, and then immediately shuts up.

“Classic salesmanship,” I think to myself. I say, “Do you charge by the activity or the time?”

“We charge by activity. I’m a reasonable, easy-going girl. I like to have a good time. I like to play. I like to do massages, blow jobs, sex in all different positions, kissing, all the good stuff, but I don’t do anything anal. If you want to stay all night long and have two girls it could run up to $10,000.”

To which I respond, “I’d like to spend an hour to an hour and a half here with you this afternoon.” I then make a lame attempt to negotiate a better price by saying, “I’m the kind of guy that will be back if I have a great time this afternoon.”

To which she responds, “Well, if you want to spend an hour and a half and have a ‘girlfriend experience,’ it will be $2000.”

I am genuinely shocked! “Two grand is completely out of the question!” I say.

“Well, the average is $1000 an hour,” she says.

At this point, I stand up as if to leave and say, “I guess I’ll just have to be satisfied that I’ve had the pleasure of your company today. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

Apparently convinced by my performance, she counters with, “Well, why don’t we do a really nice party for $500?”

“That would be $500 for a half hour?” I ask.

“Well, I’m not that much of a stickler for time, maybe up to forty minutes. So if you’d like to start out like that we can, and if you decide you want to stay longer we can do that as well.”

“Well, $500 is the absolute top I set for myself here today.”

“You sure you can’t go $700?”

“Let me show you what I’ve got,” I say, and I literally pulled out my wallet to show her the cash. “$507, that’s it.”

She laughed and said, “Okay, but let me take a look at your pecker to make sure you’re all right.”