Here in the parlor the atmosphere was quite different; the jukebox blared out an old tune and women in bikinis were milling around or sitting listlessly, smoking.  Half a dozen men were scattered around, a couple were seated between some small groups of women. There were several red faded couches, shades cocked on the floor lamps next to them. Over one of the couches, a series of three pictures was hanging crookedly. They were cheap reproductions depicting a cowboy's funeral with the mourners most obviously ladies of the evening.

All conversation stopped when we walked in, both of us very conspicuous in our street clothing. A couple of the girls welcomed Candy back.  She smiled as she told them I was in her family and therefore, I was okay. I felt like a baby chick beneath its mother's wing, protected. But, protected from what? As far as I could tell, I was the newest thing in the room besides the jukebox and Coke machine. As we continued through the parlor, we passed an open door with a sign above it reading "MEN." There was no door, so I was not completely surprised to find a man standing at one of the urinals. Embarrassed, I turned my head the other way. We continued through to the lounge area I thought to be even more depressing.

Everything here was so run down, even the books on the bookshelf looked as though they had seen a better day. The only hopes left were those for my room, but they were shattered just as easily as the rest when Candy opened the door. The room could not have been more than 10 x l2 feet. Candy must have noticed the disappointment on my face, "Don't look so glum, you have the only room with it's own bathroom."

This was the only room with a bathroom? What kind of place was this?  Would it mean I would have a constant stream of people through here to use it? The bathroom only had a toilet and sink though, prompting me to ask her where the bathing facilities were.

"There are two bathtubs; one down the hall, the other closer to the kitchen. Also there are two showers right off of our lounge area."

I continued looking around the room. One wall was entirely antiqued mirrored squares, another had a window covered by a not-so-expertise job of tin foil taped over it. I noticed the ceiling had a floor length mirror situated over the bed, reflecting a group of stuffed animals. I placed my stuffed dog among them and sank down on the bed, surprised by its hardness. "What do they do to these beds, put boards under them?" I asked sarcastically.

"You got it sister, good for your back. You go ahead and unpack, then get ready for the floor.  That means a bikini." She turned and left me there alone..

I noticed a closet with some drawers and began to unpack slowly. I walked into the bathroom and there was another small window, louvered and opaque. I opened it, wanting to look outside.  I closed it almost immediately; there was nothing to look at but a chain link fence and more desert. Back in the bedroom widened eyes located a black light over the bed, and I wondered who had been in charge of the interior decorations.  I heard a knock just before the door opened. It was Bev.  "All right if I come in and talk to you for awhile?" 

"Sure, come on in.  I'm nearly finished unpacking." I felt like talking now and wanted to tell her everything; all of the disappointments, my gnawing fears of what is about to happen, everything, but I could tell it wasn't the right time.

"Whenever a new girl comes in we like to have a talk to find out more about you, and what you know."

What I know. Well, I could tell her a thing or two about what I know now, versus what I knew a few short hours ago.

"Have you ever worked before?" She was quite frank.

"No, not like this." I could not tell her that I had never turned a trick before, though she probably already knew.  She went on to ask some rather embarrassing questions, “How many positions do you know?  Can you  French?”   Apparently this is part of the standard job interview.

So far I was doing well answering the most intimate of questions--until she asked a real stumper. "Have you ever worked on your period?"

"No, too messy, why?"  Best I tell the truth about this.

“Here, most of the girls go ahead and work while on their periods. They use the sponge."

"The sponge?" I was really lost.

"It's a natural sea sponge, like you use for applying cosmetics, Max Factor has a good one. You just wet it, wring it out good and insert it as you would an ordinary tampon. The texture of it cannot be detected by the man, and you avoid the mess…when you've finished and are douching, just reach in, pull it out, wash it and reinsert it as before. Don't worry, someone will help you when the time comes."

I was really fascinated. This is the sort of thing separating a prostitute from the average woman. I was eager for her to reveal more of the trade secrets.

"We’ll have one of the older girls show you how to check a guy for V.D. later, when you are ready to work. I suppose Candy filled you in on most everything else you should know.  The house rules are posted in the kitchen, you should take a look at them later.”

"Thank you, it won't take me long to get ready." Well, at least that part of my fantasy was still intact; there are trade secrets to be learned. I wanted to know all of them, and was pretty sure I would in due time. Just before she walked out the door she turned and smiled, "I've always found a few sexy words murmured in his ear, at the right time, will help make things easier on you." Then she closed the door behind her.

What did she mean, I? I never would have taken her for a prostitute.  She was letting me know in her own way, she had just let me know she had been in my shoes before. It did not seem to make her a weirdo.

I was thinking back to what Candy had told me about checking a man for V.D.; "You just put your left hand underneath his testicles, take his penis in your right one. Using a stroking motion, massage his penis, and then it will produce a drop of seminal fluid. It's called milking him down."

I put a drop of saliva on my thumb like she had instructed, then touching it with my index finger, I pulled them apart slowly, seeing the glistening saliva, clear and stringing between my fingers.

"This is what should happen when you test the drop. If it's cloudy or runny, you must check him again. If it is runny, the chances are he has just taken a piss, and it's only urine. In this case, ask him.  If he did, tell him to go back out and wait about fifteen minutes... should be enough time to clean out the passages. However, if it's cloudy, it's a completely different story. The first question you should ask him is; have you masturbated recently?  Has he been with another woman before you?  If he answers yes, to either question then we can assume it's merely sperm caught in the passage. Just fill your cock pan with very warm water, have him hold it beneath his organs and splash it over him, massaging his penis all the while. The warm water will help clear the passage for a new drop for testing. If you have any doubts whatsoever, call for a D.C., another girl to double check for you." There was so much to have to remember.

I decided to wear my orange bikini, the one with the gold rings holding it together. Eyeing myself in the mirror, I concluded I didn't look half bad, especially since opting to take Candy's suggestion of falsies. "After all," she explained, "who can't use a little help?  We all use them."

I moved the animals on the bed up nearer to the pillows; to make room for the beach towel I was shown how put across the bed to prevent accidents. Now there was another example of misconception; you do not turn your trick under the covers instead, to shorten time up, you do it on top of the beach towel.  It seemed so clinical, so cold to do it that way. This was a finely calculated business, obviously structured for volume business. The thought was frightening. How many men would I be seeing on this fourteen hour shift?

Finally I stalled around as long as I dared.  I reached for my new pay card, folding it in the manner I observed the other girls doing and placed it in the back of my bikini.  I grabbed my cigarettes and lighter as I was going out the door.

Candy was coming down the hall towards me.  "I figured I'd come and get you, it's nearly time for us to go on shift."  Together we walked down the corridors occasionally passing another bikinied, bewigged girl always with a man in tow. I took a deep breath as we entered the parlor, and she led me to a couch with vacant seating. I lit a cigarette immediately trying desperately to look nonchalant about the whole thing, but the truth is I was scared, plenty scared. All of the other girls in the room were staring at me, long hard looks.  I tried curling up in my seat, feeling somewhat naked dressed only in a bikini and not a hell of a lot of bravado.

I tried not to look at the men seated around the room but I noticed most of them were drinking cans of Coors. I was terrified, yet oddly excited.  What would happen next?

The intruding noise of the buzzer announcing the arrival of new customers interrupted my thoughts.   I soon discovered it always brought the same reaction from the women; they scurry up out of their seats and begin to form a semi-circle, hands folded in the back. I followed Candy and took the place standing next to her.

Just as the last girl got into place, the double doors facing us opened and in walked three men.

"Step on up fellas, and take your choice, they're all nice girls." Alberta ushered them in.

"Trina, Fancy, Toy, Chi-Chi..." each girl recited her name until it was my turn.

"Buffy." I said in a voice barely audible. I could not look up, choosing the floor for safety.  When at last no other names were being called out I dared to look up. Two of the men were headed in the direction of the girls at the opposite end. The third one  kept looking up and down the line, sometimes pausing to give a girl the real once-over.  I saw him smirk and start walking in my direction. Suddenly he held up a hand and pointed his finger directly at me, "I'll take you."