Thank goodness I was already a smarty before stepping into legal sex work a few years ago. You absolutely must be a savvy businesswoman if you want to work in one of the 19 regulated Nevada brothels still standing post-pandemic. But even with the tedious logistics (don’t worry, I’ve detailed ’em below), becoming one of the ~200 legal courtesans working at any time in the U.S. is the best decision I’ve ever made.
Working at the bordello has elevated my entire life. Not only have I earned my “MBA” in negotiating (while garnering a cool six figures) but I’ve felt more powerful and safe sexually than ever before. In the cathouse, condoms are mandatory, no fluid exchange occurs (even BJs require barriers), and security is onsite 24/7. Being out in the desert for one to four weeks at a time (AKA a “tour”) feels like going to Sexy Adult Summer Camp, complete with the camp friends I never had growing up. (I should probably mention I have a rock hard money kink that pretty obviously stems from my Ultra Catholic™ upbringing as the youngest of eight kids who were on and off food stamps.) And I wouldn’t change a thing.
Here’s a peek inside a typical day for a bonafide, high-end whore. Come with me, dear reader, behind brothel doors…
But First, The Fees
You make a ton of money as a legal courtesan but, like any business, there are startup costs and ongoing fees. You’re responsible for your travel to and from the brothel, which could run anywhere from $100 in gas money if you’re close enough to drive (like me), or $1,000+ in airfare if you’re flying in. You also have to pay for mandatory supplies like condoms, dental dams, rubbing alcohol, antibacterial soap, latex gloves, lube, and the basic accoutrements: toys, lingerie, and heels. (My first round stocking up on all that set me back a whopping $1500.) After buying your annual Nevada business license ($200), weekly STI/HIV medical testing ($130), quarterly background check and fingerprinting at the sheriff’s office ($150), and turning in your inch-thick pile of paperwork, you can finally start working as a card-carrying sex worker.
Weekly room and board comes out of your paycheck ($450), and—brace yourself—the house takes at least 50 percent of all your earnings and tips. When a client uses the “complimentary” driver from Vegas, they take 65 percent (ouch!). You’ll also tip out housekeeping and brothel staff, but even with the painful dues, you can still make a killing.
The Typical Routine
Although each day in a brothel can look completely different—some earning me $30,000, others $0—here’s what I can usually expect to make during an average week:
Monday to Wednesday, B.C. (Before Clearing): Before “clearing” (receiving the “all clear” on my STI/HIV testing), I take care of routine logistics at the brothel, arriving early Monday morning to claim my room. The rooms are first come, first served, and they vary in size and “niceness.” I usually drive to Nevada from L.A. with a brothel buddy (road trip!), and use the rest of Monday to hang at the pool and hot tub or head into town for a supply run at Walmart (literally the only thing around “to do”).
On Tuesday, two nurse practitioners and a phlebotomist (all female) visit the cathouse, swabbing all the pussies and taking blood draws. I also use Tuesday to check my brothel email (only accessible on premises), respond to appointment inquiries, and have some R&R before the busy week ahead. By Wednesday, my results are in and I can start working (assuming we are mid-quarter and I don’t have to head to the sheriff’s office for my background check and fingerprinting).
Thursday, 8 a.m.: I wake up leisurely (instead of setting an alarm, I leave my room phone on loud so I can be reached for requests and hear announcements) and head outside to exercise—topless yoga by the pool, because vibes. Hopefully I slept through the night, but if I was interrupted by a bar call (when a client comes in and wants to meet all the available ladies in the bar for a chat) or a line-up (a purely looks-based process where the client sits on a fancy couch and all the ladies line up, stepping forward one-by-one to introduce themselves), it was (ideally) worth it. Meaning: I heard the announcement, freshened up fast, presented myself to the potential client and we hit it off, so I made a bunch of midnight money, then went back to sleep.
Most girls prefer to be legit ladies of the night…as in, they’ll work a 5 p.m. to 5 a.m. shift because more action takes place then. My strategy, however, is to keep my “outside world” sleeping schedule by working days (5 a.m. to 5 p.m.), and on weekends, I stay up late catching extra fish. Luckily all courtesans get their own room, so there’s no worry about a snoring roommate—though I always hear the girl next door fucking at some point during my tour. My genuine favorite.
10 a.m.: No foot traffic, so I shower and put on a little makeup for the day. It’s not a hard rule, but “innocent” looking girls who wear less makeup tend to make more money, gaining a regular following of 50+ year-old gentlemen who fall in love with them. MILFs and curvy women also wipe the floor with their clientele.
2 p.m.: Woah, how is it 2 p.m. already?! I ask myself while enjoying my made-to-order taco bowl in the courtyard cabana, the dry desert wind tickling my skin. Time is incredibly weird here. Brothels exist in the Middle of Nowhere, Nevada (not in Vegas, as you may have misheard), and internet service can be iffy. It’s all very 1980s with $7 drinks and smoking permitted in the bar—like time is standing still. But brothel time can also speed up or down depending on my client load (no pun), the crazy desert weather, or how many of my friends are there to hang with (the roster rotates).
2:30 to 4:30 p.m.: When it’s slow, I use my free time to shoot content for my OnlyFans, submit my movie scripts to studios (I’m also a writer, as you might’ve guessed), exercise, manifest career opportunities, and laugh my ass off with my girls because the cathouse is, in fact, not very catty. My brothel besties know the depths of my heart (and what I look like naked) better than anyone. We even meet up in our home cities from time to time!
5 p.m.: Chillin’ in my room when the phone rings—someone is requesting me. (Clients see your picture on the brothel’s website or on the TV monitors in the bar which flash through all the available ladies, and can ask the hostess to meet you.) I get nervous-excited butterflies (this never fades) as I throw on a hot-pink lip, sexy silk robe and strappy lingerie, walking the long hall in my slippers. I’ll pop my heels on at the secret shoe rack closer to the bar, designed to save tired ho feet.
It’s a MF couple—decently cute with positive energy. I can tell they’re nervous as we get to chatting, but reassure them they came to the right goddess for the job threesome.
We head for negotiations back in my suite, the only place on-site I’m allowed to talk numbers. Legally the bar isn’t a licensed brothel, but the room I pay to rent and operate from is.
5:30 p.m.: I inform the couple on all the safety that will go into this threeway: No kissing on the mouth (closed skin areas only), zero fluid exchange (dental dams, latex panties, and condoms for going down), and male or female condoms for fucking are a must. We agree on activity, duration, and price. My average for couples is two hours at $12,000, but I’ve charged more and less depending on how much work—both physical and mental/emotional (people like to chat!)—will go into it.
5:45 p.m.: The couple is now pants-less in my bathroom as I swipe their genital skin with alcohol and look for any signs of STIs (aka, the requisite “dick/pussy check” every courtesan is trained to perform her first week on the job. Training is free and administered by more senior, experienced whores, btw.). If anything’s suspicious (i.e. the client winces from the alcohol, which suggests broken skin, or I can see sores or anything red or “angry”) I’ll call in a veteran lady for a second opinion, after which we may have to ask the client to leave and seek medical attention. In this case, they’re all clear.
6:15 p.m.: We’re finally finished with their paperwork and payment in the front office. I’m grateful for the safety of scanning driver’s licenses and fingerprinting clients, but by this point I’m wildly horny (money kink, remember?) so I get impatient.
At my bordello, when you spend above $5,000 like these two, you get to have your pick of any of the facilities to fuck in: the five private bungalows, BDSM dungeon, choose-your-own-kinky-adventure play space, Nuru massage room, or the voyeur room where you can be watched while playing. We could choose to party in my own room, which some clients prefer, but to accommodate three bodies, I pick the Roman-themed bungalow.
6:45 to 7:15 p.m.: We’ve officially started the clock on their $12K/two hours with me. All three of us take a sensual bubble bath together in the giant jacuzzi tub.
7:15 to 8:15 p.m.: I lead them through the best fucking threesome of their lives, toasting to “sex, money, and power!” with our complimentary, fancy-ass champagne when we’ve all finished.
8:15 to 8:45 p.m.: We down our steak and lobster (parties who spend $3K and above get made-to-order meals, the quality of which heavily depends on which chef is working, and in what mood they’re in). If my clients elect to eat with me, I factor that into our allotted time so that I’m not losing any profit. When we’re full, I get them dressed and back to the parlor, right on time for the hostess to check them out.
9:00 p.m.: I’m free to do whatever I want (on-site courtesans can only leave the grounds for supplies or emergencies).
10:00 p.m.: A guy requests me and I don’t like his energy or low-ball offers during negotiations, so I gracefully “walk” him, passing him back to the hostess who will try to pair him with a more fitting lady. Sometimes, it’s hard telling a client “no” while they’re sitting all hopeful (yet penniless) in my room. Sometimes they (the ignorant ones) assume I’m just a set of holes without feelings, forgetting they actually have to win me over to move forward. Over time, I’ve finessed my no-ing, and it helps knowing the brothel always has my back—not only are they listening through my room’s intercom during negotiations, but they prioritize the word of the courtesan if ever a client is upset or acting entitled.
10:30 p.m.: I take a dip in the hot tub under the glorious starry-night sky, thankful for the lack of light pollution. One of my friends joins all giddy from a $10K party she just wrapped where she initiated a virgin.
11:00 p.m.: I run down to the kitchen. It closes at 8 p.m., but I keep a stash of frozen vegan meals in the freezer. It’s the best damn meal of my life because, bitch, I’m $6K richer!
11:30 p.m.: I shower one more time, lay down, and take notes in a Google Doc about today’s booking (for taxes, and in case they return), then drift off to sleep smiling, saying a little prayer of “Thank you, more please” for my days to come.
GG Sauvage is a writer and all-around artist on a mission to f*ck shame away and empower people with self-love. She designed The Sexiest Deck Alive: Erotic Oracle Cards to Turn You On & Help You Turn the Corner, co-hosts the Basic Witches podcast, and wrote the audio drama Sex and the Synchronicity. See her work at Refinery29, Vogue Italia, Vulture, CollegeHumor, and WhoHaHa, and check out her website for more!
