Travel Sketch - A Trip to the Brothel

Travel Sketch - A Trip to the Brothel

Enlightenment, some people say, comes to us not as an addition to the sum of what we already are, but by subtraction. We are, already, Enlightened, or - as those who seem to know the subject best are wont to say - "we are Enlightenment!" Drop what clouds your vision and you will quite simply see. As I wrapped up my second score of years, my soul became bulimic. The reason for this was simply that I found myself satiated with every other thing besides that which I was starving for. I had always been a stubborn unbeliever! Divorce was not an option! Marriage is forever! A fool of a romantic, I (with all my heart) believed true love was magic, overcoming all to set the whole world right. You can see the setup. Most prisons of this world lock from the inside. When Push and Shove contend, what's left is Go and Come (and Go)!

There was in these time and place, an older US highway, built before the Interstate, bisected by a major road that ran straight north from Dallas, rising like a hard-on under drive-in movie stars. There were, in this time and place, a clustering of businesses that catered to the weak and wretched. Human nature being as it is, what one denies some other (for a fee) supplies. Consider it a grand advancement on the practices of plumbing. And if the simple twisting of the faucet brings release, then hey! Count it all another step towards final liberation!

Hid from the highway, somewhat further East from all the rest which clustered like moths around a single blinking signal light. An unobtrusive metal sign read "Michelle's Ranch", otherwise one might never see the gravel driveway in the darkness. Darkness, for here we're in the land between police jurisdictions, where street lights constitute one part per million, and traffic control consists solely of stop signs, not a single one unmarred by bullet holes.

The gravel driveway curved into a circle, leading to the front door of a single story ranch house. Half a baker’s dozen cars on most nights, a mix of ministering angels and their clients. Parking in the dark, stepping through the grayish dust, I was always so surprised at how my heart was pounding, and how my mouth got dry.

Coming through the door someone would always greet me, asking if this was my maiden visit (it almost never was). A call went out, and then the evening's choices lined up for consideration (minus those already entertaining guests). The menu was a mirror of the locals tastes: a large black girl with golden teeth. An oriental girl, a dark-eyed latin with a vicious tongue, and always several variants on young vanilla. All the girls were - to my eye - in their early twenties.

Call me old fashion. Call me a square. Call me anything you care to - hell, I used to frequent cathouses! Nonetheless I've always liked vanilla. Mind you, had I early vigor still and had the need again I'm sure I'd sample everything. Except, perhaps, that vicious tongue!

The sweeter and more innocent appearing of the white girls had me call her Taylor. I have not a clue as to her real name, but I would be surprised if it were Taylor. North Central Texas is the shiny buckle of the bible belt, and it makes perfect sense to keep at least a foot of insulation separating dark and daylight lives. Those of you who've never served their time in fundamentalist ghettos have no idea how human beings get themselves exiled from their own bodies. What might, to you, seem healthy, proper, can be cursed until stress fractures form within the soul.

not all love will last forever,

not all illicit sex is sin,

prostitutes - and married women.

yes! I'd do them all again!

This ranch house always charged you for a room - an hour costing sixty-five, and you would never want a shorter span of time to do your work. You then negotiated with the girl for what you wanted. I - a simple soul with simple tastes (vanilla, remember?) - needed only standard ministrations with regards to backed up plumbing. After showing me to my just-rented room - containing bed and nightstand boasting lamp and business cards - I was left alone with one admonishment. "Get comfortable." This does NOT mean "take a load off, stretch out and relax" but "take your clothes off." And Taylor disappeared.

It always seemed that she was gone a long, long time. Moments that you're paying for - like taxi miles - pass in a hurry.

When she returned she wore a thin white open tunic, lacy bra and panties always underneath. Slowly she removed them in a sort of strip-tease, always in the order of priority. And always, just like real life, Christmas always took forever.

Beneath me, face down.

I hear her softly moaning

as she claws bed sheets.

I will not bore you, gentle reader, with the mechanics of our business dealings. Doubtless you've engaged in some transaction corresponding to the deed alluded to - allowing for the differences in financing and taste. But let me simply say that in a drought of real affection, simple squeals of young delight - appreciation - fell like long anticipated, yet unhoped-for, rain.

My small deposit made, I was another teaspoon closer to Enlightenment.

Post-Script:

Once the "marriage" fell to pieces I was exiled to the North. Returning three years later, I was sad to see a subdivision and a shopping mall had swept away the ranch with all it's angels.

Driving down old roads,

Back from my northern exile,

Only now I find

Hypocrites have boarded up

The Frisco pleasure palace.

~