My Experience with a Courtesan at Sheri’s Ranch Brothel
By guest blogger, Nedd Ludd.
I’m on the road to Pahrump, Nevada to do research for my “undercover brothel review.” I’m incredibly excited, but also a little scared. It’s been nearly 20 years since I’ve been to a brothel.
Before leaving Las Vegas I stop at the bank and withdraw $500, hoping I can get away with spending no more than $300 of that.
My trip starts at the Red Rock Casino. Driving west on Hwy 160, I enter the incredibly beautiful Red Rock canyon. The city of Las Vegas and 150 years disappear. It’s 1870 and I’m a cowboy on horseback riding to a “cathouse.” The romance of that vision gets me even more excited.
After about an hour of driving, I stop and, somewhat self-consciously, ask directions of a young guy at a gas station at the intersection of Highway 160 and Homestead Road. He answers as if it’s the most natural question in the world: “Make a left on Homestead and go about seven miles to the end of the road. You’ll find both the Chicken Ranch and Sheri’s.” The landmark at that intersection is a white castle-like building known locally as the Kingdom Gentlemen’s Club.
The final leg of the trip down Homestead Road is uninspiring—a two-lane potholed road that does not in any way prepare you for the beauty and delight of your destination.
Just before reaching the brothel I stop at the Terrible Herbst Casino. (I find it’s always best to check with the locals.) I ask the bartender which of the two brothels is better. He calls over one of the waitresses who regularly gets the skinny from her customers.
“I’m told the girls at Sheri’s are prettier,” she says. I tip her and leave.
Approaching the brothels, the scenery improves dramatically. It’s the Wild West again—open spaces, horses grazing and big sky. I decide to eyeball each place and then make a choice.
Pulling into the Chicken Ranch parking lot I notice a sign outside that says, “Ladies Welcome” and I see eight parked cars. I decide to move on and check out Sheri’s. There I see twice as many vehicles. What I’m most impressed with is that both places look a lot more inviting than when I visited in 1995. Back then, both were just a group of trailers strung together.
At the Brothel — I Meet the Girl for Me
I decide on Sheri’s. The exterior of the place is attractive, with large reproductions of the erotic art of Olivia on the walls. There are two entrances—above one door the neon says “Sports Bar” and above the other, “Girls Girls Girls.” I opt to enter the sports bar. I’m so nervous I’m afraid my voice will crack like a 13-year old if I don’t have a drink before I ask for the so-called “line-up” of girls.
The dark and loud bar could be any one of a hundred local joints in Las Vegas. There are sports programs playing on the TV’s and a pool table to my right. The difference is that there are several hot young girls sitting off to my left wearing skimpy lingerie. They smile at me as I move to the bar. (What a friendly place!) I sit down and order a beer. The bartender immediately asks me if I want to see the girls.
“I’d like to have a beer before I see the line-up,” I said.
The beer—a Heineken—is reasonably priced at $5.00. The bartender serves me, and 15 seconds after she sets it down—I timed it—a woman comes over and introduces herself. She’s tall, maybe 5’7”, with blonde hair and brown eyes. She’s as beautiful as any woman I have ever been close to. She has enormous breasts, a flat stomach and a small, tight, world-class ass. She’s wearing a black g-string and a pink bra, and is extremely friendly. I offer her a drink, which she declines. I like the fact that she doesn’t hustle me for an expensive drink.
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.
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.”
I’m wondering what she thinks she can tell about my sexual health by a visual inspection. Does she have x-ray vision? But I’m not about to argue, so I unzip my pants and pull it out.
“You have a nice pecker,” she said. I admit to her that I’m self-conscious about the size of my cock. “Believe me, baby,” she says, “You’ve got a big dick.”
I really, really want to believe her, but at this point I’m still capable of thinking with the “big head.” So I give her the cash.
“Let me go take care of business,” she says. “I’ll get you another beer. Just make yourself comfortable. Mi casa, su casa. Take off your clothes and I’ll be right back.”
As she’s leaving she put on a CD by the Dixie Chicks. I strip down to my boxers and look around the room, opening the drawers and closet. I find condoms, a dildo and lubrication.
Five minutes later she reappears and asks, “Are you sure you can’t put another $200 on your credit card so we can spend an hour together?”
I’m a little annoyed. “No, let’s just go with what we discussed.”
“Okay, baby,” she says, and she peels off the g-string.
Omigod. No hair or tan lines! Now in just her pink bra and high heels, she is the embodiment of all my teenage centerfold fantasies.
Sex in a Brothel — Surprisingly Passionate
As I stand there, stunned and staring, a slow, very romantic song called, “Cowboy, Take Me Away,” begins to play. I grab her hand and start slow dancing with her. The combination of her huge breasts pressed up against my chest, the sweet smell of her hair, and the feel of her smooth, tight ass in my hands literally makes my head spin. I feel like a 16-year-old at the high school dance, only this time I’m grinding with a naked Playboy bunny.
I kiss her neck and turn her face up towards me. I can’t resist kissing that beautiful mouth. She responds with one of the most passionate, erotic and romantic kisses I’ve ever had. We continue like this for the duration of the song, with me getting increasingly intoxicated with lust. I’m enjoying this so much that I ask her to play the song a second time.
When it ends the second time, we have been together no more than six minutes and my little head is now firmly in control. I tell her, “I’ve gotta be with you for an hour. I’ll pop for the extra $200.”
“Just show me your credit card so I know you’ve got one, and we can settle up when we’re all done,” she says.
We jump into bed and make out a little while longer. Then she looks at me and says, “I want to suck your dick. I don’t think you have any objection, do you?”
“To be honest with you, I’d rather eat you,” I say.
“You any good at it?” she asks.
“I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”
So she lies back and I head south. Reaching my destination I realize I have hit the Trifecta—not just shaven silky smooth, but peachy pink and sweet smelling. I eat her like a man dying of starvation. After licking her for a few minutes, I slide a finger inside of her and find—jackpot!—she’s wet. I know now that this is going to be a great great time and worth every penny.
Ten minutes of my tongue’s attention and she comes, or at least, she makes me believe she has come. Then, after popping a condom on me, she gives me an enthusiastic blow job.
Now it’s time for the main event and she hops aboard, riding me hard and fast. I’m very impressed with her energy and enthusiasm. Watching her buck up and down, I’m reminded of the song we slow danced to, but I mentally change the title to “Cowgirl, Take Me Away.”
After a bit I suggest we change positions and she tells me she likes missionary the best, so I think, “Why not?” We grind away in that position for a while and then take a little break.
“Would you like to watch me play with myself with a dildo?” she says.
“Hell yes,” I say. She goes to the bedside table and comes back with a small dildo. I appreciate how diplomatic she is, choosing one that’s smaller than my equipment. As I watch and stroke myself, she works it in and out, caressing herself at the same time.
Now apparently close to coming, she hollers, “Squeeze my tit and suck on my nipple,” which I do until she comes, loud and hard.
Now it’s time to finish doggy style, so she flips over and sticks that incredible ass up in the air. I slide in and start hammering away. I’m crazy with desire! She’s talking dirty, the bed is shaking, I’m shaking. It’s a transcendental moment and I explode, Peter North style!
We both catch our breath, clean up, and get dressed. As we walk to the office to settle up on the extra $200, I see what seems to be a married couple, probably about 40, getting a tour of the place from one of the girls. (At least some of the girls, including mine, do threesomes.)
Back in the bar, she buys me a drink and we chat a bit longer. There are a half dozen men in there and one couple. After a few minutes a red light starts flashing and a siren blares, indicating that all the girls need to appear for the line-up in the next room. She excuses herself, kisses me on the cheek and walks out of my life.
I finish my beer and head home with a big smile on my face.
Would I Do It Again?
So the question of course is, was it worth it? Well, I had an intensely erotic experience with a truly beautiful woman who had a killer body and outstanding sexual skills.
It was a perfectly legal experience, free of disease or guilt or the risk of arrest.
There was no chance of me getting scammed or beaten up by a pimp.
No doubt, it was expensive. $700 is definitely a lot of money to me, especially when I think of how hard I worked to get it. But when I think of how quickly $700 goes for other forms of entertainment, it’s almost a bargain.
Would I do it again? Yes, I definitely would and will, and I look forward to my next visit, though I can’t afford to do it as often as I’d like.
I’d encourage anyone coming to Las Vegas who’s in the market to buy sex to seriously consider a brothel. Bear in mind that it will take a minimum of $500 to make the trip worth it.
I also recommend that you make an afternoon of it. Indulge yourself in that fantasy of being a cowboy, riding the range heading for the whorehouse. If you’re going at night, you might want to look into the brothel’s free round-trip transportation (call at least one hour in advance to reserve your ride). You don’t want to be driving in the dark through the mountains on Highway 160 if you’ve been drinking.
[For more information on Vegas brothels, escorts, freelance prostitutes and massage parlors, see our brothels and escorts page.]