This tale of getting tail takes place in The Middle of Nowhere, Nevada, in one of the dozen or so legal brothels still standing post-pandemic where I, dear reader, am a fully licensed courtesan—a designation that requires a shit ton of paperwork, medical testing, state certifying, and gusto to earn (wipes dirt off shoulder).
Working as such in a regulated brothel, you come across a lot of virgins. Some are brought in by their uncles or dads who treat, a few visit with their also-virgin best buds opting to break the seal together, and most are around age 21, the legal minimum to partake in services at any legitimate American cathouse (all located in Nevada counties with populations under 700,000, BTW—i.e. not Vegas). But one very sweet virgin I had the pleasure of initiating was a man named Adam* who had waited to pop his cherry until his mid-forties, when he saw my profile on the brothel’s website and made an appointment to see me.
Before I get on with this story, a moment of silence for my Ultra Catholic upbringing and decades of sexual repression (in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Patriarchy). And now, a moment of celebration! It’s pretty fucking cool to go from abstinence-only education and Jesus painted life-size in the living room to fully embracing my money kink as a bona fide whore. I guess I prayed hard enough to make my dreams cum true.
More From Cosmopolitan
And Adam was a dream client: a kind, gentle, autistic man who lived with his parents in another state and traveled all the way to Nevada to be with me—a total sweetie. We’d emailed back and forth to prepare for his visit, communicating his sensory needs ahead of time so I could best accommodate: low-volume music, no cross-conversation, and no strong perfume. The last one was easy—I never wear perfume at the brothel because, well, not all clients are virgins without wives to go home to.
When the big day arrived, I saw a man walk into the parlor wearing khakis, a blue windbreaker, and a backpack. This has to be my guy. He looked a little shy, a lot innocent, and hilariously close to Steve Carrell’s character in The 40-Year-Old Virgin.
“Hi, I’m GG!” I said with a wave, noticing that his body language communicated a hug would be too intense just yet.
“Oh, I know! Wow–you’re even prettier than your pictures,” he replied, making me feel famous and hitting my praise kink just right.
“Why thank you! Let’s head to my room and I’ll give you a tour along the way.”
As we walked down the endless hall to my quarters, I pointed out some of our specialty setups and made my favorite tour guide jokes, telling Adam to “cum inside” each room I showed him.
“Any questions so far?” I asked, standing on the waterproof bed in the Nuru room (IYKYK—if you don’t know, definitely look it up).
“No, this is all so—I mean you’re so incredible! I just don’t know what I would do with all this,” he muttered nervously.
I assured him that what he was feeling was normal. I’d say 60 percent of the people that visit the brothel are nervous newbies, 30 percent are down to go at least a little outside the vanilla box, and 10 percent or less are freaks with amazing fantasies they want to play out (like the couple who visited me and payed $XX,XXX just to tickle me). I showed him the rest quickly: the sex tape room, the BDSM dungeon (he looked terrified) and we continued our trek to my suite—the only place I can legally discuss my pricing.
“Welcome to my Temple of Worship!” I said as I opened the door to my immersive masterpiece. Sheer curtains separated the bathroom, hallway, and bedroom, twinkly fairy lights hung above the bed, and prints of my artwork decorated every wall.
“So, Adam! Tell me more about what brought you here and if you have a budget in mind, or we can look at my menu.”
Most of the courtesans make their own menu listing their individual services and pricing. Each lady’s pricing is unique to her, the sky’s the limit, and the only set dollar amounts are the house minimums.
“As for why I’m here, well, I haven’t really done this sort of thing before,” he shared.
“Right, it’s your first time in a brothel, you said earlier. So, has it been a while for you since being intimate with someone?”
“Well, yes, but longer than a while. I mean, I’ve been on a couple coffee dates with girls but I’ve never done anything.”
“Anything? Like—”
“Like I’ve never even held a girl’s hand.”
What?!?
“Well, we’re gonna change that right now!” I said enthusiastically, taking his hand in mine and watching his eyes light up. A smile grew big and wide across his face and I knew we had to make this work—it now felt important.
“I’ve got you. As a Goddess, I would be honored to guide you through all the bases—except kissing on the mouth because we don’t do fluid exchange here.”
“Yes! I would really like that.”
When we agreed to 30 minutes in heaven for the $X,XXX he could afford, I gave him a congratulatory hug, covering another base without even trying.
“The next step is your STI screening,” I told him, motioning for him to step into the bathroom, which had brighter lighting for the DC.
The “DC,” or dick check (“PC” for female clients), is a built-in precaution that makes working in the legal brothel feel safer than casual dating. I put on my medical gloves and grabbed his already hard and dripping-with-pre-cum cock, swiping an alcohol wipe up and down his shaft and balls while looking for signs of STIs. Unsurprisingly, this virgin was pristine.
“All clear! You can put your clothes back on and we’ll go pay.”
The paperwork in the office is the only part of luxury, legal sex work that I find unsexy. You have to stand under fluorescent lights while your client signs forms, scans their ID, and leaves thumbprints. I love the safety, but I’d love it more in romantic lighting.
Back in my room, Adam undressed and folded his clothes neatly in a pile. As he showered I set the room for us, closing the curtains halfway so that the afternoon sunlight spilled in just enough, and threw a crisp sheet over the bed. I slipped into my hot pink thong bodysuit just as the shower water turned off.
“Mmm you’re all clean for me now,” I said, handing him a bathrobe since I knew he was too shy to start off naked. “Why don’t you lay on the bed?”
“Yes, Goddess.”
Oh good boy! He’s playing along!
“I’m going to get us started by dancing for you, okay?”
“Yes, please, that sounds incredible!”
I loved how he was boyishly sweet in demeanor, yet daddy in age. I moved my body to the velvety vocals of Beach House (on low volume), showing off my curves by tracing my silhouette with my hands. I slipped one strap down my arm, paused, then the next, sticking my ass out right in front of him.
“Why don’t you unsnap my bodysuit for me?” I suggested.
He reached his slightly shaky hand to my crotch and unsnapped my thong, revealing my pink paradise underneath.
“Isn’t she pretty? You can really look—I’m not shy.”
“Ohhh wow, so beautiful,” he uttered. Then, “May I touch you?”
“You may, but only on the outside.”
He traced the lines of my outer lips with his thumbs and I found myself totally aroused by his first-timer touch.
I turned to face him and pulled the front of my lingerie down, letting my titties spill out. Without words, I brought my chest to his face and he instinctively opened his mouth. I felt divine as he took me in, doing a great job of sucking his Goddess and covering yet another base.
“Now I want you to feel my mouth on you!” I squealed.
I untied his robe and grabbed a non-lubricated condom (the best for blow jobs so you don’t eat lube), popping it on with my mouth. And just like that we were rounding third. I showed him my smile as I licked back and forth gleefully, alternating between sucking hard, nibbling gently, and riding him with my face. When I could tell any more of my mouth might make him burst, I stopped.
“Are you ready for the home run, Adam?!”
“Yes!!!”
I got on top, putting his cock at my opening, and took a deep breath—this was a big moment for him! I exhaled and slowly started allowing him in, relaxing my pussy onto his shaft bit by bit, until at last, he was fully inside me.
“Ohhh it feels so good,” he let out, adding, “You’re so warm!”
I was getting wetter and wetter, already starting to feel close, so I grabbed my vibrator from the nightstand and held it to my clit. The vulnerability, the trust, the money, and the power of initiating him—it was all simmering in me toward a delicious climax.
“I’m so close!” I yelled, and my own sounds of rapture were the last push needed to get me over my edge. “I’m coming! Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!”
“Yes!” He exclaimed, so damn thrilled about my O.
“Okay, pause,” I said breathlessly, dismounting to fully enjoy my own climax as ripples of ecstasy waved through my body. When I caught my breath I said, “There’s just one base left that we haven’t tried…”
I pulled off the condom and lubed up my hands. He was still rock solid, feeling like a PVC pipe as I stroked his cock. I cupped his balls and went to town jerking him, making a wet, rhythmic soundtrack out of his pleasure.
“I’m very close!” He shouted.
“Good, I want you to let yourself explode. Don’t hold back—I want every drop!” I could feel I was going to milk out his full load, and just then: “I’m coming!”
I held the head of his cock as jizz came pouring out into my hands. He was pulsating, shooting out more, then still a bit more, in an absolutely gorgeous eruption. His face looked satisfied and relieved all at once—like he was downright happy.
If this were a movie we’d cut to Adam’s wedding day one year later and see him glowing with his hot new wife and his hot new life. But the reality is, I’ll never know what happened next in his story, or even his real name—the brothel shreds all paperwork as soon as payments clear and clients leave happy. But I know one thing for sure: he came to me with zero bases covered, and I sent him home fully (un)loaded.
*Name has been changed.
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!
