Un adieu à mon bordel
It was one of a kind. It was the first of its kind.
It was a place where the men and women in attendance were ladies and gentlemen, and treated each other as such. A place where posted signs with rules and warnings did not exist. A place where such posted signs were not even remotely required… because these were ladies and gentlemen, after all. They knew the rules (they were common sense), respected them, and abided by them. Respect was the golden rule.
My favorite place in the world (okay, in this category, at least), this exclusive bordello was in a large home in a non-descript upper-middle class neighborhood. It had a driveway, window awnings, porch lights, and a hedge- nothing to distinguish it from any of the other expansive homes on this suburban lane, except for the activities inside.
In a measure of respect for the neighbors, it was open only on weekdays, from noon until 11pm or midnight. Gentlemen visitors knew to respect the neighbors and neighborhood when arriving and leaving. Despite these facts, the zoning was changed for the region in general, and not necessarily because of this house, but the house was eventually forced to close its doors. I’m getting ahead of myself, but that’s the sad ending.
The ladies in attendance ranged from bikini model types, to “the girl next door”, to “the MILF next door”. Generally in age from early 20’s to mid-late 30’s, with perhaps one or two in their early 40’s, there were usually 8–12 ladies in attendance. The number of gentlemen was capped at around 24–28, depending on the number of ladies, although the number of gentlemen present was usually just over half of that.
I am not an age chaser, or a bikini model-type chaser. I had just as much fun with the MILFs as I did with the 22 or 23-year old bikini models, although I will admit (I’m only human) it was a thrill to be with young ladies that would have been absolute fantasy fucks even when I was 25. (I’m not 25.)
Confession: I seek variety, and that’s why I enjoyed the bikini models, girls next door and the MILFs next door equally. Sexiness is not an age, not one body shape, and not one personality. Some regulars had favorites, but I enjoyed the entire rotation, so to speak.
I must apologize, as I’ve thus far only described the ladies physically. The ladies, these courtesans, were intelligent, most fluent in two or three languages, with one particular 25-year old girl-next-door type lady fluent in five languages. I spoke with her in 2.5 languages, and her intelligence extended well beyond linguistics.
I’m not well-versed in the world of geishas, but if the legends are true, with geishas (whether as sexual companions or just social companions) having been educated so as to be able to engage in interesting or intelligent conversation with their gentlemen companions, then I would rate many of these ladies as highly conversational, with most having great senses of humor as well.
When a gentleman buzzed at the door to enter, he would walk to a small reception desk, where a pretty sizeable entry fee was collected. Granted, though, this fee included ample, always delicious, high-quality catered hot and cold buffets, with outdoor BBQs on Fridays during the summer months. There was a bar, drinks also included, with soft drinks, coffee/espresso, beer, and a limited selection of hard spirits.
Remember what I said about gentlemen? Sobriety was the mood here, and I always joked that if they went through a case of beer per day, it was a lot. I’m an American, and I shudder to think about how many of my countrymen would have tried to drink their entry-fee’s worth, get their money’s worth. (Sorry guys, that’s why I only told a couple of you about this place, because I knew you would respect the mature, responsible environment, the ladies, and the vibe.)
Speaking of vibe, there was a small backyard that I loved to chill (and recuperate) in. There was nothing nicer then being in this paradise of laid-back, no pressure sexual freedom, surrounded by desirable women, while sitting out on a lawn chair or lying on a chaise lounge in the sun or bright shade. When the ladies weren’t busy, they were engaged in general conversation amongst themselves or with the gentlemen.
Many was the time when I would want to pinch myself out there to believe that it was all true, that I was here, and it was real. Despite my many sexual memories, some of my best memories involve my preferred chaise lounge, next to the shade-giving hedge, in conversation, or people watching, or even having a catnap.
I tend to think of it as a Professional Friends With Benefits experience. You would make friends with the ladies as time went on, and the fun conversations while lounging around outside of sessions were many. Then, when it was time to invite a lady to a room, if you had ample experience together, it was fun to have her know your preferences, pace, and such… and vice-versa. You could skip the new lover exploration stage, and get to the fun.
So here we are. Names, places, and details of ladies and sexual sessions shall remain untold. The memories are many and fresh. I’ve also written personal journals so as not to forget the details of the memorable sessions I had there, and even memories I have of particular days in the backyard, just chilling, trying to convince myself it was all real.
It was real, but it’s gone.
I’ve heard there is a relocation effort, but we’ll see. My hopes dwindle every day, as it’s been a while, but I’ll remain guardedly optimistic, with no expectations, I guess.
As Humphrey Bogart’s character Rick said in Casablanca, “We’ll always have Paris”.
Yes, I will.
C’est la vie.
PS- The ladies in attendance were not here out of desperation or force, but by choice. I have zero tolerance for coercion or human trafficking, including minors, and will not seek to have a debate here surrounding sex work.
In the country where this house was, such locations are heavily licensed and monitored. The ladies, likewise- of legal age, licensed and medically monitored, with ample personal, labor and legal protections, paid by the taxes that the ladies generated, through funds allocated for these purposes.
No pimps. No forced labor. In fact, the ladies were not employees of the house, but were independent contractors. They set their own prices, what they would and wouldn’t do, their personal rules, their hours of attendance, and basically anything else surrounding their voluntary money-making participation as sex workers.
In addition, many of the ladies here were long-timers, due to how much they liked the house, its gentlemen (including many regulars), the other ladies, and the overall environment here. Light, quiet, laid-back, safe, social, and fun. And you should have seen the nice cars they drove.
To a lady, they were all devastated that the house was in jeopardy of closing permanently, if a new, suitable location could not be found. Their feelings about the house echoed the feelings of the gentlemen visitors. It is missed, and if it doesn’t reestablish at a new location it will be especially missed. (And yes, especially for the ladies. I feel for them right now.)
It had a practically unduplicable environment and vibe, established through over 40 years of existence, with high and consistent across-the-experience quality, professionalism, and fun.
With this long heritage, the ladies invited to be in attendance were mostly crème de la crème, and at worst, top-notch, LOL. The best looks in the world were not sufficient for an invitation, if personality and especially attitude weren’t there.
The gentlemen in attendance were lucky to be there, even if over so many years the house was taken for granted. Few places had their decades of heritage. None had it’s vibe, or its ladies. I guess we thought it would be there forever.
Story Notes:
Looking at the classic luxury Parisian brothels of the 1870’s-1940’s, I was wondering about the ennui surrounding these cultural landmarks when they closed. They had been frequented by the artists, writers, poets, philosophers, scientists and luminaries of the day, in a meeting of the minds extension of the many cafés in Paris and Vienna, where some of the great thinking and discussions happened.
I didn’t set it in those houses, I set it in a distant historical brothel that I’ve toured, and modernized the commentary as if the closure happened today.
Fancy, huh?