The Gay Panic of Desert Pimpsby Rob Wolfsham
Howdy, welcome to the Shady Lady Ranch, a place where young women with zero self esteem and nowhere to go in life can come have greasy truck drivers and meth-smoking Vegas drifters defile their bodies for a little green.
With new, ground-breaking, state approval for male sex workers, Shady Lady Ranch could soon become Shady Lady and Cock Ranch once they hire a few hung men who know how to treat a hole. Despite all that occurs under their roof as a professional enterprise of fucking, owners Jim and Bobbi Davis are squeamish at the prospect of homoseckchuality occurring within the walls of their smut ranch.
The Los Angeles Times reported that before Nye County approved the addition of studs to Shady Lady Ranch, Bobbi Davis bemoaned: â€œIt seems the biggest hoopla is a great fear in some people’s minds that some kind of homosexual activity might go on …It’s not my intent to encourage or promote or to turn my business into a ‘gay property.â€™â€
Oh dear lord, not a gay property! Quick hide the children under the bed … next to the anal beads and dildos. Itâ€™s silly piety to fear gayness in a brothel, because it already happens. Every time a girl-girl-guy â€œcouple partyâ€ occurs at Shady Lady Ranch or any Nevada bordello, theyâ€™re officially a gay property. We can argue about the meaning of â€œgayâ€ or lesbian exemption from gay panic all day, but I know whorehouses donâ€™t care about being called misogynistic for objectifying women, so they wonâ€™t care about being called homophobic for denying credit-approved guy on guy sex.
Charmingly, the Shady Lady Ranch website opens with, â€œNowhere has [prostitution] been more a part of the lore of the land than here in the Great Southwest. The bawdy dance hall girls and Legal Brothels have long been an integral part of the west being settled so easily and efficiently.â€ Thatâ€™s the big surprise in this controversy: Brothels are sentimental things, sentimental for a time when there was no argument that women were objects and gays only wordless phantoms. The Shady Lady Ranch sees its industryâ€™s history as â€œintegralâ€ to the expansion of our nation. Gays are just dysentery threatening the wagon troop pioneering our whorehouse manifest destiny.
Back in December, Davis bet Joy Behar she wouldnâ€™t see any gay clients (or trannies), which is either optimistically homophobic or right on the money. Maybe only pent up soccer moms and decade-challenged women will show up to buy cock. The men are all on Craigslist, Adam4Adam, and geocaching ass on Grindr with their iPhones.
If we want to talk about pioneers of sex, hand it to the gays. Theyâ€™re way ahead of Nevada. Shady Lady Ranch charges $200 for forty minutes with a girl. Shit, my friend Keith fucked three guys in a bathhouse in forty minutes. The Moonlite Bunny ranch charges $500 for you to watch a girl finger herself. Find a gay guy who can read that and not laugh or smirk with the knowingness of â€œoh straight guys.â€ Brothels are amusing nineteenth century relics to gays, like â€œspeakeasyâ€ to an alcoholic. Iâ€™m not saying all gay guys are nymphos trolling the internets. Iâ€™m just talking about the ones who would pay at a brothel if it were available to them.
So should gay guys even be offended theyâ€™re marginalized in the brothel industry when weâ€™ve already marginalized them with every new technology, from listservs to email, IRC chat rooms to profile sites, and now GPS. And all these Nevada ranches canâ€™t be ignorant to the fact that horny straight teens are catching on to what gays have been doing. We might be upon a straight generation that kills the sentimental charm of the whorehouse. And theyâ€™re doing it one iPhone self-pic at a time.
Soon those Nevada brothels could be sideshow museums with internet kiosks glowing under banners titled â€œThen and Now.â€ And on all the little screens will be hookup sites with pictures of your friends, coworkers, and lovers, looking to fuck someone new for the price a brothel could never compete with: Free.
Rob Wolfsham hails from the glorious suburbs of Lubbock. Get to know Rob (and Lubbock) better by reading his blog Lubbock Blows Sometimes. And then order up a copy of his Cleis Press debut: Boy Crazy: Coming Out Erotica. Or his latest appearance in, I Like It Like That: True Stories of Gay Male Desire.