We’re not talking Irish thoroughbreds. Infamous Hollywood Madam Heidi Fleiss plans to open up a brothel in the Nevada desert catering to a female clientele exclusively. I do not object to the legalization of prostitution and lord knows, with every other romance book having courtesan in the title, even romance novels have come around. Brothels and gaming hells are a staple of Historical Romanceland, but sexual mores were vastly different then, if we are to believe everything we read.

But somehow I am icked out that a woman would pay to have her sexual urges satisfied. Modern-day men who pay for sex are rather pitiable to me. Maybe I’m too unworldly, but sex is inescapably twinned with love, or at least like, in my universe. Sex with strangers is, frankly, scary. And sad.

And then there are the mechanics of it. I know men are reputedly hound-dogs and can get it up for anything that moves, but….

Heidi is experiencing some red tape, and right now she’s operating a business called Dirty Laundry. That’s right. A laundromat. She’s keeping it clean for the time being.
Now, it would be my ultimate fantasy to have someone do my laundry rather than do me. I still have towels in the dryer from last weekend. What would you have your stud do for you?