Code words. Many think they are used only by spies or those in clandestine military operations. Not so. Often, they are used by those 'In The Know' in an attempt to not alarm the general public.

With the proper code words, you can even assist people after they are dead.

For four and a half years, I lived in Las Vegas, Nevada, a city awake 24 hours a day. That took a little getting used to, especially since I spent my childhood trapped in Joplin, Missouri, a town that rolled up its sidewalks at 8:00 P.M. I, however, welcomed the change of pace. It's marvelous to be in a city where breakfast is served around the clock or where you can catch a bad lounge act at 3:00 A.M. One can also develop severe bags under one's eyes from sleep depravation.

Working The Strip (that's Las Vegas Boulevard South for all you tourists) helped me catch onto some of the subtler lingo that floated around the hotels/casinos. From over their intercoms, you might hear, "Calling Princess Fatima. Princess Fatima, please come to the front desk." Other hotels summoned the equally provocative sounding Princess Jasmine or Princess Aster. Don't strain your neck looking for Far East royalty, however. 'Princess Fatima' and her regal sisters were code words for any available sanctioned prostitute located within the hotel.

Gee... Prostitution is illegal in Las Vegas' Clark County, isn't it?

So?

To begin with,
you rookies out there need
general background information
about the caste system of whores.

On the bottom rung of this social ladder are streetwalkers, working women who solicited passing motorists with, "Hey! Have the time?" When I first arrived in Vegas... hayseed that I was... when I was asked that question, I consulted my watch and then gave them the correct time. Those Ladies of the Evening thought I had lost my mind. The proper... or, should I say, improper... response should have been (if such a proposal peaked your interest or any other part of your anatomy), "Yes and I have money, too." (That answer also works well with the question, "Want to party, big fellow?")

Streetwalkers are a notoriously cheap way to have sex. Blowjobs cost less than a businessman's lunch. They are performed in dark alleys or in a john's car, eliminating room rental. Whores also do straight humping in those locations for a little extra cash.

Such sexual intercourse, however, is extremely dangerous for a plethora of reasons. The distinct possibility of getting a sexually transmitted disease. An angry (and armed) pimp showing up, demanding more money. A policeman catching you with your pants literally down. Plus, some streetwalkers are psychotic. They hate the men they are having sex with... so they bite. Naturally, johns with teeth marks on their male members don't go to the police. Would you show off that kind of wound? Much less have mug shots taken of it for the world to see?

Hotel prostitutes are leagues above streetwalkers. Casino courtesans are disease free... and plan to stay that way. They carry more condoms than a drug store. Hotel desk clerks and casino pit bosses are the ones who pimp them. You will never see any rough stuff... unless you beat up one of the ladies. Then, and only then, would hotel security 'deal with you.'

Las Vegas security officers are experts in kicking the crap out of individuals in ways that never leave a bruise. Security also has other, more sinister ways of damaging improper folks. Sadistic johns are thrown out of Las Vegas forever. Their names are put on insider industry files (called 86'ed Lists), making them persona non grata at hotel chains, airlines and car rental agencies nationwide. Discreet telephone calls torpedo those johns' credit ratings faster than bankruptcy suits. In other words, beat up a 'Princess Fatima' and you'll get 'beaten up' in ways you could never imagine. (Since most security officers are former cops, I attribute their acquiring of such dastardly skills from their police training, not from being mob enforcers as some uninformed sources would attest.)

True, hotel/casino prostitutes cost a lot more than their streetwalker brethren but you will never have a cop arriving at an inopportune climatic moment. And, yes, there are some Ladies of the Las Vegas Strip who specialize in being bound punching bags for sadistic johns. One has to request such services in advance... and pay a premium price... but that eliminates any later repercussions. BDSM hookers will also supply you with the necessary hardware (whips, handcuffs, etc.) you'd need but couldn't pack, especially if you flew into Las Vegas. (There are some things you do not want airport security to find in your luggage.) If your forte is being dominated, Mistress are also conveniently accessible. For either kinky scenario, fully equipped dungeons are available if you don't mind a short drive. Follow the few guidelines set by those Ladies of the Darkest Evening and you will have the most evil of sexual experiences.

Lest you think I've forgotten the #1 male sexual fantasy of having two women at the same time, I haven't. Double-headers are so commonplace, they aren't even considered kink. Naturally, the john pays twice the normal fee but he will receive two willing babes ready to please him and themselves. A feast for the body and the eyes. The john can also mix and match when requesting a ménage á trois. A blonde & a brunette. A White girl & a Black girl. Two Japanese Geishas. A Mistress & a slave. There was this adorable set of giggly identical twins... Well, you can imagine.

The only time johns are lied to is when they request young stuff. Underage hookers in a major hotel/casino? The Nevada Gaming Commission would jump upon the offending establishment with hobnailed boots. Even though all in-house whores are at least eighteen, that doesn't mean they act their age. Small breasted hookers with little or no cosmetics suddenly become fourteen to sixteen again. Toting around school books and a teddy bear doesn't hurt the illusion, either. The 'daddy' john will then find himself a naughty lass 'who really hadn't done this before.' In reality, the 'sweet innocent' is giving a performance that deserves consideration around Oscar time.

Words of wisdom when dealing with whores:

• Up front, tell the prostitute that you are not a cop nor are you working for the police or any governmental office in any way. Then ask her to respond in a like manner. If she is an undercover vice cop, she will be forced to tell you. (Any cute evasive answers or answers twisted back to you in a form of a question {such as, "Do I look like a vice cop?"} are signs of jeopardy. Flee such 'prostitutes.' They are female fuzz who are wired and/or being video taped.) Real prostitutes will look you square in the eye and tell you, yes, she fucks for money. Yes, she is a whore and, no, she is not a police officer. (She may also tell you that she is a stripper, an aspiring actress, a singer or an unpublished novelist but none of those occupations involve your possible future imprisonment.) That will spare you an arrest record and a night in the local hoosegow.

• Tell the prostitute exactly what you want before money changes hands. Never ask for oral sex. Ask for a blowjob. (See why below.) If you want anal sex or a kinky fetish, request it beforehand. If that prostitute doesn't do such things, be assured that she knows someone who does. Have her make the arrangements for you. (This may include an additional fee but you'll get exactly what you want.) The same goes with having her invite up a female friend to 'put on a little show' for you before the three of you hit the sack. Do not worry about offending a prostitute with your requests. Not only has she heard it all before but such openness and honest saves precious time and eliminates problems. Whores are professionals. They welcome clarity.

• Never simply ask for 'oral sex'. At some massage parlors and escort services, oral sex consists of the john forking over his money then sitting on one side of a sheet of Plexiglas while a girl talks dirty to him on the other side. No physical contact whatsoever... although the guy is allowed to jerk himself off. If dirty talk is all you want, fine. Otherwise, be specific. This is NOT the time for political correctness.

• Yes, prostitutes accept tips. Tips aren't included in with the percentage they fork over to pimps, desk clerks, etc. Give a gratuity of at least twenty bucks 'just for her.' Unlike other service professionals, tip a prostitute before she serves you. It encourages her to give you extra special treatment for a really good time.

• After sex... and if you enjoyed what the prostitute did... ask for her business card. She'll probably give you one from her 'agency' and sign her working name (a.k.a.: whore alias) on the back. Prostitutes like steady clients. If you enjoyed the quality of her service but prefer screwing different girls each time, then the 'agency' will gladly assist you with that. Having a good reputation (an 'in') at a quality 'agency' means faster, premium service.

• Never kiss a prostitute on the lips. Believe it or not, they don't do that. That privilege is reserved for the prostitutes' real life lovers, not their clients. Don't ask them for their real names and don't ask for dates 'outside' their whoring duties. What they do at work and what they do in their personal lives are completely different and separate. And never, never, NEVER ask the idiotic questions, "Why did you become a prostitute?", "How did you get into this line of work?" or "Do your parents know what you do for a living?" For both your sakes, don't spoil the illusion.

• Some Ladies of the Evening prefer the title prostitute. Others hate it. Some love the blue-collar term whore. Others think it's demeaning. The word hooker? It has its fans and detractors. None like the term streetwalker because it signifies the lowest socioeconomic end of their profession. My advice? When meeting and dealing with a whore, ask her her 'name' and avoid the job description completely. Also, when she tells you her name is 'Brandy' or 'Bubbles' or 'Bunny', go along with it. No guy wants to screw a Judith, Beatrice or Edith. Prostitutes also avoid common 'aliases' like Mary, Sue or Jane because nothing wilts a john's dingus faster than fucking a woman with the same name as his mother, sister, daughter, wife or favorite maiden aunt. A hooker doesn't want familial images between herself and her john, making her labors that much more difficult. The client, however, is always a 'john', regardless of his real name. Just accept it and move on.

The zenith of the sexual intercourse industry are mistresses to the rich. A mistress not only requires elegant quarters (like a penthouse apartment) but fashionable attire as well. Her jewelry alone would bankrupt most of us. Plus, modern mistresses are not dummies. The bulk of them have college degrees. Who among us can afford to support a woman of that caliber... without marrying her? As for personal sex slaves, they are just as pricey. Building and stocking your own private dungeon? And doing it in such a way that your friends and neighbors don't get suspicious? Not cheap. As a general rule, the more perverse your sexual appetites are, the more moola you'll end up shelling out.

As for how I obtained this vast wealth of knowledge concerning pay-by-the-hour princesses? By having sex with them? No. I could never afford such deluxe wares. Besides, when men are focused on sexual pursuits, women's utterances become lost in a testosterone fog. (That mental haze usually clears one minute after a guy says, "I do," and one minute before he realizes his latest dick toy is standing next to him in a wedding gown. The words "I'm pregnant," also have a similar effect, although they can result in the man changing his name... as he takes up new residence in Venezuela.)

No, I learned the secrets of the fairer fare sex by being a graveyard busboy. I found the ladies private booths, filled their coffee cups and, on those quiet night when no other customers were hanging around, listened to them gripe about their jobs. Once the working girls knew I could be trusted, they revealed the secrets men have always wanted to hear... at least until we poor dumb males regrettably heard them. Yuck! Trust me. Ignorance can truly be bliss. Tales of douching on the run, blending semen into make-up because there was no time to wash and put on a fresh face... and what men really look like when we're trying to be sexy. It was enough to squash my libido into jelly.

As for the great question of why women became prostitutes? Money... and not having to suffer the indignity of holding down jobs like mine.

If all that sounds extremely sexist, it is. Don't despair, ladies. When 'Raul the Pool Boy' is being summoned over the intercom in the middle of the night, it isn't to skim dried leaves off chlorine water.