Thomas O'Brien

You may have heard some of the rumors I wrote about previously, and you may have heard even more rumors from people ‘in the know’ or wanting to seem like they are ‘in the know.’ Well, let me update you with whatever I have heard and seen.

One of the early rumors I heard was that ‘management’ got religion and wanted to get out of the brothel business, and the result would be a makeover/remodel/re-branding catering to ‘family’ guests… roughly translated, folks who are not comfortable in a hotel thick with prostitutes. It takes all kinds, eh? Then there was a rumor floating about that the place had been sold, and it would be the new owners who would do the remodeling and re-branding (or not). And the latest rumor, which seems to be true, is that the supposed sale did not happen. Whether there ever was a sale in the works or not is something I can’t say. But as of this writing, ownership has not changed hands, and the business model has not changed.

[rau]

I got a look inside just tonight, and although it was less crowded than it used to be, it was doing a decent business, with a fair selection of working girls to choose from. Or just gawk at, for some folks. What I saw looked like a slow night from 2010, with the same sort of mix of males and females, though perhaps more local males than in the hotel’s prime years.

So, what does this all mean for the future of the infamous Big Pink Hotel? I don’t even want to guess, honestly. The old Gringo Gulch has shrunk to where using the term ‘Gringo Gulch’ doesn’t even seem to refer to anything other than the Del Rey. Sportsmen’s lodge is doing well, but it’s not really located in what we used to call ‘the gulch.’ Costa Rica still has some interesting things to do other than gawk at chicas, and the big pink hotel could close forever and the tourist industry would not dry up. Nor would ‘the profession’ of the chicas. It would just be less obvious and evolve along with the times. Nothing lasts forever, nothing remains unchanged forever. That’s why I recommend having fun while you can, wherever and however you can.

As I wrote last time, I was a flunky at a massage parlor in Santa Cruz, California back in 1974. I also slept there about half the time and spent a fair amount of time there, which gave me a chance to get to know the ‘masseuses.’

The prettiest one there, in my opinion, was Jan. In her mid 20s, long dark hair, slim and with a borderline beautiful face. She was from a well to do family in Washington State and rather ‘classy,’ although you had to overlook the fact that she didn’t shave her legs and the hair there was also long and dark. Jan was a heroin addict. My most vivid memory of Jan was one night when she came to work right after getting high, and I can still picture her nodding off and on sitting on the couch.

At the other end of the spectrum was Terri. She wasn’t bad looking, but wasn’t a beauty either. Tall and slim with dusky skin and pale eyes, she was a little older than Jan, maybe early 30s. Like Jan, she was an addict. Unlike Jan, she had a trailer park vibe and actually DID live in a trailer. I remember her dirty fingernails and how she once said that if you put ketchup on soda crackers, it’s almost like tomato soup.

Gerri was a hippie type, and we had a mutual attraction that I was too stupid to pursue. She had no drug problem, as far as I knew. Maybe she smoked weed. She had wavy blondish hair and wore granny glasses. I remember she used to paint water colors out of a little paint box to pass the time.

Then there was Mona, a little natural redhead with a charming personality and a husband with a big monkey on his back. She was originally from West Virginia, though her accent was more middle-America. She formerly worked as a substitute school teacher back in West Virginny. I thought she was cute and charming, but Al, the boss, REALLY had the hots for her. But she wasn’t going for it. Al gave me his old car when he got a newer one, and I gave Mona my old 60 Ford Fairlane that leaked both oil and transmission fluid. The front seat springs were shot, so she got a sofa cushion to sit up high enough to see.

Last of all was Christy. She was another small girl, blondish, who wore a lot of makeup and unlike the other girls, loved to go ‘all the way’ with her customers. She did pretty good business, but men are always on the lookout for something new, and a topless hand job from a fresh body appealed to some more than a full service from a known quantity.

They would all be over 65 now, assuming they lived that long. I have my doubts about Terri and Jan. Mona too, though I have some hope. Christy might have found a way to capitalize on her ‘assets.’ Gerri is probably a great grandmother by now. But I will never know for sure about any of them. Such is life.

The year was 1974, the place, Santa Cruz, California. And YES, it was THAT kind of a massage parlor.

To answer the obvious question, no, I did not give massages (or ‘extras,’ as we called them). I didn’t have a title, or a salary. I was there mostly as a helper and friend to the boss, Al. Al was a decent guy who never felt the law should be taken too literally. Why I was there is hard to say other than I was young (24) and had good friends who lived in town.

[rau]

But getting back to the massage parlor, it was relatively low profile and not very wild. A customer would come in and we’d hear a bell ring. One of the girls would go out to greet him. Usually there were 3 sitting in the back, along with Al and me. Nothing sexy was ever discussed, though most of the customers knew what the could ask for and how to ask for it. I can’t remember the prices, but the basic was just a massage. Among the ‘extras’ that were available if you asked the right way, were topless massage, a ‘local’ massage (guess which location), oral (not every girl would do that) and ‘full service,’ which actually only one of our girls would do.

If that seems very tame, it wasn’t considered tame in the early 70s. There weren’t any other options, and in most municipalities, there wasn’t even THAT option. In San Francisco, for example, only licensed massage therapists could work in such a place. I dated a girl for a while who went to the trouble of getting certified in order to do the gig in SF, where the pay was quite a bit better.

There was always the danger of an undercover cop coming in and trying to make a bust. The girls understood this and nobody got arrested while I was there, a month or two maybe. For me, it was the beginning of my ‘education’ regarding sex workers. Sitting in the back with the girls, I got to hear all kinds of stories about their clients, their lives, and whatever else they decided to talk about while killing time waiting for the next customer.

In general, I found the girls to be ‘interesting,’ in their own unique ways. I still remember them and I will talk about them in an upcoming post. I couldn’t possibly do them justice in what little space I have left. So this subject will… be continued!