Queering the brothel: Identity construction and performance in Carson City,Nevada

Introduction

The dominatrix room of the Cookie Ranch, ¹ a legal brothel and the “friendliest house in Nevada,” located just outside of Carson City, looks decidedly unfriendly. It is a small room, approximately nine square feet, with white padded walls, bare black lights hanging limply from the ceiling, handcuffs attached to one wall, a black leather sex swing that hangs in the back right corner, and various other chains and metal hooks protruding at different heights from the walls. “I love being a domme,” Ava told me as we stood in the doorway, sunlight streaming in behind us as we looked into this otherwise lightless room. Later, as we sat talking in the kitchen with two other sex workers, she explained the desired qualifications of a “good” dominatrix. “You have to let them know that you’re in fucking control,” she says, giggling. “Get on your knees, bitch! Lick my boot, bitch! You like that don’t you, you dirty mother fucker. No wonder nobody loves you,” she says very sternly as she pretends to spit on the floor. Then she laughs. Ava is not quite five feet tall, though in her dominatrix boots, which she has brought out to show me, she stands a solid five feet three inches. She is half Phillipina and half Mexican, fluent in Spanish, with long black hair. Though she is 24 years old, she looks much younger and is perhaps the least intimidating person in the brothel. She pantomimes a bit longer at our imaginary client who likes to be dominated, and the two other women that I am interviewing chime in with their stories of other erotic requests. There was:

S: The guy who wanted to be nagged …

As the women shared their stories, I was struck by how different their experiences seemed from the traditional discourse perpetuated by critics of sex work.

A common cultural narrative is that women in the sex-work industry are victims of patriarchy, heteronormativity and male dominance. Critics of sex work argue that “prostitution” inherently oppresses women because of the unequal social status and power relations between men and women (Barry, 1995; Jeffreys, 1997). For example, Vednita Carter and Evelina Giobbe argue: “At the very worst, prostitution is literal sexual slavery. At the very least, prostitution is an accommodation and an adaptation to white male supremacy in its most brutal incarnation” (2006: 28). Their assessment, however, was inconsistent with what my interviewees were telling me. Yet, Carter and Giobbe are not alone. Carol Pateman argues, “No form of labour power can be separated from the body, but only through the prostitution contract does the buyer obtain unilateral right of direct sexual use of a woman’s body” (2006: 66), and Margaret Baldwin states, “As both ‘owner’ and ‘consumer’ of the transaction, the john dominates both economically and sexually” (my italics, 2006: 137). The image of Ava as “dominatrix” is the most obvious contradiction to Baldwin’s argument, as Ava and other workers literally dominate some of their clients, but there are also more nuanced negotiations of power within the brothel that will be explored in this article. Additionally, Tracy's suggestion that it is “fun” to verbally humiliate a client while throwing mud at him inherently critiques traditional steadfast notions of brothels as a space where male and female identities are static and unilaterally equated with power (male) and victimization (female).

Some research on sex work defies these tropes and aims to complicate our understanding of various types of sex work and sex worker and client experiences (Bernstein, 2007; Chapkis, 1997; Dewey, 2011; Sanders, 2005, 2008a, 2008b), and some scholars argue that sex work is indeed labor that deserves the same legitimation and protections as other forms of “customer service” labor (Boynton, 2002; Brewis and Linstead, 2000; Weitzer, 1996; West, 2000). Yet, there is a paucity of literature on contemporary legal brothels in the USA, specifically in Nevada (important exceptions include Albert, 2001; Albert et al. 1995; Brents and Hausbeck, 2001, 2005). One explanation for the lack of brothel research is that “the greater visibility of street prostitution over the indoor trade also has tended to attract the attention of researchers and law enforcement officials. For this reason, street prostitutes tend to be over-represented in both arrest rates and in scientific studies” (Chapkis, 1997: 184). Additionally, the disease model predominates many studies of sex workers, indicating that occupational risks tend to be higher among street-based workers than other sex-worker groups. Because of this, more funding, and therefore more research, on street-based workers has been common (Romero-Daza et al., 2003; Scambler and Graham-Smith, 1992). This article aims to contribute to the much-needed scholarship on legal brothels in the USA and to suggest that these brothels are complex and queer spaces rife with intricate identity performances by both clients and sex workers.

At its core, queer theory is about acknowledging the complexity of identity and interrogating historical and cultural notions of how identity is constructed. Early queer discourse suggests “queer describes those gestures or analytical models which dramatise incoherencies in the allegedly stable relations between chromosomal sex, gender and sexual desire” (Jagose, 1996: 36). Teresa de Lauretis (1991), who is credited with coining the term in her article “Queer theory: Lesbian and gay sexualities,” uses “queer” in reference to “another discursive horizon, another way of thinking the sexual” (1991: iv). From the initial emergence of queer theory, it was regarded as a means to probe historical and cultural constructs connected to the politics of sexual identity. Katherine Watson states, “At its most basic, queer theory is characterized by a variety of methods of interrogating desire and its relationship to identity” (2005: 67)—queer theory, then, is a lens used to destabilize categories of identity, specifically as those categories relate to sex, sexuality, desire, and so called deviance.

One of the most complicated elements of queer theory is that it is an evolving set of “theories” that utilize the term “queer” in different ways for a variety of purposes (Watson, 2005: 68). Thus, there is much contestation about how to define “queer” or even if the term “queer” should be used at all. Yet, most would agree that queer theory seeks to destabilize notions of the unified self by constructing analyses based in cultural and historical contexts while acknowledging that identities, which are reproduced and performed, are produced in relation to one another. Rooted in psychoanalytic and post-structural ideas around identity, sexuality, and the role of the symbolic, queer theory is influenced by (though not limited to): Jacques Derrida, Jacque Lacan, Michel Foucault, and Judith Butler. Derrida is credited for exploring the language of binaries (male/female; proper/improper) and how that language aids in identity construction; Lacan is influential in highlighting the precariousness of identity and notion of the self. Foucault examines discourse to theorize how identity is culturally and historically constructed, and it is this link between discourse and identity that queer theory addresses in which I am most interested. Finally, Butler examines the idea that “gender” and “heterosexuality” are performative and repetitive and can therefore be subverted by parodying the heterosexual norm—that is to say, in the form of drag—(Watson, 2005: 70–72). The parody of heterosexual norms within gender expressions among transgendered individuals is an example of a queer identity that unhinges traditional categorizations. ²

For example, in the book In a Queer Time and Place: Transgender Bodies, Subcultural Lives, Judith Halberstam (2005) admits an “ambitious claim that there is such a thing as ‘queer time’ and ‘queer space’” in her discussion of transgender subcultures. While this is an ambitious goal, her exploration of queer time and space is thorough and convincing, and her notion of “queering” is applicable to other times and spaces beyond transgender representations. Halberstam defines the “queer way of life” as encompassing “subcultural practices, alternative methods of alliance, forms of transgender embodiment, and those forms of representation dedicated to capturing these willfully eccentric modes of being” (2005: 1). Halberstam’s notion of queerness extends to a time and space that operates independently of the influence of the normative heterosexual familial construct. Utilizing this definition to extend beyond transgender embodiment, we can apply Halberstam’s concept of “queering” time and space to other subcultural realms, and I argue that the legal brothels of Nevada are indeed temporally queer spaces.

Because there is so much contestation and ambiguity around “queer theory” and the notion of “queering,” I would like to clarify how I will be using these concepts. This article will utilize “queering” to consider perspectives outside of homogenizing constraints of heteronormative models, to account for a mulitiplicity of differences and identities (Honeychurch, 1996), and to destabilize specific categories of identity, such as sexuality. As Susan Edwards (1981) suggests, “it is not simply the case that all heterosexual performances of sexuality are intelligible, as certain performances are idealized over others. A male–active/female–passive binary dominates the discourses of heterosexuality and thus appropriate expressions of female sexuality are those that are not only heterosexual but also passive, receptive and non-threatening” (quoted in Carline, 2011: 315). Yet, the brothel appears to be a space where these idealized performances are both repeated and resisted. To examine the brothel as a “queer space” I will utilize Judith Halbertam’s (2005) ideas of a “queer time” and “queer space,” extending her theories to a stereotypical heteronormative space in an effort to destabilize traditional notions about that space. Therefore, this article argues that brothels are not necessarily bastions of heteronormative domination but rather appear to be a space of fluid sexualities, heteroflexible performance, and negotiations of power. Thus, I will also utilize “queering” as an identity critique to examine how men and women perform their identities in this unique space (Butler, 2004; Halberstam, 1998; Jagose, 1996; Taylor and Rupp, 2005).

Method

The data analyzed in this article were collected in October 2009 over three days at the Cookie Ranch located in Lyon County, just outside of Carson City, Nevada. The Cookie has 120 licensed sex workers on file to work for the legal brothel, with a core group of approximately 30 women. Up to 15 female (only) sex workers can stay in the brothel at one time. I collected 30 hours of qualitative interviews and observation of 12 sex workers, ³ one cashier, one cook, one housekeeper, one security guard, one proprietor, one assistant manager, and one bartender. Most interviews were digitally recorded, and I took detailed notes as the interviewees spoke. Later, interviews were transcribed. Two of the eight interviews with sex workers were not recorded per the interviewees’ requests. Interviews took place in various areas of the brothel, most often the kitchen table where many women sat and talked, so many of the interviews were with more than one person. Interviews also occurred in the bar, in the General Manager’s office, and in the cashier’s office. The sex workers interviewed ranged in age from 21 to 46 years old. The semi-structured interviews included questions about age, ethnic identification, sex-work activities (past and present), economics, family (including romantic relationships outside of the brothel), occupational hazards, work history and future plans. Data were then transcribed and analyzed to identify overwhelming themes. Particular themes that emerged within the data that are discussed here are: legal sex work; identity performance with clients, with other sex workers; negotiations of power. ⁴

My aim was to understand the social dynamics within a legal sex work setting. Seal et al. (2000: 10) note that “Qualitative endeavors often require extensive fieldwork in the natural environment of the observed population.” Because of my brief time at the Cookie, I do not aim to make any broad assumptions about identity construction within brothels in general. Rather, I suggest this research is a platform from which further investigation is required to better understand how identities are constructed and negotiated within queer spaces when researching marginalized populations.

This article documents, analyzes, and interprets identity performance in an effort to comprehend more fully the complex identities of legal sex workers. By situating this analysis within the larger context of gender and identity theory as they relate to marginalized populations, the article contributes to broader discussions about concepts of gendered identity, particularly within a marginalized, gendered community. Therefore, I draw on gender identity and queer theory to understand better how identities are negotiated in a temporally queer space. The key questions within this research frame are: Can a brothel be defined as a queer space? If so, how do legal sex workers create individual subjectivities within this space? In what ways is performance relevant to these identity constructions? This line of inquiry also raises questions about how men perform within this space and how power is negotiated between the sex worker and the client.

Queering the brothel

At the time of this research, of the 12 counties in Nevada, eight had licensed brothels within them, some dating back to the 1950s, and at the time of this research, there were 28 legal brothels licensed in Nevada. Brothels were legalized in 1971 under Nevada Revised Statute 224.245, which legalizes “dancing halls, escort services, entertainment by referral services and gambling games or devices; limitations on licensing of houses of prostitution” (Nevada Revised Statutes, 2009). It was not until 1980 that the Supreme Court ruled that counties with fewer than 400,000 people ⁵ could regulate and license brothels, and in 1987 the Nevada Revised Statutes made non-brothel prostitution explicitly illegal. This ruling discursively created a sanctioned public space for the performance of commodified heterosexual encounters, where women became active agents involved in legitimate (though stigmatized) occupational roles. The change in legal status of the brothels represents what Halberstam would refer to as a “Queer time and space [which] are useful frameworks for assessing political and cultural change in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries (both what has changed and what must change)” (2005: 4). The legalization of brothels and the outlawing of non-brothel (read: street-level) sex work created a legally sanctioned space for the transaction of sexual services for money that are not legal elsewhere, thereby destabilizing categories of legal/illegal and public/private. In doing this, a queer subculture was created: “Queer subcultures produce alternative temporalities by allowing their participants to believe that their futures can be imagined according to logics that lie outside of those paradigmatic markers of life experience—namely, birth, marriage, reproduction, and death” (Halberstam, 2005: 2). Thus, a client can legally enter a brothel because he exists within a time in history when such an activity is sanctioned, but also the time spent within the brothel defies traditional constructs of marriage and family. In the same way, “queer theory” has traditionally sought to disrupt identity categories and to be a category of contradiction; “a queered perspective offers a recognition of both heterogeneity in, and the possibilities of mutual identifications across, difference” (Honeychurch, 1996: 343). Queer theory can apply to the brothel as an interstitial space. It is both public and private; it both replicates and resists the homogenizing constraints of heterosexual models. “Queering the brothel” acknowledges this destabilization process and allows us to examine how men and women create spatialized performances within it.

The law also contributes to spatial queering by relegating brothels to counties with populations of less than 400,000, ultimately pushing brothels out into rural areas. Examining a rural brothel as a queer space affirms Halberstam’s argument that “confirms that queer subcultures thrive in urban areas and contests the essential characterization of queer life as urban” (2005: 15). Per the Nevada Revised Statutes, there is “restriction on location of houses of ill fame” which limits brothels to the following: (1) brothels must not be “situated within 400 yards of any schoolhouse or schoolroom;” (2) brothels must not be within “400 yards of any church, edifice, building or structure erected for and used for devotional services or religious worship in this state;” and (3) brothels cannot front the “principal business street or thoroughfare of any of the towns of this state.” These restrictions relegate many brothels to remote rural areas where they often cluster together. For example, the Cookie Guest Ranch is located off a main highway, down a long dusty road. At the end of Cookie Drive, there are three brothels, the Cookie Guest Ranch, the Foxy Ranch II, and the Tumbleweed Guest Ranch. ⁶ Each brothel is surrounded by a white iron security fence and each has its name emblazoned on tall signs just outside their doors. Arguably, the zoning laws imposed on brothels ghettoize legalized sex work in an effort to render sex workers separate from middle-class respectability and traditionally “non-queer” constructs. In some ways, this suggests that normative marital sexuality does not include commodification ⁷ and it also suggests that some services men seek at the brothel (being dominated, dressing in women’s clothing, for example) are too “deviant” to do outside of a queer space. Therefore, the zoning laws indicate that the brothel is “deviant” in relation to the “normative” identities of schools, churches, and domesticated marital sexuality, all of which are in clear opposition to what the brothels symbolize. ⁸

Beyond zoning laws, there are other formal restrictions limiting workers’ age and gender. Depending on the county, the sex worker must be either 18 or 21 years of age to work in the brothel and, at the time of this research, only women were allowed employment as sex workers. During the time these data were collected (in 2009) there were no brothels that offered male sex workers to service female clientele, though Heidi Fleiss, a famous contemporary madam, attempted to open an all male brothel and Shayna, the proprietor of the Cookie, tried (unsuccessfully) to hire two male sex workers to work out of the Cookie Guest Ranch to service female clientele. It should be noted that in late 2009, the Nevada State Board of Health reworded the health code (NAC441A) to state, “Testing recommendations have been added for male and transgendered sex workers” (Whitley, 2009). After this change, the Shady Lady Ranch, located in Goldfield, Nevada, hired a male sex worker. While he only worked at the Shady Lady for two months, he was replaced with another male sex worker when he left. This could certainly suggest a shift in the understanding of male and female (and transgender) sexuality, however, to date, the sex workers working in legal brothels in Nevada are overwhelmingly female.

During our interview, Paula, one of the cashiers at the Cookie, expressed a desire for male sex workers: “There’s also alotta women out there lookin’ for companionship who would probably like these kind of services.” When asked if she personally knew any women who would benefit from male sex worker services, she responded, “Yeah, I know a couple. And, um, you always see the strip joints, and brothels, and Hooters, and it’s like, well why don’t they have anything like that for women?” However, despite the potential demand for male sex workers to service female clientele, a variety of county laws explicitly prohibit women who are not sex workers from entering brothels, and the language of prostitution laws reflects a gendered view of prostitution as female labor; they also institutionalize expectations and social norms around gender and power. For example, “Other rules dictate that no men, other than customers, are allowed on the premises except for repairmen, and they must leave before 5: 00 p.m … Many brothels prohibit non-working women from entering” (Brents and Hausbeck, 2001: 323). Because of these laws, sexual services are blatantly commodified in this space and a man’s money can buy him almost anything, whether it is straight sex, domination, or simply someone to talk to and some researchers have (strongly) suggested that this can be interpreted as violence against women (Baldwin, 2006; Barry, 1995; Carter and Giobbe, 2006; Jeffreys, 1997; Pateman, 2006).

However, utilizing queer theory enables us to explore the range of differences among sex workers and clients within the brothel. Rather than viewing the unconcealed commodification of sexual and emotional services within the marketplace as monolithically “violent,” we can instead explore the degree to which romantic scripts are sometimes utilized (or ignored completely) and the degree to which money is (or is not) emphasized. Some clients attempt to “naturalize” these encounters, suggesting “she just likes sex” or “she just likes me,” and repeat clients or “regulars” are often treated in a way that facilitates this idea. This kind of romantic scripting attempts to obscure the role of money in these transactions, yet the commodification of sex or emotion remains, emphasizing that this transaction is not naturally occurring, rather it is a performance.

“Performing” sex

The gendered performance of sex workers within the brothel is an example of acquiescence to dominant narratives of femininity. As Butler argues, “There is no gender identity behind the expressions of gender; … identity is performatively constituted by the very ‘expressions’ that are said to be its results” (1990: 25). The condition of the brothel as a queer space allows for gendered performances. The sex workers’ hyperfeminine performance of their gender and sexuality within the Cookie exemplifies Judith Butler’s argument that gender and heterosexuality is a socially constructed performance for others (2004: 25). Additionally, the sex workers mirror Halberstam’s (1998) notion of gender performance as seen with transgender drag kings (or female masculinities) and Taylor and Rupp’s (2005) notions of gender performance among drag queens in Key West in their book Drag Queens at the 801 Cabaret. Identity performance is key to queer theory: “The discursive proliferation of ‘queer’ has been enabled in part by the knowledge that identities are fictitious—that is, produced by and productive of material effects but nevertheless arbitrary, contingent and ideologically motivated” (Jagose, 1996: 3). As drag kings and queens don gendered costumes and perform a particular gender, so too do the sex workers of the Cookie. Yet, one does not need to analyze transgendered performances of gender to see that femininity (and certainly masculinity as well) is socially constructed. Just as drag performances assume an audience, so too do sex workers within this brothel, and they often dress for the part by embodying a hypersexualized, emphasized femininity.

Most of the sex workers dress for their “performances” wearing tight and revealing clothing, tall platform heels, hair extensions, and make up. The brothel has a small gym and a tanning bed for the women to use to keep their bodies in ideal shape (and shade) to fulfill their role as sexual fantasy maker. A woman who gives in-house Botox injections to the sex workers arrives at the brothel monthly to keep them looking young and fresh. Yet, just as Halberstam argues for multiple masculinities in her book Female Masculinity (1998), the brothel reveals multiple femininities—some women opting to take more drastic measures to construct an ideal female body and to perform an idealized feminine persona. For example, Amy, a 46-year-old petite blond sex worker from Texas, was forthright in telling me: “Everything on me is fake [laughs]. From my hair to my eyes to my teeth to my tan to my boobs [laughs]. Even that toe nail right there. Fake.” On my second day in the brothel, Amy came out of her room into the kitchen where several sex workers and I were gathered around the kitchen table. Amy was dressed in a very skimpy, very tight “naughty cop” outfit, complete with ripped fishnet stockings, tall platform stiletto heels, a police cap, and handcuffs. As she fitted her police cap onto her head, over her long blond wig, she asked in her southern drawl, “Hey y’all. Is this alright? Is this okay?” to which the other sex workers at the table responded with various affirmations: “Yeah, it looks cute.” “Absolutely.” “I like it.” (author fieldnotes). The sex workers of the Cookie refer to this transformation into their “costumes” as becoming “hoified,” a term that is relevant because it acknowledges the sex worker donning her “ho” costume in preparation of her performance. In this moment, the sex worker becomes an essentialized, standardized version of femininity, with all the physical preparation and costuming that indicate she is indeed a performer. The sex workers’ hyperfeminization is similar to Butler’s strategies of subversive repetition parodying the heterosexual norm—in the form of drag with performative and repetitive bodily gestures, movements and clothing—(Watson, 2005: 72). For some women in the brothel, this costuming seemed to be a play on “gender drag.” While the women were sitting at the kitchen table with me, they were often in sweatshirts and slippers. As soon as the bell rang for line-up, they hurried out of their sweatshirts, adjusted their negligees, slipped into their “stripper heels” and clipped in their hair weaves, becoming idealized versions of the traditional heterosexual “male fantasy” that is so often constructed within the pornography industry and traditional media. To some extent, these pervasive sexual representations of women seem to reinforce and then inform each other.

The sex workers’ performances as hyperfeminine sexual fantasies extend beyond their clothing and bodies to their names and to the performances those names render possible. Arguably, assuming working names creates a new identity for the sex worker while reinforcing her “work” identity. This aids the sex worker in compartmentalizing her job, separating it, in some way, from her “authentic life.” The workers of the brothel share their work names with each other, but for those who congregate outside of the brothel, utilizing their real names extends their relationships beyond that of co-workers, signifying a bond that exceeds their work identity. Hailey the Happy Hooker, a 23-year-old sex worker with long dirty-blond hair described her performance with clients saying, “Like, there’s Hailey when I’m here [in the brothel] and there’s Melissa when I’m outside here … like, these guys [gestures toward two other sex workers] like, I can talk about anything. Like, they know me as, like, Melissa. But, like, out there [gestures toward the bar] I’m so Hailey it’s not even funny.” In the same way Butler argues that gender should be viewed as a performative construct, as it is “always a doing” and there is “no gender identity behind the expressions of gender  … identity is performatively constituted by the very ‘expressions’ that are said to be its results” (1990: 33), Hailey creates a persona of being a “happy hooker” while she’s working in the brothel, but admits it is an act, a performance.

Hailey’s admission of performing for clients is not unusual. According to my interviews, many of the sex workers acknowledge a disembodied performance while they are sexually servicing clients. ⁹ Many of the women state that they “mentally check out” (Hailey) when they are with a client. For example, Tracy, a 24-year-old, tall redhead, states, “We’re all great actresses. We’re selling a fantasy. When I’m in that room, I, I’m whoever they want me to be.” Later she adds, “It’s like a switch. It’s like, I, I turn off a switch in my head. When it’s over, like, I turn it back on.” This recognition of the performance aspect of the labor contributes to the “queering” of the brothel because it disrupts the taken-for-granted assumptions that heteronormative gender/sexual relations are naturally occurring, rather than something that is “put on,” created, purchased, and consumed in the marketplace.

Several studies have documented that clients understand the performance aspect of the commercial sexual transaction. “A commonly noted feature of late capitalism is that more and more forms of entertainment become preoccupied with the commodification of spectacle and experience” (Frank, 2002: xxv). My interviewees discussed the Whoremongers, a group of men who pay for sexual services from sex workers at the brothels and then rank them on the Whoremongers’ website. The Whoremongers, while anonymous on their site, will directly tell a sex worker that she will be ranked on their site in an effort to get a lower price or a better performance. My interviewees rolled their eyes while discussing the Whoremongers. “They’re just cheap—trying to get the world for a dollar” (Tracy). Interestingly, the identity of “Whoremonger” is in and of itself a construction. It is an identity that is produced in relation to the sex worker in an effort to gain control of the negotiation (and perhaps mimics the dominant narrative of masculinity where “the man” is in control of the sexual transaction).

Some customers also discuss/share strategies with one another about how to detect genuine/authentic interaction versus commodified performances in web chat rooms or sites where they discuss sex workers’ performances. A quote from one chat rooms states, “She started moving back and forth, letting out little moans of pleasure which I think were actually real” (Albert, 2001: 229). Research with customers shows that sometimes they are hyper-aware and concerned about the implications of the performances by sex workers (Katsulis, 2009; Albert, 1995). Thus, while they are consuming these fantasies, they are often irritated that they are paying for it, that they do not have the opportunity to enjoy this for free in the “real world.” Their attempts to solicit an “authentic” reaction from a sex worker seem to be an effort to, again, gain control over the process where woman are supposed to be passive sexual objects and men are supposed to be active sexual subjects. Yet, many of the sex workers I interviewed are very open about the performance aspect of their service and some even advertise themselves that way. Ava, for example, states on the Cookie website: “What you need is what I like, so tell me about it. I’m petite and can be aggressive and dominant or obedient and submissive … I’m waiting at the Cookie to be what you want me to be.” This advertisement highlights that whatever sexual service in which the client may be interested is not naturally occurring but is a commodified performance. This advertisement is also an excellent example of the spatialized performances that sex workers create in an effort to please the client, which is economically advantageous for the sex worker (Brewis and Linstead, 2000; Sanders, 2005).

While it may appear that the client seeking “authenticity” reinforces the belief that heteronormative sex/gender performances are “normal,” it should be noted that there are many different types of clients and their motivations for seeking a sex worker are varied. As Teela Sanders (2008) discusses:

It has been identified that some men are attracted to the temporal relationship available through commercial sex because of the lack of emotional attachment, the ability to suspend “normal” expectations of the male sex role and the type of relationship that is free from societal norms and rituals (Atchison et al., 1998). However, “regulars” were less inclined to be motivated by these features of commercial sex, but instead sought out sex workers with whom they could develop a more in-depth and holistic type of relationship. (Sanders, 2008: 406)

Queering the brothel allows us to examine the possibilities that emerge from acknowledging a range of differences and subjectivities among the clients of sex workers, from those who may seek a traditionally heteronormative experience, such as the Whoremongers, to those who desire an encounter in which they can resist traditional gender scripts, and/or want to be dominated or humiliated.

It is important to note that not every sex worker’s experience with clients is the same, and the clients themselves vary greatly. For example, Monto’s (1999) study indicates that sex worker clients “were less likely to be married, more likely to have unhappy marriages, more likely to have numerous sexual partners, more likely to use pornography, more likely to have sexual partners of both sexes and more likely to express sexually liberal attitudes” (1999: 1). Understanding variations among clients in and of itself works to destabilize some traditional notions about clients and why they visit brothels. Ava affirms that she often enjoys sex with clients and can reach an orgasm while servicing them. Ava still admitted to “acting” with clients, but believed it served a greater purpose: “’Cuz I look so young, they usually ask me to act like a little girl or want to choke me or act like I’m being raped or something. I think it’s fine ‘cuz I’d rather have them in here doing it to me than out there really doin’ it to some little girl.” This adds an interesting layer to the sex worker’s identity construction because Ava sees herself not merely as a performer servicing a client, but also as an agent of social services—she believes she is helping the greater good. As Patty Kelly (2008) writes: “This notion of prostitution as a ‘social service’ is not unique. Both Liz Bondi and Alexa Albert, in their studies in Scotland and the United States, respectively, found a similar discourse among the public and sex workers” (Albert, 2001: 114). This notion of social service provider was repeated by many of my interviewees who suggested their job was that of fantasy performer, sex therapist, even doctor. ¹⁰ Yet, just because these workers are performing does not necessarily mean that their sex work is devoid of emotional ties or a sense of responsibility to the client. As Albert notes, “most of the women took their work very seriously, and many expressly considered it a form of social service on par with others” (2001: 104), several of my interviewees discussed the same sentiment. Ava, for example, repeatedly referenced making clients happy and having them leave with a “big smile on their face[s].” To her, and others, it was important that their performance was believable—their livelihood, and perhaps some aspect of their identity construction, depends on it.

Lesbian and heteroflexible acts

The lesbian identity and heteroflexible acts of some sex workers within the brothel are excellent examples of resistance to dominant narratives of sexuality. For example, Halberstam states that “queer” refers to “nonnormative logics and organizations of community, sexual identity, embodiment, and activity in space and time … Queer uses of time and space develop, at least in part, in opposition to the institutions of family, heterosexuality, and reproduction” (2005: 6). The brothel functions in opposition to the institution of the family and reproduction in that it is a sanctioned space for non-reproductive sexual services provided to any paying customer: married, single, or attending the brothel with a wife/partner. While it would be instinctive to argue that the brothel is an alternative temporality that mimics heteronormativity, which to a large extent it does, it also is a space of heteroflexible performance.

The heteroflexible sexual identity describes women who emotionally and sexually explore with other women, but do not self-identify with any of the three identities included in the existing label triangle: heterosexual, bisexual, lesbian … This socialization plays into the “male interloper fantasy”—or the fantasy that men may be invited to engage in sexual acts with two women. (Ambrose, 2009: 69) ¹¹

Many sex workers interviewed openly discussed participating in heteroflexible activities with other female sex workers per the request of a client. Some sex workers reported that they preferred to “perform” with specific women within the brothel because they were good friends or because they always had “fun” working together. As Hailey told me, “I always try to pull Tracy in there because she cracks me up [laughs]! Oh, my god, the faces she makes! And the noises—she’s so funny. And [the client] don’t know what’s goin’ on.” Some sex workers also discussed bringing in another sex worker for a heteroflexible performance if she knew that the other worker was having a slow night, not making much money, or needed extra cash. “You know, if Hailey’s having a slow one or I know she’s bored or something, I’ll tell the guy, ‘Hey, what do you think of my friend? She cute, right? You wanna play with both of us?” In this example, the sex worker commodifies and commercially benefits from the stereotypical male fantasy of watching two women while, according to my interviews, also having more fun and exercising additional control over the encounter.

While the brothel proves to be a space of fluid sexual identities, that notion is further addressed when women who self-identify as “lesbian” work as heterosexual sex workers, performing sexual services for men. In Sex Work: Writings by Women in the Sex Industry (Delacoste and Alexander, 1998), several stories are written by women who identify as lesbian but perform as heterosexual: “Most know that I’m gay. I don’t hide the fact, but I don’t mention it often” (Morgan, 1998: 23). While there is ample documentation of self-identified lesbians who perform heterosexual sex work, Albert (2001) noted a different type of female-to-female sexuality while she conducted research at the Mustang Guest Ranch, “While most of the relationships between women did have an unusual air of sexualized energy, very few of the prostitutes identified themselves as bisexual or lesbian. Although some women did have sex with other women in the brothel, almost all of them thought of themselves as heterosexuals who had merely been experimenting. “We are so isolated and lonely,” said one woman. “I think we start looking for comfort and affection anywhere we can find it” (2001: 112). This fluid sexuality that Albert documents in her book was also expressed by my interviewees. “I’m [sexually] charged up all day so I always sit on Mickey’s lap or kiss her or … I just need to be touched” (Ava)! These quotations suggest that the brothel acts as a queer space where sexual desires and identities are in flux and “normative” and “deviant” are conflated, if they exist at all. The brothel, however, is not necessarily a place where “anything goes.”

Some critics of sex work suggest that the male client is solely the one in control of the transaction, arguing it is “as he wishes it” (Olsen quoted in Barry, 1985: 164); “any way he wishes” (Beneke, 1982: 23); “He decides what to buy, and what is a commodity” (Kappeler, 1986: 159). However, my interviewees suggested otherwise. When asked if they feel in control of the negotiation process all of the interviewees stated yes, some affirmed, “Absolutely,” (Tracy); “100%” (Mickey). While the negotiation process itself remains shrouded in mystery, ¹² one thing seemed certain according to my interviews: the women working at the Cookie did not have to do anything they did not want to do with any one they deemed undesirable, challenging many of the dominant stereotypes of female sex workers. This sentiment was repeated by management and by workers, though several workers made a point of stating that management at other brothels was not necessarily so understanding. Other research has also found this to be true: “When a woman refused a customer willing to pay the house minimum, management expected a reasonable excuse (e.g., that he refused to wear a condom). While [a sex worker] would negotiate her own deals and could raise her prices to deter unappealing customers, management would raise its eyebrows if she did this too often” (Albert, 2001: 52). This is an example of a space where women exert some agency over the transaction and at the Cookie their choice seems supported by the management. Additionally, safe-sex practices are mandated within the brothel. Women often discussed how they control the safe-sex/harm-reduction practices within the brothel by putting on the condom, using gloves when they touch a client’s genitals, mouth or anus, using a “dental dam” or cellophane if a client wanted to give them oral sex. While it sounds quite clinical, many of the women admitted a serious aversion to clients’ bodily fluids, considering clients to be potential vectors of disease. This contributes to the notion that the brothel is a queer space because in this place, the sex worker is not the disease carrier, she is the disease free (or she cannot work) risk-reducer who controls the sexual transaction from beginning to end. This is relevant because, as Albert states, “I knew plenty of people who were more educated and more affluent and failed to properly protect themselves sexually” (Albert, 2001: 30). Thus, the brothel is a space that afforded women a particular kind of control over the sexual transaction that does not necessarily translate outside of the brothel. The brothel safeguards against clients trying to assume control through violence, from the gated entryway, to the security pat-down, to the emergency buzzers in each room, an intercom system for the cashier to listen and, at the Cookie, full-time security. All of these physical protections from buzzers to dental dams, mitigate the power that brothel patrons may have had outside of this space and place the sex worker in a position of control.

However, the patron also has power within this negotiation because he has the money to purchase a particular service. As the introduction to this article indicates, the patron can purchase the service of being dominated. His money affords him the power to purchase a service that makes him feel powerless. While the sex worker may feel powerful in this particular act, her sense of power may be mitigated by the structural forces that have led her to sex work in the first place. There is a strong argument for the lack of economic choices that often leads women to sex work, yet this argument must also address (though it often does not) male and transgender sex workers as well as sex workers who are immigrants or racially disenfranchised.

Foucault reconceptualized ideas of power arguing that power is not a “thing” owned or exercised by a dominant majority, but is instead a matter of relationships and interactions among individuals (Watson, 2005: 71). Yet, critics of heterosexual commercial sexual transactions often argue that women are victimized in these transactions because they lack agency, are in a powerless subject position, and their bodies are being used to fulfill men’s illicit and sometimes pathological sexual fantasies. “Put simply, whether you’re a ‘high-class’ call girl or a street walkin’ ho, when you’re on a ‘date’ you gotta get on your knees or lay on your back and let that man use your body any way he wants to. That’s what he pays for” (Carter and Giobbe, 2006: 35).

Other notable critics of commercial sex work, including Andrea Dworkin, Kathleen Barry, and Catherine MacKinnon, argue that myriad forms of sex work (including pornography and “prostitution”) normalize expectations of male customers living out idealized notions of masculinity, consumption, and male power. According to these critics, state sanctioned brothels are clear representations of patriarchal domination and a space where women are physically, emotionally, and sexually abused. Thus, brothels are a heteronormative space where men fulfill their sense of entitlement to sexual access of women. Yet, my findings indicate that the brothel is designed to be a space where that masculine control is mitigated. To use Catharine Mackinnon’s own logic against her, “Depictions of subordination tend to perpetuate subordination” (2006: 94). Therefore, the consistent myopic depictions of brothels as sites of heteronormative patriarchal sexual encounters perpetuate the notion that the sex workers are powerless, when the reality is much more complex.

Conclusion

As Alexa Albert states in her book Brothel, her goal was to “bring the issue [of brothel sex work] out of the realm of caricature and into that of serious debate” (2001: 33). In a similar vein, queer theory seeks to interrogate cultural caricatures of “lesbian” “gay” and “transgender” identities, unpacking those “stable” categories. Is a brothel a queer space? According to Halberstam’s definition, I would argue yes, it is. Does arguing that a brothel is a queer space benefit us? Again, I would argue yes, it does. Queer theory offers a lens to complicate the understanding of the complex reality of the brothel that is so often dismissed. Queer theory, which is deeply rooted in psychoanalytic and post-structural ideas around identity, sexuality and the role of the symbolic, can be used to highlight the precarious nature of identity and the notion of self (Watson, 2005: 70).

Absolutely there are spaces within the brothel that replicate heteronormativity, but there are also spaces where heteronormativity is resisted, reconfigured, and complicated. Ultimately, examining the brothel as a temporally queer space is useful because it expands queer theory beyond transgender identity performance to further explore how queer theory connects to heterosexual identity performances. This aids in complicating our understanding of sex worker and client identities within the brothel and can hopefully begin to dismantle “the enduring associations between sex work and victimization, the prevalence of dichotomies, and the notion that sex workers represent a homogeneous population” (Shaver, 2005: 297). Additionally, we can use queer theory to better understand how Nevada’s laws construct an ideology that is recreated and performed within this space—and at times, resisted and reconstructed. Thus, examining the brothel as a queer space aids in complicating sexuality, gender, and negotiations of identity performance. This helps to construct a much richer understanding of sex workers and interrogates traditional notions of the brothel as a space where female providers enable male customers to live out idealized notions of masculinity, consumption, and male power. As queer theory critiques identity, we can use it as a framework for examining how particular identities are constructed, performed, and maintained within this space.

Carol Pateman argues:

Masculinity and femininity are sexual identities; the self is not completely subsumed in its sexuality, but identity is inseparable from the sexual construction of the self … The story of the sexual contract reveals that the patriarchal construction of the difference between masculinity and femininity is the political difference between freedom and subjection, and that sexual mastery is the major means through which men affirm their manhood. When a man enters into the prostitution contract he is not interested in sexually indifferent, disembodied services; he contracts to buy sexual use of a woman for a given period …  Of course, men can also affirm their masculinity in other ways, but, in relations between the sexes, unequivocal affirmation is obtained by engaging in “the sex act.” (Pateman, 2006: 69)

However, through the lens of queer theory, we can suggest that Pateman’s ideas are flawed because the notion of the “unified” self is debatable, the reliance on binary (male/female) arguments is outdated, and a sexual act does not necessarily reflect one’s personal or social identity. “Butler maintained that it is possible to challenge the status-quo by producing reverse discourses …  by producing competing discourses (i.e., collections of stories from experience that challenge the ‘truth’ of the discourse), exposing the falsehood of the idea that an original gender (or sexuality) exists” (Watson, 2005: 72). This article places sex workers’ own narratives about their work in the context of queer theory in order to better inform our understanding of how identities are constructed and performed within the queer space of a legal brothel.