Father's Day Collection | All-New T-Shirts, Hats, Polos, Hoodies, Crewnecks Now AvailableSHOP NOW

The Time I Accidentally Ran A Brothel Out Of My DC Apartment

I just read WSD's follow up article "My Old Neighbor Got Busted For Running A High-End Brothel, And Now She's Back On Her Bullshit," and not only was I entertained, I was... INSPIRED. 

It feels like a zillion years ago that I had my own little terrifying brothel incident.  It was... four months ago. A lot has changed since then. New city, new apartment, new job... a new life. As a struggling journalist with a penchant for the bougie and fresh out of a sugar daddy, I had a little side hustle when I went on the road for work. I would Airbnb my apartment. I had a building that used electronic keys, which made renting from afar, easy peezy. 

Because I lived in DC,  most of my Airbnb guests worked for the government in some way. They were ALWAYS the perfect house guests. They stayed at least a week, they never touched any of my personal items,  and they followed all the house rules to a tee. 

My last house guest... definitely didn't fit the profile. Ana. Ana was coming for a week, from NY, but with no specified purpose. Fine. No biggie. Not my business. But for some reason, and I couldn't put my finger on it, Ana made my spidey senses start to tingle. 

Ana wasn't aware that every time the electronic key was used to enter my apartment, a photo got taken and sent to my phone. I would normally never check the entry photos because... well, it's a little invasive. 

But for some reason, maybe out of curiosity, perhaps because my hackles were up, I decided to look at the security footage. 

And OHHH BOYYYY was it a shocking revelation. No photos of Ana or any woman... MANY images of men. 32 different men, at all hours of the day, coming and going, using the QR code I gave her. Ummmm... 

What the fuck? So, of course, I message her and her response was CLASSIC. 

A COUPLE of your friends??? Holy moly. 

At this point, I was headed back home to DC and terrified about what I might find. My first thought was that she maybe, definitely sold all my belongings to these fine gentlemen. No, scratch that, she had to be a prostitute, right? 100% certified prostitute. But maybe... she was also a burglar. Then my mind went into overdrive. 

What kind of condition would my apartment be in? What would be on my towels? What type of state would my sheets and mattress be in? I was fully skeezed out. 

So you can imagine my surprise, no disbelief when I walked in the door and found a perfectly clean, well-made bed with all of the clean towels sitting on the table as I left them. Hmmm. It was like no one was ever there. The only thing that stuck out was... the 5 different hand sanitizers scattered around my studio apartment. One by the bed, one in the kitchen, one on the TV stand, one in the bathroom, and one... in the shower. This woman was a professional. 

So yes, for a brief week, my apartment was a one-man-band style brothel and that means I guess you can call me Madam Trysta. My only regret is that I didn't ask for 10%. It could have been a nice little payday.