A few years ago, my dad took me to the Mustang Ranch. For those of you who don’t know, it’s a brothel on the outskirts of Reno. Built in 1971, it became Nevada’s largest and most profitable brothel until 1999, when the owner was charged with tax fraud.
The property was forfeited to the US government, which auctioned off all the “used” furniture on eBay. Though it never operated while under Federal management, it is the only time in US history that the Federal government owned a brothel.
My dad and I had been swimming in the Truckee river, which runs through downtown Reno. I’m not sure what inspired him to suggest we go to the Ranch; perhaps it was the fact that he’d just lost his wedding ring as he struggled to stay above the surface of the water while floating through a set of rapids with the rest of Reno’s teen population on that hot August afternoon.
He told me that they had a great museum, which sounded suspiciously like when people said they read Playboy magazine for the articles, but I was game. I love new experiences, and I’d never been to a brothel, let alone the infamous Mustang Ranch.
Another reason he suggested we go there is that his uncle was a bartender there. He said that, as a bartender and possibly the only male not there to get laid, his uncle was the confidant of the ladies of the house. This reminded me of another friend of mine who was the only non-gay ballet dancer in his company. He managed to date all of the other dancers, who were so busy with practice, that they didn’t have time to go out and meet other men.
As we drove east out of Reno on highway 80, I began to wonder whether my dad’s intentions really were just to visit my uncle and check out the museum. I imagined a rather awkward rite of passage moment as father and son stood together to choose women from a line up.
I was still nervous about this when we pulled up to the ranch and parked in a dirt parking lot with only a couple other cars there. We got out and headed towards the front door. As we approached, an attractive woman stepped out, dressed only in lingerie, and met us halfway across the parking lot.
In a friendly tone she asked, “what brings you to the Mustang Ranch today?” My dad replied, “it’s my son’s first time.” Not missing a beat she looked up at my short cropped gray hair and said, “aren’t you a little behind on that?” We all laughed pretty hard, and my dad dug the hole deeper, “We’re here to see the museum”. “Sure you are” she said as she turned around and led us through the door into the brothel.