It was a big house with peeling paint and sagging shutters, but Emily smiled at the sight of it and sighed with relief. It had been a long walk and her shoulders ached from the weight of her two valises. How far, she wondered from that fork in the road? No matter. The house ahead meant she was near her destination - Rock Ridge, Colorado. She set her bags down just long enough to wipe her palms on the skirt of her dress, then with a resolute step she trudged on.
As Emily drew near the house, the front door swung open on squeaky hinges and a woman stepped out onto the porch. She was tall, with an enormous bosom that threatened to bounce out of her dress as she strode out to meet Emily in the road. The woman's hair was a fiery orange and her lips were painted bright red.
"Looks like you walked a fair piece, honey," said the woman. She touched her finger to a drop of sweat that streaked the dust on Emily's pretty face.
"I got off the stagecoach at a cross-roads," Emily told her. "The driver said they don't stop in Rock Ridge anymore."
"That's right. They don't. Nobody goes to Rock Ridge anymore."
"But I am," Emily said cheerily. "I'm going to be the new school teacher."
"Schoolmarm, eh?" The woman walked slowly around Emily, lookin her up and down ands from every angle.
"Yes. My name is Emily Rush."
"Why would a pretty young thin like you want to teach school?"
"Well, I..."
"Spinster?"
"No, I'm a widow" said Emily. "My husband was killed in a streetcar accident."
"Sorry to hear that," the woman said without a trace of sympathy. "But you've come a long way for nothing, Missy. There ain't no school in Rock Ridge."
"Yes, there is."
"No, there ain't."
"There is."
"There ain't."
"But..."
"There's not even a town there anymore, honey," said the red haired woman. "Nothin' left but a few old scratchers, one saloon and a store with mostly empty shelves. When the silver played out, most everybody skedaddled."
"Skedaddled?"
"In a cloud of dust."
"So there's no school?"
"Nope."
"No children?"
"Nary a one."
"And no job. Oh my!"
"Like I said," said the bosomy woman. "You've come a long way for nothing."
"But you're still here," said Emily. "Why didn't you skedaddle?"
"I had a little put by...enough to see me through for awhile." The woman leaned close and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "And I've got in on good authority that the railroad will be coming through here soon. Maybe next summer. That'll perk things up again."
"I see," said Emily, who saw nothing but her own misfortune.
"Who knows? Maybe in a couple years there'll be a school fulla kids, too."
"But what will I do until then?" Emily plunked down her bags and fought back tears.
"Well, you could come to work for me."
"Doing what?"
The woman tilted her head toward her house. "What the hell do you suppose?"
Unnoticed by Emily, a half-dozen women in various stages of undress had lined the porch railing. Two were bare breasted and one was naked but for a pair of long red stockings and a matching hair ribbon.
"My goodness," said Emily. "Is this a house of ill-fame?"
"This is a whorehouse, plain and simple, dearie. A damn good one, too." The redhead extend a pudgy hand. "My name's Dorothy Nixon."
"It's nice to meet you Dorothy. And thank you for the offer but..."
"But what?"
"Well I...um...I simple couldn't accept."
"Why the hell not?"
"I don't think I'm qualified."
"Really." Dorothy Nixon put her hands on her generous hips and cocked an eyebrow. "You got a slit between your legs, Emily?"
"Yes, I suppose I do, but..."
"That's all the qualifications you need, sugar. Come on. I'll introduce you to the rest of my girls."
So Emily Rush, unemployed school teacher became the newest attraction at Dorothy's pleasure Palace. It wasn't always a smooth transition and the new whore clashed often and loudly with the madam of the house.
Emily had standards that towered above those of the other girls, most regarding hygiene. The schoolmarm whore, as she came to be called insisted on having a private bathtub installed in her room and adamantly refused to share her charms with any customer she found unsavory or otherwise offensive. To her credit, Emily was unfailingly polite and cheerful and tried to be helpful in other ways. She did much of the cooking and cleaning and even gave reading lessons to her fellow doves. She was considered to be a bit eccentric, even somewhat exotic, but after a few weeks she was welcomed to the region's collective bosom.
***
"Oh-oh. Dorothy, look who's coming."
"What is it, Lou?" Dorothy Nixon leaned past the girl called Lou to see a dark figure on horseback approaching the house. "Oh, shit," she said. "It's Bad Bart."
"Now I had him last time, Dot," said Lou. Make somebody else do him this time. It's only fair."
"All right, all right. Hide somewhere. I'll tell him you got the curse."
"I don't think that would matter much to the likes of him."
"Go on now." The madam shooed the girl from the room and walked out onto her big front porch.
The man called Bad Bart stopped his horse just short of the porch steps and silently scowled at Dorothy Nixon. He was dressed all in black, though a thick layer of trail dust made him seem gray as a ghost. He wore a brace of Colt revolvers on his hips and a black, flat-brimmed sombrero on his head. His dark eyes flashed beneath bushy brows. A drooping mustache his mouth from view and week-long stubble, the color of coal sprouted from his face.
He drew a wooden matchstick from his pocket and stuck it between his teeth. "Hello Dorothy."
"Hello Bart. What can I do for you?"
"You mean besides findin' me somethin' warm to stick my dick into?"
I don't want any trouble from you, Bart. You hear me?"
"There won't be any trouble long's I get what I came for," he said. "Do you hear me?"
"I'll see who's available."
