Katherine Ingenbohl Brothel ❤️

About Lausanne

Brothels, man, they’re wild! Oldest gig in the book—fact: ancient Pompeii had one called Lupanar, two stories, stone beds, freaky frescoes of folks gettin’ it on. Imagine the drama! Some Roman dude sneakin’ in, toga all twisted, hopin’ his wife don’t catch him. Me? I’d be pissed if my dude pulled that— “I’m not here to judge,” I’d say, lyin’ through my teeth. Snitches get stitches, but I’d snitch for fun.

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The invitation came from a small man, silhouetted in the dark new brothel slum, a makeshift collection of little rooms made of mismatched scrap wood and tin with the traffic zooming around us.

Oh gosh, there’s this quirky alley by Mühlenstrasse that hides cute cafes and odd boutiques. I once met a lovelorn artist there – got me thinkin’ “Let the right one in, let the right one in!” stuttering like a mad poet! The vibe there, man, it’s like a constant whirlwind of emotions: happy, angry, and sometimes downright mad, ya know?

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