Pimpin’ Ain’t Easy

Actor Jensen Ackles as my muse for Jackson Fischer.

Actor Jensen Ackles as my muse for Jackson Fischer.

It’s not everyday the most famous man in America invites you to his home for the weekend.

No, I’m not going to the White House this weekend.

No, I’m not going to wine and dine with your favorite pop star.

I have the luxury of being the VIP guest of one Jackson Fischer.

I’m sure you’ve heard of him – he’s the founder and proprietor of Fischer Enterprises, which owns the world’s most-famous brothel, The Honey Ranch. Seducing viewers every week on Showtime, Jackson introduces us to another side of the billion-dollar sex worker industry.

Earning record-breaking views on cable TV and on YouTube where the not-so illicit clips are available, the Garden of Eden reality show is America’s growing fascination with sex and feminism, though some would argue there’s nothing feminist about the show and the women are being exploited.

We get to follow the women’s lives as they entertain clients, go shopping for clothes, and even get into fights with each other over mundane (who used up someone’s shampoo) to serious (who’s been stealing money out of the rooms).

It’s like the Bunny Ranch meets Girls Next Door. Except we’re not dealing with the older and well-aged owners of Dennis Hof and Hugh Hefner, respectively. We’re dealing with a modern-day rock star in his own right.

Jackson Fischer.

I’ll be staying for a few days inside the ranch, getting to know Jackson and a few of his girls. Of course, scoring this interview was not easy. I had to reassure him several times that I was not a part of some radical feminist group and I wasn’t about to do some sting operation on him. After several background checks and vetting me out with multiple people, I’m on my way.

As I arrive to the pearly white gates of the Honey Ranch, he personally comes out to greet me. He’s much taller than I’d expected and to my surprise, a lot more muscular as revealed in his simple attire of a T-shirt and jeans. He’s wearing aviator shades and his sandy blond hair has the right amount of bedhead.

Ladies, he’s even more gorgeous in person.

“Ms. Abigail Martin,” he flashes a perfect smile as I step out of the rental car. He greets me with a kiss on each cheek before he picks up my luggage and carries it inside. “Welcome to my ranch.”

It’s clear he’s not joking when he says it’s a ranch. It spreads over several acres and boasts of a tennis court, an Olympic-sized pool, two full-length bars both in and outside, and several bedrooms and bathrooms. There’s a movie theater, a very impressive wine cellar, an indoor gym, basketball court, and Real World-style confessional room (“That’s strictly for the cameras,” Jackson noted, “that wasn’t there before and it’ll be removed once we stop filming.”).

Jackson’s palatial estate is also on the property, just a few feet away and where he sleeps at night. He works the majority of the time from his home office and takes a golf cart ride to the brothel several days a week to make sure everything is okay. He never announces his visits but the girls know to expect him at any time and at any hour.

We sit in a private area of the ranch where a chef serves us lunch. The one thing everyone talks about on the show, besides the undeniable sexiness of Jackson and the likable girls, is how amazing the food is and I have to agree. Jackson eats a kobe cheeseburger while I’m devouring one of the best chicken Caesar salads ever. I’ve been dying to try the most-hyped up lemonade since every guest on the show swears it beats Hot Dog on a Stick’s. The peach julep lemonade with the sprig of mint is what wet dreams are made of. I would personally come back to this ranch for the food.

“You’re the most-famous man in America,” I begin.

“Mmm,” Jackson takes a bite of his burger and slowly chews it. He has a look of discontent as if I told him some bad news.

“You don’t like being the most-famous man in America?” I prod.

“It’s not that; it’s just a title,” he shrugs it off like it means nothing and it probably doesn’t to him. “Anyone can be famous. All you need nowadays is a camera and internet access,” he snaps his fingers, “instant fame. Being important takes more work.”

“So you’d rather be important than be famous?”

“I don’t know what I’d rather be, honestly.” It seems the question bothers him more than it should but not enough to have a sit-down with Dr. Phil and discuss where he went wrong in life. “But that famous title is entertaining.”

“How does your family feel about your notoriety?” I carefully ask, stepping into territory that could easily get me kicked out and I’ve only been here for an hour. It’s been well-documented that Jackson and his parents have a very cool relationship. And when I say cool, I mean AC cold. One of the most-viewed and discussed episodes was when Jackson and his father, Don, were out on a shooting range. While Don struggled to hit his target, Jackson had perfect aim. (“I was thinking of your face,” Jackson responded when Don asked about his shots.)

“They’re not proud,” he admits, “but they know it could be worse so they shut up about it.” He pauses while chewing a sweet potato fry. “Thanksgiving isn’t bad and everyone loves their gifts come Christmas so money talks.”

“Do you wish you had a closer relationship?”

“I wish for a lot of things; it doesn’t mean they’re going to come true.” His blue eyes have a slight touch of sadness that indicates the parents-son relationship still has a ways to go in being repaired. “But it never stops me from trying.”

“Let’s talk about your image,” I quickly change the subject to something lighter for both of us, “you’re celebrated for being a pimp. Does that bother you?”

He laughs at my question, though I’m wondering if it’s me he’s really laughing at. “When you think of the stereotypical image of a pimp, my face isn’t what you think of. You think of Ice-T, who has admitted it. You think of Snoop Dogg, who has parlayed in it. You don’t think of Malibu Ken.” His eyes sparkle between deviousness and playfulness. “When you think of a pimp, you’re thinking of the sleaziest of sleazy Black guy, and it’s racist. Does anyone call Hugh Hefner a pimp? Does anyone call Dennis Hof a pimp? Does anyone call me a pimp? No, because we’re White.”

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“So you consider yourself a pimp, then?”

“I’m a businessman,” he politely corrects, “I’ve always have been and I’ll always will be.”

“I bet if you ask a pimp that he’d say the same thing.”

“If the women are willingly doing it on their own, who’s pimping who?” He counters. “If anyone is getting pimped here, it’s those who come to visit. Believe me, they are well aware of what’s going on and they keep coming back.”

“Doesn’t that bother you in some way?” I ask. “That people admire you for doing this?”

“It seems it bothers you that I’m unbothered,” he smiles.

“What about your love life? I mean, some father is watching your show and going, ‘He’s coming nowhere near my daughter.’”

“Some, but not all,” he implies and a wide smile spreads across his face, indicating his fan club is much bigger than most people want to admit. “You already have this theory if you were a man, had a daughter, and saw me on TV every week, you would keep your baby girl as far away from me as possible. That’s honorable. You refuse to acknowledge there are some girls who know what I do and they don’t care. It’s what they allow me to get away with.”

“And what do they allow you to get away with?”

“I’ll have a beer with your dad, give flowers to your mom, treat you like a queen, and then take you home and blow your back out.” He gives yet another sexy smile. “Frankly, that’s what every woman wants, no matter what the guy does for a living.”


Part 2 of Jackson’s interview will be out next week.

When Love Calls (Jackson & Liane 2) will be out around September 15th.

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