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In January 2022, I wrote a story about Flute Players: Prostitutes in the Old West who specialized in blowjobs. Re-reading it, I came up with a sequel.

As an aside the British call flute players, flautists. In America it's pronnounced flutists. This story takes place in the US, so I'm using the word flutist.

Addie (Adelaide) Ferguson and Hortie (Hortense) Martinson found themselves war widows and destitute in the years following the American Civil War. Both, almost forty took the train west to the booming mining town of Denver, in the territory of Colorado. It would be another five years before the territory became a state.

They had no obvious skills and made the difficult decision to find employment in what was called a sporting house: a brothel. "Aren't we too old?" Addie asked.

"I understand some of those girls aren't even twenty, but I heard some rumor that the girls in those houses would kill themselves before they'd consider using their mouths to please a man."

"Hortie, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that as a married woman when my husband suggested it, I didn't hesitate, and I suspect you didn't either."

Addie blushed. "Well, it's not something I'm proud of, but my husband did praise my skill."

Hortie laughed. "Sometimes my husband preferred my mouth to well, you know."

"Mine too. I suspect the men in a mining camp will love what we have to offer."

"Yes, and apparently none of those young girls are interested."

"Addie, if it keeps me from begging on the street, I'm interested."

"Me, too. Hortie, I heard because we're ladies, they don't use any crass names for what we're going to do. They call us flute players."

"Then I'm going to be the best flute player possible."

"Me too."

Arriving by train from the east, the two women had no trouble finding a brothel in the small town of approximately 5,000 people; mostly men and mostly miners. There were at least four of them right on the main street. Brothels, not men.

"Ladies, you're lovely, but far too old for my clientele."

"The nerve of that woman," Addie said, as they walked away.

"I think we knew our age was going to be a problem before we left home."

"I know, I know, but still to tell us right to our faces. I could just scream."

In the next house, they were greeted warmly. "Ladies, I'm Mrs. Trowbridge. Do you have any special talent that would make you employable?"

Hortie looked at Addie and then both smiled. "Mrs. Trowbridge," Hortie said, "Addie and I are both flutists."

"Accomplished flutists," Addie smiled.

"Let me make sure I understand you. You're not saying that you have a talent for playing the musical instrument called a flute."

"Oh no," Hortie said. "I don't want to seem vulgar or unlady-like, but

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