Gość: workaholic
IP: *.nsw.bigpond.net.au
21.12.04, 01:53
I remember the first time I had sex - I still have the receipt. The girl was
alive, as far as I could tell; she was warm and she cost me 20 ($50). I was
16 then and I'm 41 now. I have spent 25 years throwing my money and heart at
tarts. I have slept with every nationality in every position in every country.
From high-class call girls at 1000 a pop to the meat-rack girls of Soho, I
have probably slept with more than 1000 prostitutes, at a cost of 100,000.
I am a connoisseur of prostitution: I can take its bouquet, taste it, roll it
around my mouth, give you the vintage. I have used brothels, saunas, private
homes from the internet and ordered girls to my flat prompt as pizza. While
we are on the subject, I have also run a brothel. And I have been a male
escort.
I wish I was more ashamed, but I'm not. I love prostitutes and everything
about them.
In English brothels, you shuffle into a seedy room so dim you can only meet
the girl by Braille. In New York last year I sat on a four-poster bed while
10 girls paraded in front of me one by one, like bowls of sushi on a
carousel. "Hi," they would say, "I'm Tiffany", "I'm Harmony", "I'm Michelle",
and I would rise and kiss them. It was so touching, so sweet, so kind. There
should always, no matter what, be politeness. It is the way the outside world
should work, selfishly but honestly.
The great thing about sex with whores is the excitement and variety. If you
say you're enjoying sex with the same person after a couple of years you're
either a liar or you're on something. Of all the sexual perversions, monogamy
is the most unnatural. Most of our affairs run the usual course. Fever.
Boredom. Trapped. This explains much of the friction in our lives - love
being the delusion that one woman differs from another.
With brothels there is always the exhilaration of not knowing what you're
going to get.
The problem with normal sex is that it leads to kissing and pretty soon
you've got to talk to them. Once you know someone well, the last thing you
want to do is screw them. I like to give, never to receive; to have the power
of the host, not the obligation of the guest. I can stop writing this and
within two minutes I can be chained in the arms of a whore. I know I am going
to score and I know they don't really want me. And within 10 minutes I am
back writing. What I hate are meaningless and heartless one-night stands
where you tell all sorts of lies to get into bed with a woman you don't care
for.
The worst things in life are free. Value seems to need a price tag. How can
we respect a woman who doesn't value herself? When I was young, I used to
think it wasn't who you wanted to have sex with that was important, but who
you were comfortable with socially and spiritually. Now I know that is
rubbish. It's who you want to have sex with that's important. In the past I
have deceived the women I have been with. You lie to two people in your life;
your partner and the police. Everyone else gets the truth.
Part of me used to enjoy the deception. Sex without betrayal I found
meaningless. Without cruelty there was no banquet. Having a secret life is
exhilarating. I also have problems with unpaid-for sex. I am repulsed by the
animality of the body, by its dirt and decay. The horror for me is the fact
that the sublime, the beautiful and the divine are inextricable from basic
animal functions. For some reason money mitigates this. Because it is
anonymous.
What I hate with women generally is the intimacy, the invasion of my
innermost space, the slow strangulation of my art. The writer chained for
life to the routine of a wage slave and the ritual of copulation. When I love
somebody, I feel trapped.
Three years ago I was saved. I found a girl whom I could fall in love
with ... And sleep with prostitutes with. She sends me to brothels to sleep
with women for her. I buy her girls for her birthday and we go to whorehouses
together. I am free forever from the damp, dark prison of eternal love.
A prostitute exists outside the establishment. She is either rejected by it
or in opposition to it. Or both. It takes courage to cross this line. She
deserves our respect, not our punishment. And certainly not our pity or
prayers.
Of course, the general feeling is that the man is somehow exploiting the
woman, but I don't believe this. In fact, the prostitute and the client, like
the addict and the dealer, is the most successfully exploitative relationship
of all. And the most pure. It is free of ulterior motives. There is no
squalid power game. Sex with a whore is the purest sex of all.
Why does a sleazy bastard like me like whores so much? Why pay for it? The
problem is that the modern woman is a prostitute who doesn't deliver the
goods. Teasers are never pleasers; they greedily accept presents to seal a
contract and then break it. At least the whore pays the flesh that's haggled
for. The big difference between sex for money and sex for free is that sex
for money usually costs a lot less.
It is more than this. I want the sensation of sex without the boredom of its
conveyance. Brothels make possible contacts of physical intimacy without the
intervention of personality. I love using money to buy the personal act of
intimacy. Lust over love, and to fall into a woman's arms without falling
into her hands.
Having an instinctive sympathy for those condemned by conventional society, I
wanted to cross the line myself. To pay for sex is to strip away the veneer
of artifice and civilisation and connect with the true animal nature of man.
Crime and risk are part of the texture of life. Indeed, Freud tells us: "Life
loses interest when the highest stake in the game of living, life itself, may
not be risked." Risk is what separates the good part of life from the tedium.
Claudia is my favourite prostitute. When I ask if she wants prostitution
legalised, she reacted violently: "No way! I tried to take a regular job a
few months ago. After tax and national insurance I was left with practically
nothing. So I came back here.
"On a good day here I can take 500.
I don't have a pimp, so after paying the overheads and the maid I've got more
than enough." There you are. Income tax has made more liars out of people
than prostitution.
I know a little bit about the business side. Some years ago I became a
brothel-runner and a male escort. I turned one of the rooms in my flat into a
knocking shop and joined an escort agency.
I went into prostitution looking for love, not money. That said, I always
took cash. The women wanted company, someone willing to please at the
midnight hour, and straight sex. It was nerve-racking, wondering if I was
going to be able to get it up or get on, but at least I had a valid reason
for liking my lovers - they paid me. I didn't care if someone called me a
whore and a pimp.
So you see, I have always been a prostitute by sympathy. As for the rest of
society, prostitution is the mirror of man, and man has never been in danger
of becoming bogged down in beauty. So why don't we leave it alone? Or learn
to love it, like me? Sex is one of the most wholesome, spiritual and natural
things money can buy. And, as in all games, it becomes more interesting when
played for money. And more so when it is illegal.
Hookers and drunks instinctively understand that common sense is the enemy of
romance. Will the bureaucrats and politicians please leave us some unreality.
I know what you are thinking. That it's all very well for people like me to
idealise whores and thieves; to think that the street is somehow noble and
picturesque; I have never had to live there.
So what? One day I will. Until such time, I have to pay for it. How else
would someone young, rich and handsome get sex in this city? Yes, yes, I
know.
