I’m sitting here at my computer, wearing no pants or panties. I just masturbated to videos of prostitutes getting used by fat guys. I’m still not sick of it. I’ve grown out of gangbang videos, which aren’t demeaning enough for my tastes, usually. I used to watch a lot of Midnight Prowl, which at first seemed pretty legit: the men really were just the creeps hanging around porn shops or street corners at night. Then they started hiring actual porn stars to do the work. My friend was dating a porn star, I won’t say who, but I knew who he was, and once I saw him fucking one of the MP girls, I knew they had jumped the shark. You see, by then they’ve either exhausted the supply of creepy men (not likely), or girls who were willing to sleep with creepy men. Being a porn star and fucking other, attractive, well-hung porn stars is not difficult, unless your vagina is shallow, I guess. But having to fuck random, loser guys? Why, that’s for prostitutes, not porn stars. What they fail to realize is they’re whores just the same. It’s great when you can screen for only good-looking men, but that’s not how the world goes ’round. Not, of course, to imply that all men who see hookers are unattractive. I was always bothered by their insistence that “I don’t pay her to show up! I pay her to leave!” True, some good-looking or not-unattractive men say this, but I’ve known the vast majority to be so gross, they really could not get it without paying.
There’s an episode of Criminal Minds where a call-girl (notice the terminology) starts killing a bunch of high-powered executives. It turns out, her father was seeing call-girls and that lead to divorce from her mother, and the destruction of her home life, so this was her revenge against him. As she sits on a hotel balcony, dying from some pills she took, she tells Aaron Hotchner, FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit team leader, the irony of the previously mentioned statement, and I paraphrase: “They always say they’re paying her to leave. But it’s always the man that leaves first.”
I can’t speak to the truth of that statement. I suspect it to be true, but I don’t know. When I worked, I usually did my outcalls in their home, where obviously I did the leaving (because, you know, it’s his home), or at my incall location, where obviously they would do the leaving (since I had to clean up, do laundry, dishes, restock the condoms and lube, etc., etc. before I could go anywhere). Honestly, I can only think of one time where I went to someone’s hotel room (When you take security seriously, you screen your clients. If your client is from out of town, you cannot trust references from girls you don’t know in other parts of the country, so I never met anyone whose only option for an outcall was his hotel. The one gentleman I did see at a hotel was local enough to have good references from girls I knew, but he lived a good distance away–I had no car–and we agreed to meet in the middle. He said he had to get home to feed his dogs, which I knew he really did have, and he let me stay in his 5-star hotel room and order whatever food service or pay-per-view I wanted. I was 18, but I attacked the mini-bar as well, as I doubted he would report me for underage drinking. Yes, he left first, but he set me up to still enjoy his money and my solitude).
So really, who needs whom? What is our relationship to one another? The escort may need money, but of course most of the girls I knew had college degrees and had other means of employment, sometimes being fully employed somewhere straight. This was not her only choice, just her favorite of her options. Whereas, what’s the john’s option? A porno flick and Palmela Handerson? His wife? Some mistress he has to woo with dates and gifts and, most importantly, time and attention, before he can stick it in? I can’t blame him for taking the most direct route. The mistress route–the one about starting a relationship that may not be of equals, but does require some balance–is not that different from the 40-hr work week option for women. But I think the power to make money is far greater than the power to get yourself laid, the ability to afford getting laid, whether it be in time or money. Women don’t have to do anything to get laid. All we have to do is put ourselves in the same room as a man. Depending on how long we’re stuck there, he’ll eventually want to stick it in. If, for some reason, stuck in this room, he had a key to a lock box full of food. If the woman wants some food, it’s easy to get. Women enjoy sex, and assuming this man meets her qualifications, she gets laid, and she gets food.
At the end of the night, no matter who leaves first, the woman gets the enjoyable sexual activity and the money. The john’s score is zero, the escort’s is two. To quote a famous whoremonger: “Winning!”
For the independent girls, they set their own rates. I knew a girl who was highly rated, I think she held the #1 spot for a while, and she charged well higher than the average rate. She was chubby and had flapjack tits–and she was only a B-cup. I had a threesome with her, and the guy involved, I ended up dating him for a long while, made fun of her tits constantly. He didn’t see how she could get the reviews she does with tits like that. But somehow, she did. This completely unimpressive girl, from outside observation, was commanding hundreds of dollars an hour and everyone was happy about it (no, it’s not all $5000/hr shit going on, some of it is quite reasonable). She was sitting in the catbird seat.
Are escorts and their johns mutually parasitic? Or does one hold an advantage over the other? As someone who loves degradation, I always felt like I had the upper hand. I get my rocks off, and I get paid to do it. Well, not anymore. But I don’t know how anyone else feels.
l knew one girl, her passion was rescuing cats–lions and tigers, not tabbies and calicoes–but of course, it doesn’t pay the bills. She was working as an exotic dancer, when she was fired for being “too old” (management just pointed at every girl over the age of 23 and said: “you’re fired”). So she turned to escorting. For some reason, I got the chance to look closely at her tits (these kinds of things happen in the industry). I saw the scar from her implants. She had great tits, and she was super sexy. For her, I think she was so self-sacrificing and so dedicated to the cats that she felt it was the just and proper thing to do. What other job would have paid her that much, with that little time spent working, so she could spend 40+ hours a week rehabilitating cats that fucking Amish people sell to idiots who don’t realize, “are you serious, it could eat me?”? I don’t think there really is one. What other job makes you $2000 a week with only six hours of work? She not only used her body, she altered her body so she could make more to give to the leopards. If I believed in such things, I would call it a holy endeavor.
Flapjacks was a nanny, working on a degree in Education. Another woman wanted to put her kids in private schools. I went to a party at one woman’s house, and she was so proud, she had just bought it, paid in cash, and it was hers. Myself, I was in school, but I didn’t need the money for anything. I had a good part-time job and a college fund. But I loved makeup. I would take my friends on financial aid out to dinners. I loaned money and didn’t worry about getting it back. I really didn’t care about the money. Sure, I liked to shop, but really, I was just looking for adventure. Some might say I’m prone to boredom, but luckily, I find ways to entertain myself. Most of the girls I knew were using their money for some higher purpose. It wasn’t just “Fuck Johns, Get Money.”
So, to continue the theme of doing bad for good… it’s common. I think maybe some things might be objectively wrong (most people would say murder, but I’m not so convinced on that, but I’ll offer a concession here), whereas others are based on perceptions given to us by holy books and society. Both cannot be trusted, however, as ultimately, society is unduly influenced by religion, which is, ultimately, based on folklore. This is easy to prove, but for another day.
I just read a fascinating book, The Psychopath Test. It was absolutely fascinating and I would have read it in one sitting if I had started it early enough in the day, but I had to go to bed and start up again the next day. That was the last two days. I plan to add my thoughts on the book in another post, hopefully soon. Basically, it’s about the power-grabs that surround the industry that assigns madness to others who fit in the madness mold, even if they may fit more evenly into the sane mold–the question is, which do we measure, and to which do we give more weight? It’s an interesting question for me as I examine what I myself contribute in terms of good and evil. Stay tuned.
loveablesociopath 