The Trade

We all have skeletons in our closets. Here's one of mine.

I think I'm addicted to prostitutes. Not really addicted to the point that I have to go to rehab. I don't often pick up call girls on the streets... just a few times. Less than five. Okay, maybe more than five... maybe 10. I kinda lost count, but definitely NOT more than 10!

As if numbers really matter. The fact remains that I participate in this horrible trade. Jaws often drop when I tell some people about it. They say I'm not bad looking, I could definitely get sex without having to pay for it. And it won't be with just anyone. They say I could probably get any person I wanted.

Why would I pay for something I can get for free? For one thing, most of those girls on the streets are experts in their field. They could literally blow you away. And since you're paying, you could just lie down and let them do all the work. You can just lie still and enjoy whatever it is she's doing. You'd feel like a king. You don't have to return the favor, you don't have to worry whether or not she's having a great time. What can I say? I'm not offended when someone says I'm lousy in bed because I really am lousy, I guess. That's why it feels better when they do all the work. I don't have to worry about performance and shit.

And when my conscience bothers me, I remind myself that these girls were driven to their professions because of poverty. They have no other means. All options were tried, they had to sell their bodies as a last resort. This way, I am helping them. I know it's sick to think of it as some sort of charity work, but it can be effective in fooling the mind.

I'm not really addicted. They say it's normal for guys to have sex with prostitutes at least once in their lives. Heck, I know a few guys who have paid for sex many more times than I have. But I know that if I had more money I could give in to addiction. God knows how excited i get once I see those girls waiting on the streets. When there are so many of them, littering the streets, all clamoring for your attention. My senses light up instantly, then all my reasoning disappears. I do stupid things, like giving promises, offering more money, not wearing condoms for crying out loud, even if I'm very much aware of the risks. Doctors do indeed make the worst patients. If i had more money, i may not be able to stop.

More than giving in to pleasure and lust... maybe I also give in to loneliness. During those late nights, those girls seem to offer companionship aside for intimacy. Most of them have raised their eyebrows when I blab about several musings about life... When I tell them how lonely I get, when I admit that I feel so alone at times. Then they'll try to cheer me up, try to think of inspirational words they can say, try to give sound advice. And then I try to fool myself, pretending to believe those words are genuine, even though I'm aware that all the charades are part of the package that I'm paying for. It's devastating to realize that i can stoop down to such levels at times. Often there are people we can readily call when we are down in the dumps, when we are drowning in sorrow... but there are times when no friends can dig you up from the grave you've managed to bury yourself in, no friends to pull you up from the abyss you've gotten yourself into. There are times when I feel that there's nothing left for me, that I have to pay not just for sex, but for happiness, companionship, comfort, and security as well.

... even when people are practically giving those things away for free.