Monday, October 26, 2009

Dogen's Special Little Hooker, Part 2

What's up, America? I'm drinking a Coke and smoking Marlboros in Africa. God bless the USA. I'm also fighting off a little of Shaka Zulu's Revenge, unfortunately. Too much spicy goat meat.

I wrote here a few posts back about the time I was dating a prostitute and didn't know it. You'll have to dig back a little in the archives to find it. I can't link anything in these posts from Africa, because I'm posting via email. In fact, Alpha Status is blocked at the hotel I am staying at (and the one across the street). I can't read my own blog! As I mentioned to 11 Minutes in an email, I don't know whether to be insulted or flattered. Too many f-bombs, I suppose.

So I can't remember how much I said about this girl, the hooker. Not very much, if I recall. I started writing more about how I used to be beta in philosophy (to my undying shame, I once bragged about being a "feminist") yet still alpha in my actions and expectations. I also mentioned that the girl, "Daisy," was a short, bodacious young mixed race girl, Filipina and Mexican American.

I had seen her around and lusted after her quite a bit. Honestly, I can't remember how I ever asked her out, but at some point I must have, because I definitely remember our first date.

We were having drinks at a bar near my apartment, and very soon into the evening, as we began drink number two, she turned full to face me and gave me a serious look. "There's something I need to tell you. I have a boyfriend."

Me: "Oh, I thought this was a date."

"But," she said, "we have an open relationship. He travels all the time for work, on long trips. I don't ask about what he does when he is away, and he doesn't ask what I do."

"Okay."

"So this is a date. Only I'm not interested in you as a boyfriend, because I have one. I'm interested in fun."

Naturally I had conflicted feelings. On the one hand, I was thinking "KA-CHING" because this hot little honey was telling me she wanted to have no-strings-attached "fun." But of course my other thought was, "Wow, what a whore."

Little did I realize how right I was.

I saw Daisy several times after that. She was pretty good in the sack, though oddly neurotic. I couldn't get enough of her though, because she was so very attractive. Once she made a comment about how "passionate" I was, which I took to mean that I was kissing her eagerly rather than simply jackhammering away. Another time, when I encouraged her to go down on me, she resisted, joking that it "reminded her of her hooking days." Ha ha. We both laughed. She did end up with her head on my dick eventually, and when she did she looked up in my eyes, but with the thousand-yard stare of the practiced professional.

In retrospect, it was all so obvious, but the thought had never even crossed my mind before, and I sailed along, happily, obliviously rampaging her fine body on a regular basis. Once she broke it off for a while because her "boyfriend" was back in town. But she ended up coming back.

Other clues: she didn't have a regular job, but she had a lot of money. She claimed this was from nannying for a wealthy family who paid her well, from time to time.

When I moved away from the town she and I lived in, to start a new job in New York City, she mentioned that she would be in New York "soon." When she arrived she contacted me and I of course invited her out, expecting some booty calls at my place. But she seemed mysteriously busy in the evenings. She told me that she was "staying with a friend." When I pushed her for details, she basically let it slip that he had money and liked to buy her lots of things, etc.

That night, as I was lying in bed, it all hit me like a ton of bricks. Suddenly all her odd behavior made perfect sense. I think I laughed out loud in my bed. I didn't see her again for a long time.

About a year later, I was visiting friends back in Daisy's town. I looked her up, partially because I wanted a booty call, partially because I was dying to test my theory. She had me over to drink champagne and do home karaoke with some "friends" of hers. The friends, all female, were straight out of central casting. Like extras from the first ten minutes of an episode of Law & Order SVU. I had never seen any of these girls around. One was a skanky tall white girl with bad hair and too much make-up. Another was a "thick" (actually, fat) black girl with bright blue eyeshadow. I can't remember the other one. They all had a loose, brash, insecure manner about them. Something inside me recoiled at their presence. They were dirty. At one point, Daisy took a phone call in the the other room, then left her own house, leaving us there, telling us that she had to go walk someone's dog. I think I guffawed audibly.

While she was gone, I asked her friends, point-blank. "Is Daisy a call girl?"

The caucaskank immediately, comically went on the defensive. "Oh, why do guys always ask a girl that? Why is it such a big fantasy for you? You WISH!"

I can't recall ever asking a girl that question before... I wanted to point out to this girl that she probably got asked whether she was a call girl a lot was because she WAS a call girl. But I nodded and said, "Okay, I stand corrected."

When Daisy came back (an hour and a half later) I said my goodbyes. I didn't have the heart or the balls to confront her there in her own house with her own troops on hand. I was actually still flirting with her out of habit. I kind of wanted to bang her for old time's sake. But when she put up the smallest wall of resistance — the kind I normally blast right through — I realized I didn't have the heart or interest to pursue her further.

Many months later, I ran into her at a coffee shop and we acted pleasantly to each other. She said, at one point, "Oh, yeah. There was something I wanted to talk to you about. Something you asked my friends?"

I smiled and played dumb. "Yes?

"Oh..." she acted distracted, as if losing the nerve. "I can't remember what it was."

Mainly, I'm glad I didn't get the hiv from that girl. I strapped it on with her — usually, I think. I'm also fascinated to notice my own change of perception about her. I never had a Madonna complex about her, but I did indeed use to feel she was somehow unattainable. Certainly, I have a Whore perception about her now, but it would be inaccurate to call it a "complex." I'm too amused by the whole situation, and she never did anything to make me hate her. I generally like people, even dirty dirty prostitutes. Of course, I don't respect her, but respect and liking are two different things. Neither am I interested in dating her. And my mild, continuing interest in fucking her is not strong enough to make me think much about her when there are so many other gorgeous young girls out there to pursue.

No lessons today. Just a little reminiscing. There you have it, my special little hooker. Kind of nice, I suppose, to know I was getting that for free when some chumps out there were paying for it.

Now... back to my goat meat and shitty internet connections.

8 comments:

  1. The caucaskank immediately, comically went on the defensive. "Oh, why do guys always ask a girl that? Why is it such a big fantasy for you? You WISH!"

    Women are totally clueless, and they have totally inflated egos. Why would any man ever wish to have a prostitute as a girlfriend, except renting her out?

    How come these women even think it is a possibility that having a prostitute as a girlfriend is a fantasy?

    I didn't have the heart or the balls to confront her there in her own house with her own troops on hand.

    You got to choose your battles. that one you could never not lose devastatingly. You knew. they knew you knew. That is enough. Walking away is winning.

    But when she put up the smallest wall of resistance — the kind I normally blast right through — I realized I didn't have the heart or interest to pursue her further.

    Now you are talking about the way I feel about the modern western woman.

    Watching what the majority out there do, I don't have the heart or the interest to pursue any woman further than some arbitrary amount if time and energy, usually till my given benefit of the doubt runs out.

    That time is getting shorter and shorter, the more I interact. You'd expect it to get longer, with "not all women are like that". Sadly, too many women are like that; working successfully as a collective to lower their values in the eyes of the men they want most.

    Certainly, I have a Whore perception about her now, but it would be inaccurate to call it a "complex."

    Why is it that whenever a man states some standard he has it is a complex?

    I like tall women, I have short woman complex.
    I like short women, I have tall woman complex.
    I like women, I have homophobia.
    I like women who have not slutted around, I have the madonna whore complex.
    I like women who have slutted around, then I am afraid of the women who respect their sexuality...

    Yada yada yada.

    when people tell me I got a double standard, I tell them:

    "It is a standard, not a double, and i am a proud owner of the standard."

    Shuts them up.

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  2. Wow, I think you should write more stories like this, there is no need to deliberately inject lessons, the story alone is enough to provide enormous value. Thank you very much for sharing this gem!

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  3. Condoms were made for those like these

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  4. a learning experience that didn't involve the HIV....always for the best. reminds me of the strippers i dated that did escort work. 2 claimed it was ONLY date work, but then..you always wonder. a good percentage at some point do more than just have dinner with guys for money...i mean, when a guy throws down 700 bucks and a chick has rent to make....y'know? didn't bother me per se, just the general malaise of the world was disheartening i 'spose. good post. reminders are good now and again to remember lessons learned and perspectives changed. enjoy the trip, watch out for the HIV esp. considering the rate in parts of the continent you're in.

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