Wednesday, May 16, 2012

When you're doing it, it's not hard. You can't explain why. You live mostly in your brain anyway, separate from this body you despise, so it's easy. You smile sweetly, murmur precious things, take off your clothes, sit on the edge of drooping beds, kneel on dirty carpeting, lie on or under thin blankets. You stoke them, let them touch you and put their mouths on you. Arch your back. Let your body respond. Do the things you know you do well. Touch them in places their wives won't. Sound your admiration of their machismo. And afterwards, always remain courteous: Thank you so much for meeting with me. I hope to see you again. Discreetly collect and tuck away folded bills.
When I was 38, I crossed the finish line in my private race towards self destruction: I became a prostitute. I was also a wife and a mother.

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