Slut
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I’m noticing prostitution references everywhere, the way you notice the type of car you just bought wherever you go—in articles, in conversation. The concept of whore is endlessly fascinating.
As Anton LaVey points out in The Satanic Witch, a campy book on seduction and manipulation: “Some of the best witches are prostitutes. It’s their job to attract men! They not only learn the little quirks that other women never see in men, but they must be able to dress, act, and think outside their natural role.”
I keep having fitful dreams in which I get arrested, get in trouble, get beat up. I fret over my first experience. I feel like I’m about to visit a new country and I don’t speak the language or know the customs or what to expect.
I think it’s so stupid that prostitution is illegal. What’s the difference between taking a woman out to eat at a fancy restaurant or on a trip, spending money on her that way, as opposed to just handing her cash? Why is it that if I have a guy over and we fuck, that’s perfectly legal, but if he leaves money on the dresser, that’s breaking the law? I feel guilty over doing anything illegal, like parking in the wrong spot or driving with empty beer cans in my trunk to recycle. And anyway, it would be so much safer for everyone, men and women, if prostitution were regulated.
I want to focus on safer situations, older men, geeks, fetishists. I have creepy old man fantasies, of being ravaged by someone beastly. I’m fascinated by how men get ruled by their cock sometimes, how they’re driven to spread their seed, and how once they ejaculate, their interest in the whole endeavor drops from their head to their feet. I like the idea of minimizing my time with them, leaving at the end of an hour instead of hanging around.
I saw a Desperate Housewives episode where one housewife on the block would entertain the local men in her lovely home, stepping on them with her high heels and satisfying their urges, and then they would return home to their cold wives.
I want to add spice to the lives of all the men who live around me, help fill a void. Now when I go out and run my errands, I size up all the older men, all the chubby non-descript guys, all the men in suits, and think, that could be a future client. I’ll be intimately involved with a guy just like that. I’ll rub my feet on him or let him stick his fingers in my pussy.
Whore
At 9 AM on Monday morning I reported to work. I mustered up the courage to post my detailed ad on the website, my heart racing. It got automatically deleted for having the wrong words. For instance, I wrote that I had the body of a Greek goddess, and “Greek” is a banned word because it means anal. Um, I don’t DO Greek. Ha.
So I tried rewording it and reposting it. Deleted again. And again.
By this time I wanted to throw my computer. I spent hours trying to get it to pass. I mean what the fuck, some of the ads posted on there were just plain obscene—transvestite asses in the shower, beaver shots, ads with GREEK in all caps right in the title, raunchy little typo ridden ditties. Ahh, maybe THAT’S why they have all the typos, to avoid being censored. And here I thought they were stupid.
I reviewed all the website terms and conditions and FINALLY at 2 PM I got it posted, looking like this:
“Fantasies and Feeling Good With Elisabeth
So many people are ashamed of their fantasies, and they shouldn't be! I want to break down barriers and safely make some fantasies come true.
I’m Elisabeth, 29, 5’4”, 120 lbs., natural, long dark blonde hair, blue eyes, pretty face, bi. I have the body of a goddess in the art museum—pale, very soft, no tattoos, with small breasts and curvy hips and ass. These photos were taken on 3-18-07.
Please drop me a line and I will email you more info. (I tried making this more descriptive, but they don’t seem to like some of my words, which is funny, given some of the ads I see on here!) I live in town and am available mornings, lunches, afternoons, evenings, and some weekends.”
By then I was wracked with nerves and sweating. And then.
Immediately I got hits. Twenty. Fifty. Seventy-five inquiries.
Before long, I had 150 men filling my inbox begging for more info, a time, telling me how beautiful and refreshing the ad was. I was amazed at what they were asking me, and what they were like. I took down the ad 12 hours after I posted it due to the overwhelming response. My cup runneth over, my hands were full. Speaking of full, was it brilliant marketing sense on my part to post my ad on the full moon?!