September | 2010 | The Honest Courtesan

Archive for September, 2010

The Yellow Rose of Texas

Posted in Biography, Harlotography, History, Music, Perception, tagged archeofeminism, Mexico, naturalness, neofeminism, psychology, slavery, Texas on September 10, 2010| 14 Comments »

There’s a yellow rose in Texas that I am a going to see
No other darky knows her, no one only me
She cryed so when I left her it like to broke my heart
And if I ever find her we nevermore will part
She’s the sweetest rose of color this darky ever knew
Her eyes are bright as diamonds, they sparkle like the dew
You may talk about dearest May and sing of Rosa Lee
But the yellow rose of Texas beats the belles of Tennessee. – Anonymous

The legend of Emily Morgan ties into so many of the topics we’ve discussed lately, such as Creole women, 19th century history of the American south, songs about sexy ladies and even “human trafficking”, that it’s been going around my mind for the past few days. And even though Miss Morgan is not known to have ever officially espoused our profession, her demonstration of the way a woman can use her sexuality to achieve a desired goal directly contradicts the modern dogma that such a strategy is “inherently degrading and humiliating”, which makes her a woman whores can admire and her story a fit topic for this blog. I use the word “legend” because most of the story’s details are derived from one original source and may have been embellished by tradition; indeed, some modern (male) historians claim that the story has no basis in historical fact at all, despite documentary evidence to the contrary. And since the idea that whoring oneself can be a positive and even heroic action is not politically correct, modern historians have a strong motivation to make such revisionist claims (as we talked about in the commentary on my August 18th column); my readers will therefore forgive me if I tend to lean a bit on the lady’s side.

In 1830 James Morgan, a businessman from Philadelphia, emigrated to Texas in order to speculate on the cheap land and other business opportunities available in what was then a Mexican colony. Since slavery was illegal under Mexican law, Morgan had his 16 slaves legally converted into indentured servants with 99-year contracts. Morgan and the other American settlers soon conceived of an idea to flood Texas with American settlers so they could then declare independence from Mexico and become an American state; to further this plan he travelled to New York in 1835 to recruit colonists. While on this trip he met a beautiful 20-year-old Creole woman named Emily West, possibly from Bermuda; Morgan described her as possessed of “extraordinary intelligence and sophistication.” Though born free Emily accepted indenture in order to cover her expenses and avoid the difficulties deriving from racial prejudice, and so changed her last name to that of her master (as was the custom at that time).

By the beginning of 1836 Texas had declared independence from Mexico and the rebellion, led by General Sam Houston, was fully in progress. James Morgan’s settlement, New Washington, was now fully established near the mouth of the San Jacinto River, and he donated oranges, produce and beef to Houston’s army; the grateful Houston therefore appointed him a colonel and assigned him to guard the Port of Galveston about 50 km away. Morgan left his trusted servant Emily in charge of loading the flatboats which carried the donated provisions, and on April 18, 1836 she was captured when Mexican troops under the command of General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna (pictured above) occupied New Washington. The General, who fancied himself a ladies’ man, was immediately taken by Emily’s beauty and so claimed her as one of the spoils of war along with the cattle and produce. Rather than waste her energy in unproductive demonstrations of protest, the clever young woman decided to play on her captor’s colossal ego in order to gain advantage for the Texans.

Santa Anna had also captured a Creole boy named Turner and had talked him into leading the Mexican scouts to Houston’s camp, but before they left the next morning Emily convinced Turner to escape from the scouts en route and rush ahead to warn Houston of Santa Anna’s approach. Upon hearing of the boy’s escape the general insisted on immediately setting up camp near the river, despite the protests of his officers that the spot was indefensible; Houston, upon learning of the army’s location from Turner, quietly moved his troops into the woods only a kilometer or two from the hasty Mexican encampment. But Emily was not yet done leading Santa Anna around by the balls; she pretended to find him irresistible and thus diverted him from the preparations he should have been making. On the morning of April 21, General Houston himself climbed a tree to spy into the Mexican camp and saw Emily preparing a champagne breakfast for Santa Anna; upon his return he told one of his officers, “I hope that slave girl makes him neglect his business and keeps him in bed all day.” And she did exactly that; when the Texans attacked a few hours later the Mexicans were taken completely by surprise and Santa Anna was literally caught with his pants down. He fled from the battle in his silk nightshirt, and when he was captured by Houston’s men the next day it was found concealed under the uniform he had pillaged from a dead Mexican soldier in order to disguise himself.

Emily made her way back to New Washington, and when James Morgan returned from Galveston a few days later Emily told him of the battle and her part in it. He was so impressed with Emily’s heroism that he repealed her indenture and gave her money and a passport back to New York; she left Texas in March of 1837 and unfortunately disappeared from history thereafter. But her former master refused to let her vanish into obscurity; for years afterward he told her story to anyone who would listen, and also recorded it in his journals. One of his business partners in New York, Samuel Swartwout, repeated the story in one of his letters, and it also appears in the journal of his friend, the ethnologist William Bollaert (whom Wikipedia dismisses as an “English tourist”). It was from Bollaert’s journal that the story was rediscovered in the 1950s and quickly spread into legend; Emily’s deeds are now commemorated at San Jacinto every April 21st by an organization called The Knights of the Yellow Rose of Texas.

But what does any of this have to do with the well-known song whose title this column shares? Soon after the battle, copies of the poem which forms my epigram began to circulate around Texas; it appears to have been written by one who was either a black soldier in the conflict or using the narrative voice of such a soldier. The poem expresses his love for a Creole woman (“yellow” was the adjective commonly used at the time to describe their skin color), and given its popularity it was perhaps inevitable that it quickly became associated with the story of the “yellow rose” named Emily Morgan. Within a few years the poem had been set to music and turned into a song; by the 1860s its lyrics had been altered and extended, and it became a marching song for Confederate troops from Texas:

There’s a yellow rose in Texas that I am going to see,
No other soldier knows her, no soldier only me;
She cried so when I left her, it like to broke my heart,
And if I ever find her we never more will part.

(refrain) She’s the sweetest little flower this soldier ever knew,
Her eyes are bright as diamonds, they sparkle like the dew,
You may talk about your Dearest May, and sing of Rosa Lee,
But the yellow rose of Texas beats the belles of Tennessee.

Where the Rio Grande is flowing, and the starry skies are bright,
She walks along the river in the quiet summer night;
She thinks if I remember, when we parted long ago,
I promis’d to come back again, and not to leave her so.

(refrain)

Oh! now I’m going to find her, for my heart is full of woe,
And we’ll sing the song together, that we sung so long ago;
We’ll play the banjo gaily, and we’ll sing the songs of yore,
And the yellow rose of Texas shall be mine for evermore.

(refrain)

By 1955, when the Mitch Miller recording of the song made #1 in the US and #2 in the UK, its lyrics had altered still more, but neither the meaning nor the tune had altered for a century. And despite the fact that the song probably had nothing to do with Emily West Morgan, its association with her is still very strong and serves to remind us that a woman’s sexuality, rather than being a source of shame and degradation at the hands of “patriarchal oppressors”, is actually her greatest source of influence over men and can therefore be both a powerful force for good and an effective way for a woman to improve her place in the world.

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A Whore in the Bedroom

Posted in Call types, Perception, Philosophy, tagged A Whore in the Bedroom, anal sex, anecdote, archeofeminism, BDSM, dirty, marriage, neofeminism, psychology, semen, sisterhood, tabula rasa, yin and yang on September 9, 2010| 158 Comments »

A true lady takes off her dignity with her clothes and does her whorish best. At other times you can be as modest and dignified as your persona requires. – Robert A. Heinlein

Today’s column is for the ladies. Gentlemen are certainly welcome to read, comment and share the column with the women in your lives (if you dare), but my comments will all be directed toward the ladies and will therefore assume female gender. I’ve been thinking about doing this one for a while, but a few factors (including some emails I’ve received and day-before-yesterday’s column) have at last inspired me to sit down and actually write it. If any of my female readers have specific technique questions which I can’t cover herein without being graphic (sorry, guys), I’ll be happy to answer them privately via confidential email.

One night at UNO I was sitting around talking with several other girls, and when one said something about putting out for her boyfriend another replied haughtily, “I would never give a man sex unless I wanted it, too.”

Even back in those pre-professional days I considered that sort of attitude completely asinine, so I asked her, “Do you have a dog?” (knowing full well she did).

“What?” she asked, annoyed at my apparent change of subject.

“It’s a straightforward question,” I replied; “Do you, or do you not, have a dog?”

“You know I do!” she snapped.

“And you walk it every night?”

“Of course!”

“What if you don’t want to?”

“I still have to anyway, or she’ll go on the carpet during the night!”

“What if it’s raining?”

“Then my dad takes her for me!” The dumb bunny had no idea where I was going, but the smiles told me the other girls did.

“In other words, you care more about a dog than you do about a man.”

“How do you get that?”

“When one has a living creature under one’s care, it is one’s responsibility to take care of that creature’s needs, or else to arrange for someone else to do so. And if you shirk that responsibility, you only have yourself to blame for the inevitable and foreseeable consequences.”

Unfortunately, this girl’s attitude is not at all unusual nowadays; women used to understand that men had sexual needs which it was a wife’s responsibility to provide for. But as I discussed in my column of July 21^st, decades of lies and neofeminist propaganda that men and women are the same and that women should only accept sex when they desire it (and for no other reason) have done tremendous damage to the male-female dynamic; ignorant modern women not only feel that husbands should be satisfied with whatever sexual pickings their wives choose to dole out, however meager or restricted, but also refuse to understand that a starving man will seek food elsewhere if it isn’t available at home. Every escort hears it over and over again: “My wife doesn’t give me sex any more,” or “after the kids my wife lost interest,” or some other variation on it. These men have no reason to lie; they want us to understand that they are driven by need, and the sadness in their voices is unmistakable. The statement that “no woman should have to have sex if she doesn’t want it” ignores the simple fact that in today’s world a woman does not need to marry for support any longer, just as my silly schoolmate did not need to own a dog. Getting married is a free choice, and carries responsibilities with the privileges. If you refuse to take care of your dog you should give him to somebody who will, and if you refuse to give sex to your husband you should either divorce him or suggest he satisfy his needs elsewhere with your blessing. You cannot have your cake and eat it, too; a man is NOT a woman, and if you expect him to respect your choice not to have sex with him, you in turn must respect his choice to get it from somebody else.

Women who actually starve their husbands are in the minority, though; the more typical wife merely offers such repetitive and unpalatable fare that her husband simply loses his appetite for her cooking and yearns to dine elsewhere. One of my correspondents recently wrote, “I know so many women who say their men are apt to fall asleep in front of the TV or play on the computer all evening; sex seems to be not very high on their list of priorities.”

I replied, “Not to be mean, but what isn’t ‘high on their list of priorities’ is boring, repetitive sex with their dumpy, frowsy wives who sit around in sweatsuits with short hair and only want sex when they’re interested in the way they want it, and everything else is greeted with ‘That’s disgusting!’ or ‘You’re a pervert!’ or ‘I’m not gonna do that!’ Those same men are plenty interested in young-looking, well-kept escorts who have maintained their figures, dress in a feminine manner and will give them the kind of sex they want when they want it.”

When you’re done jumping up and down, screaming at me and calling me a bitch, sit down and listen to what I’m trying to tell you. I understand that some women’s figures go south after having kids and that it’s difficult to reclaim them, but I’ll bet most husbands understand it as well; that’s not what I’m talking about. I’ll use my own family as an example; I am the eldest of four sisters who all look much alike and started out with similar figures, though our personalities are all different. All three of my sisters had two children each; the third sister is most like me in personality and still looks hot at 41, the youngest is athletic and has a very trim figure at 40, and the second is fat and dumpy. The two younger sisters and I dress attractively and wear our hair in flattering styles; the second wears sweatsuits and “fat clothes” and chopped her hair off boy-short while she was pregnant with her first baby. Finally, the two younger sisters and I treat our husbands well, while the second won’t lift a finger for hers; though I’m not privy to the details of my sisters’ sex lives, does anyone here have any doubt whose husband is most likely to cheat? There are no great biological differences between us; it was the psychological differences which caused the one sister to stop trying, and her appearance mirrors her behavior. Every aspect of her dress and grooming screams “I don’t care whether you find me attractive or not!” to her husband and everyone else with eyes to see.

Just being overweight is not the problem, though many women love to use it as an excuse. Lots of men like plump women, and I daresay the average man whose wife has put on too much weight would still be happy with her sexually if she made every other effort to attract him. Don’t believe me? Turn off the goddamned TV, put down Cosmo and surf the escort sites on the internet for a while; you’ll find quite a few “BBW” (Big Beautiful Woman) escorts, women who are definitely fat but still make the effort to look nice and give men what they need sexually. Yes, a good figure goes a long way (and for most women is very sustainable with sensible eating and regular exercise), but dress, grooming and attitude go much farther, especially for a woman who has the advantage of already being married to the man she’s trying to attract!

If you want to keep your husband sexually happy the best advice I can give you is, get the word “no” out of your vocabulary! Any woman over the age of 16 should have noticed that all men are, to put it bluntly, perverts by female standards; as the picture at right reminds us, everything turns men on! Yes, a lot of what they like is weird or gross or nasty or even funny to most women; so what? Do you personally have to judge dog food palatable before you give it to your dog? As long as what your husband wants in bed doesn’t actually hurt you or give you serious doubts about his masculinity, what difference does it make? You’ve had his semen inside you hundreds of times, so why does it matter if he wants to put it on your butt, tits, stomach, face or hair sometimes? And trust me, I know better than you how it tastes; if you’re having sex for the flavor, you’re doing it for the wrong reason. He wants to tie you up? Let him! Great Aphrodite, you trust him with your life every day, so why is this different? Are you afraid you’ll like it? And why is it too much trouble to wear stockings and a garter belt for him? We all wore them every day until pantyhose were invented! You liked playing dress-up when you were seven; reclaim the fun and pretend to be a nurse or hooker or whatever it is he wants. You might enjoy it!

Even if you’re afraid of something he wants (such as anal sex), would it kill you to at least consider it? Don’t refuse him out of hand; think about it. Ask questions and do research on the internet. Work up to it by slow stages, and ask him to be patient with you; if all else fails, see if you can work out some kind of compromise. So his fantasy is to have both you and your sister? I don’t blame you for refusing to do that, but how about compromising by hiring an escort to be the other woman? Don’t worry, she’s not after your husband! She’s just there to do her job, which in this case is to allow the two of you to explore a fantasy which would otherwise be impossible.

Even if you already do all this stuff, your husband may still hire prostitutes; the male animal craves variety, and some are unwilling or unable to put that craving aside. Trust me, sister, this is not something to worry about unless you can’t afford it or it becomes an obsession (too much of anything is bad). He’s not going to leave you for a whore, and she’s a lot safer than an affair (as I discussed in my column of August 2^nd). So if you do find out your husband has been occasionally indulging in the hobby, do yourself a favor and consider all of your options before having a hissy-fit and doing something you may later regret.

If all of this seems too difficult, you can certainly just keep on the course you’ve set, but if your relationship hits the rocks solely because you couldn’t be bothered to tend the wheel there is nobody to blame but yourself. In the final analysis you married your husband for a reason, most likely nowadays because you loved him. If you don’t love him any more, why are you still with him? And if you do still love him, isn’t making him happy worth a bit of effort?

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All Shapes and Sizes

Posted in Miscellaneous, Perception, tagged All Shapes and Sizes, anecdote, bad customers, condoms, fantasy, genitalia, Hollywood, porn, psychology, rape, statistics on September 8, 2010| 68 Comments »

One dragon may breed nine different offspring. – Chinese proverb

Human beings come in all shapes and sizes, and nowhere is that more evident than in their sexual anatomy. Because genitalia can still function within a wide range of cosmetic and morphological variation, there was little if any evolutionary pressure to prevent even extreme variance from the average, and nobody is more aware of such differences than prostitutes are (except, perhaps, physicians who specialize in those anatomical areas).

The average erect human penis is 14 cm long, and the great majority of men fall between 10.7 cm and 19.1 cm; it is 12.3 cm in circumference, with the majority falling between 11 and 13.6 cm. So any of you male readers who fall into those ranges (and I know some of you went for the tape measure as soon as you read those numbers) are average, even if you think you’re small, and anything over 19 cm is really quite large even if your porn movies tell you otherwise. Despite the myths, no study has ever detected any correlation between penis size and race, and my own extensive experience backs that up. It is believed that the myth about black men having exceptionally large penises began in bathrooms and locker rooms, the only places normal heterosexual men ever see other men’s genitalia; black men’s penises tend to shrink very little when flaccid in comparison with those of white men (a statistical truth supported by my own observations), so a white man seeing a black penis might think, “If it’s that big when it’s soft, how big must it be hard?”

Since I know most of you are thinking about it, let’s get this out of the way early: The biggest penis I ever handled was on a white man (a regular who was a physician from Texas), and it was as long as my forearm from elbow to wrist and as thick as my wrist. My tape measure says that’s 29 cm long and 15.6 cm in circumference (11.4” long and 6.14” around). And considering that I’ve seen over 4000 men professionally, I think it’s safe to say that the “twelve inch cock” of porn legend is so fabulously rare that the average woman has a greater chance of being hit by a meteor than of encountering one. No, I wasn’t able to fit it all; I doubt many women could (he said he had never met one). His girth wasn’t the issue; I’ve fit thicker (though shorter) ones. It was just that rather amazing length! Even as experienced as I already was when I met him, I must admit it was rather intimidating; he warned me about it on the phone because he had already encountered a few professionals who were too afraid to even attempt it.

His was the largest one I ever encountered, but not the longest; that title does indeed go to a black man, whose penis was roughly 36 cm long (though that’s just a guess based on my memory of how it looked against my torso). In circumference, however, he was very typical, which gave his penis a rather snakelike appearance. His proportions were so irregular, in fact, that he could not achieve a normal erection. Though the last few inches of his member were reasonably firm, the rest of it was comparable to a garden hose with the tap turned on; that is to say, it was semi-rigid but still quite flexible. His method of accomplishing intercourse was novel to say the least; he knelt between my legs, grasped his penis around the middle and inserted it as one might a dildo, then moved it in and out with his hand! What fascinated me most about this procedure was that it didn’t seem to bother him in the least; clearly this was the way he had always had to enjoy women, so he was used to it.

On the other end of the spectrum are men who are so tiny that it’s difficult to accomplish anything with them. Once a man’s penis gets down to about the size of my thumb (5 cm long) or less, condoms won’t stay on properly and only rear-entry position allows him enough depth of penetration to accomplish what he’s trying to accomplish. Obese men with tiny penises (it’s notable that the two problems often go hand-in-hand) sometimes can’t even manage that, so oral or manual stimulation are the only options. At least it isn’t difficult to fellate such clients, and if they don’t get to enjoy much of what their better-endowed brothers have they can at least get to experience a few things which are denied to normal-sized men, such as a woman taking both penis and testes into her mouth at the same time. This of course presumes that the testicles are in proportion to the penis, which isn’t always the case; in fact, with larger penises I saw no correlation whatsoever. Even the enormous monsters I described above had normal or just slightly above average testicles, and customers with very large testicles (sometimes larger than tennis balls) usually have normal-sized penises. Only when the penis was pathologically small did I often see a correlation in testicular size; I presume that in such cases the two were related, representing a kind of arrested development which, as I mentioned above, was often accompanied by obesity and an odd kind of softness which made me feel as though the customer were a kind of giant baby rather than a mature man.

So far I’ve just talked about size, but shape is often more important. The normal penis is either ramrod-straight or has a slight upward curve, but there are many variations. I have seen curves so pronounced that the tip points almost straight up when the base is perpendicular to the man’s body, and also downward, left-hand or right-hand curves. These severe bends are symptoms of Peyronie’s Syndrome, a penile disorder caused by a kind of plaque which builds up in the erectile tissue (see also here). Besides the undesirable cosmetic effects, this disorder can make intercourse extremely uncomfortable or even painful for the woman (though most of my clients with the problem said it did not hurt them). I found the downward curve the worst; in one such case the client actually bruised me internally, though I didn’t really notice it because he was long enough that the bruise was very deep in my vagina and thus not impacted by the next two clients. When my husband had me the next day, however, it was acutely painful because he was long enough to hit the same spot; the discomfort persisted for a couple of days.

Though my husband’s penis is a fraction above the normal range of length, it is unusually thick and so causes me no discomfort as long as I can control his depth of penetration with my legs. But when a man is unusually long and only of normal thickness, there is insufficient friction to act as a brake on vigorous pounding and the head can actually impact the cervix in women who, like me, have fairly small vaginas (more on this below). This is acutely painful in a way no man can possibly understand (just as no woman can really know what impact to the testes feels like), so when I dealt with such men I was careful to avoid the rear-entry position (which shortens the vagina) and used my thighs to control the angle and depth of his penetration so as to keep his “bottoming out” to a minimum. The opposite variation (above-average thickness with normal or below-average length) carries no direct problems for the woman, but is associated with a higher-than-normal rate of condom breakage. Finally, there are a few conditions peculiar to uncircumcised men (such as thickening or stiffening of the foreskin leading to pain, infection and inhibited erection), but fortunately these are easily cured by circumcision.

Just as men have considerable variation in penis size and shape, so women have considerable differences in our genitalia as well. The average depth of an unaroused vagina is about 10-15 cm and an aroused one 18-22 cm; women who have had children may be a few centimeters deeper and those who have had hysterectomies are sometimes shorter. Like those of men, women’s sexual equipment inflates with arousal; this is why even an experienced woman can be injured in a rape, when her unaroused organs are smaller. But unlike the penis, the vagina is a muscular organ and can be affected by position; the vagina is shortest when the legs are drawn up toward the torso (as in cowgirl and rear-entry) and longest when they are extended (as in the missionary position). This is why I prefer the missionary position over all others; it allows the woman to control both the angle and the depth of penetration by simply moving her legs up or down. Since my vagina is small and tight I can only accept large men with my legs down, but can allow men of average or short length deeper penetration by pulling my knees up toward my tits. Unfortunately, men who have seen too many porno movies seem to believe that all women are over 22 cm deep and can thus take even the largest organs with their legs up on the man’s shoulders or their knees pushed down onto the mattress! It usually wasn’t too difficult to get my legs out of such a man’s grip, but occasionally one was adamant and needed me to explain that the near-virginal tightness he was enjoying so much (and which I maintain to this day with Kegel exercises) went hand-in-hand with the shorter depth which disallowed such porn-star contortions with a well-endowed stallion like himself.

Porn causes one other occasional problem for some escorts; it tends to make inexperienced young men think that women’s external genitalia are more alike than they actually are. As a bisexual woman and a call girl who did hundreds of couple calls I can tell you that there is as much variation in vulvas as in penises; most nude models I’ve seen have fairly subtle labia majora and well-defined labia minora, but I’ve seen girls in real life who had huge labia majora and almost no labia minora or vice-versa. Some labia are quite wrinkly, others smoother, and they vary in color and appearance. Apparently there’s even some variation in vulva-shape preference between different men’s magazines, or at least the photography makes it seem so; once on a multi-girl call I had a stripper tell me, “Oh, you have a pretty little Playboy pussy, but I have a big, nasty Hustler pussy!” It seemed as though she meant it as a compliment, so I took it as one.

The clitoris actually varies more in size than the penis does; 75% of it is inside a woman’s body, and though its full length is roughly 10 cm the exposed portion ranges from 2-60 mm. Though it is usually hidden by the clitoral hood it is completely exposed in some women and totally effaced in others; a “recessed clitoris” is completely below the surface and reveals itself only by stimulation (if at all). But none of this can be explained to jackasses; girls with unusually-shaped genitalia are sometimes insulted by rude clients, and I’ve even heard of ignoramuses accusing girls of being post-operative transsexuals because their vulvas don’t “look right” to these (usually young) men, who obviously consider themselves some sort of sex experts because they’ve been with a couple of dozen women. Fortunately, older men have more experience and therefore realize that the genitalia of women, like those of men, come in all shapes and sizes.

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Terminology

Posted in Call types, Perception, Words, tagged anal sex, condoms, cops, disease, ethics, GFE, imaginative fiction, masturbation, oral sex, semen, streetwalkers, Terminology, tits on September 7, 2010| 22 Comments »

“When I use a word,” Humpty Dumpty said in rather a scornful tone, “it means just what I choose it to mean — neither more nor less.” – Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass

Like all subcultures, whores and our clients use specialized language to describe various aspects of our trade and the specialized activities we perform. Most of these are just slang terms used to replace a long descriptive phrase (for example, “cowgirl” replaces the rather cumbersome “woman on top position”), but others were originally intended to allow discussion of suppressed activities when official busybodies might be eavesdropping (on phone or internet communications). Of course, a secret shared is no secret at all, so once a term becomes common enough for a client to be relatively certain that it will mean something to an escort (or vice versa), they can also be sure the term is equally well-known to the cops. Today I’d just like to give you a brief overview of a few of the more common terms used in and about our trade. Many of these originated on the internet; some were first used among streetwalkers, while still others may be peculiar to New Orleans (which is the only place I ever worked).

Around the World means oral stimulation of the man’s anus as well as his genitals; as one might expect, the percentage of working girls who will grant this particular request is fairly slim even in the lower echelons. Even if one chooses to ignore the considerable hygeine issues, the chance of contracting hepatitis A or other diseases is in my considered opinion far too high to risk.

BBBJ stands for “Bareback Blow Job”, in other words fellatio without a condom. In the days immediately after the discovery of AIDS this was widely considered unsafe, and authorities encouraged people to use condoms even during oral sex. Almost three decades of research, however, have failed to turn up even one single documented case of HIV transmission via oral sex, and the last figure I saw was 0.04% chance of infection due to blood seepage into an undetected mouth sore. Since that’s roughly similar to the chance of being struck by lightning while walking in the rain, most call girls and escorts don’t worry about it much any more. Hepatitis B is transmitted much as HIV is, though probably at a slightly higher chance. Other venereal diseases (including venereal warts and herpes) can certainly be transmitted via oral sex, but since they have visible signs most of the risk can be avoided via careful visual inspection (as I’ve discussed before), copious salivation (which most men find visually stimulating anyhow) and disallowing ejaculation into one’s mouth. The latter requires careful monitoring of the client’s progress; I always asked him to warn me but also assumed he would not because unfortunately a lot of men are complete assholes on this particular subject and will not give warning despite the increased risk to the girl.

Cowgirl we’ve already discussed; the only reason I’m mentioning it here again is because many of my readers are probably unfamiliar with the terms for its variations, reverse cowgirl (woman on top, facing the man’s feet) and Asian cowgirl (as normal cowgirl but with one’s feet on the bed raising the whole body up and down rather than simply rocking back and forth).

Deep Throat means taking a man’s penis all the way into one’s mouth. With a little practice it isn’t difficult, and since it impresses the hell out of men it’s well worth learning. The trick is to suppress the gag reflex; I suggest practicing on bananas. Few men are long enough to actually go down one’s throat, and even those that are can be handled unless they are oddly-shaped (as I’ll discuss tomorrow).

Donation is originally an internet term; it simply means “fee”, as in “how much is your donation?”

Facial means ejaculation onto a woman’s face. Men who like to do this really like it, but some girls won’t allow it. Personally I was never bothered by it; it’s not difficult to keep one’s mouth and eyes shut, and since I was blessed with a clear complexion and lovely natural coloring I never needed to wear makeup in those days anyhow. I could therefore simply have a warm, damp washcloth handy for initial cleanup and then wash my face completely afterward. I can see how a girl who needs makeup would be averse to clients doing this, however, since it would necessitate a great deal more effort to restore her looks afterward than it did mine. It also tends to get in one’s hair, but can be brushed out in the short term and thoroughly removed by shampoo later. Amateurs who say “I would never let a man do that to me!” or “That’s so demeaning!” need to remember those statements when asking “Why does my husband hire whores when I give him plenty of sex?”

Full service simply means intercourse, as opposed to just oral sex or masturbation (the latter being the specialty of Asian massage parlors).

GFE means “Girl Friend Experience”; it’s a highly subjective term but generally means that the escort will cuddle, kiss, refrain from obvious clockwatching or otherwise make the experience seem much more natural and less mechanical. A high percentage of call girls provide either “GFE” or its converse, the “PSE” (some men believe that the two are not mutually exclusive within a single call, but I beg to differ). Of late, I have noticed a distressing tendency in internet venues to attempt to define a GFE by mechanistic criteria (such as whether the girl allows intrusive tongue kissing); IMHO this completely flies in the face of the very idea of a GFE, which is determined by how the girl makes the client feel rather than by a checklist.

Greek means anal sex. It isn’t commonly offered because one simply can’t trust a client to follow the instructions necessary to keep the experience from being painful, but there are always specialists who cater to customers who want it.

Hobbyist is an internet term which means a client who sees escorts as a continuing hobby rather than as an occasional pleasure. Hobbyists generally frequent internet boards dedicated to their hobby and share information with each other; some of them are excellent clients because they know what’s expected of them, never quibble about money, treat girls well and are scrupulous about keeping appointments. Unfortunately, the rest of them enjoy the hobby itself more than the girls, and can be nasty and exploitative. Sometimes the term is used in a broader sense to mean any client, but I think it’s more useful in the strict sense.

John is a term used mostly by police, the media and others outside The Life for a customer, as in “John Doe” since they are anonymous. The first recorded appearance of the term in print is from 1911, but it is unclear whether it originated among streetwalkers or started as an outsiders’ term from the beginning. Since I have never associated with streetwalkers or worked anywhere but New Orleans I can’t speak for whether any working girls actually use the term, but what I can say is that I never heard one do so, not even once, not even as a joke. I’ve heard “client”, “customer”, “date”, “patron” and even (once) “trick”, but never “john”. I myself always preferred “gentleman”, not merely because it’s polite but also evokes Amanda Wingfield’s “gentleman callers” in my mind.

MSOG means “Multiple Shots On Goal”, in other words the girl allows the man to have intercourse with her more than once if he can. It’s an internet term, and I must admit I giggled when it was explained to me. Many girls won’t allow it, which IMHO is rather stupid on their parts since this exists largely in the realm of male fantasy. What I mean by that is, though a large percentage of men ask for it (by initials or otherwise), only a tiny percentage can actually accomplish it within the time allotted. So there’s no harm in agreeing to this because most clients will be too spent after the first time even to attempt it again, and a gentle “but sweetie, if it took you 35 minutes the first time how do you expect to do it a second time in ten?” will take care of most of the rest. And on those rare occasions where the client is both quick on the trigger and able to perform again, why not let him go twice? It’s his hour, after all, and he paid good money for it.

Pearl Necklace means ejaculation onto a woman’s tits. This can turn into an unplanned facial if the man ejaculates energetically enough.

Popped means the same as “busted”, i.e. arrested.

Protection simply means condoms. A lot of people have their own idiosyncratic terms; one girl I knew used to call them “party balloons” and Doug used to refer to them as “dancing slippers” (as in, “get out your dancing slippers, I’ve got a call for you”).

Provider is a neutral internet term for an escort, as in “provider of services”. I don’t much care for this one, as it always reminds me of “The Providers”, those disembodied brains who once abducted Captain Kirk.

PSE stands for “Porn Star Experience”. This is slightly less subjective than its converse “GFE”, and refers to a very energetic escort who is adept at visually impressive stunts like deep throat and accepting of facials and other such porn-movie staples.

Russian is holding one’s tits together so a man can rub himself between them; obviously, it’s only possible with rather large tits.

Trick is old slang for a session with a client (as in “turn a trick”) or sometimes even a client himself. It first appeared in print around the same time as “John”, and is still used today among streetwalkers and lower-class escorts in some areas (including New Orleans). Higher-class girls generally prefer “date” or “call”, and I’ve also heard “job” or “deal”; working girls with musical backgrounds sometimes use “gig”.

Troublemakers is the term I preferred for the nasty, sadistic busybodies referred to by others as pigs, liars, busybodies, blue boys, heat, LE and a number of other things…in other words, cops, the single greatest threat to any hooker’s health, safety and livelihood.

So, there’s a quick explanation of a very few terms; there are plenty of others, but these are most of the common ones which sprang immediately to mind (though I wouldn’t be surprised if I overlooked a really obvious term or two). As I said above, these are the ones I know from the internet and New Orleans; to list every one from around the world would probably fill a slim dictionary.

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The Biggest Whores

Posted in Current Events, Perception, Philosophy, Tyranny, tagged agency denial, Backpage, censorship, cops, Craigslist, dirty, escort services, ethics, internet, law, lawyers, pimps, politicians, psychology, stereotypes, streetwalkers, The Biggest Whores, underage on September 6, 2010| 8 Comments »

A fox may steal your hens, sir,
A whore your health and pence, sir,
Your daughter rob your chest, sir,
Your wife may steal your rest, sir,
A thief your goods and plate.

But this is all but picking,
With rest, pence, chest and chicken;
It ever was decreed, sir,
If lawyer’s hand is fee’d, sir,
He steals your whole estate. – John Gay (air from The Beggar’s Opera)

Many of you may have already heard this news; my version is paraphrased from an AP original:

Craigslist appears to have surrendered to political pressure over erotic ads posted on its website, shutting down its adult services section Saturday (September 4th) and replacing it with a black bar that simply says “censored.” The move comes just over a week after a group of state attorneys general claimed there weren’t enough “protections” against potentially illegal ads promoting prostitution. It’s not clear if the closure is permanent, and it appears to only effect ads in the United States.

The listings again became a convenient political scapegoat after the jailhouse suicide last month of a former medical student who was awaiting trial in the killing of a masseuse he met through Craigslist. Critics have likened the services to “virtual pimping”, while Craigslist maintained the site was carrying ads even tamer than those published by some newspapers.

Like many other free online forums, Craigslist typically does not review ads before they are posted by users. But in 2008, under pressure from 40 state attorneys general, Craigslist began requiring posters to provide a working phone number and pay a fee for placing an ad in what is now the adult services section. Several months later, Craigslist adopted a manual screening process in which postings are reviewed before publishing. But despite these efforts at conciliation, officials continued to claim Craigslist was still not doing enough to stop illegal ads from appearing. The company said Saturday it would issue a statement on the matter, though it didn’t say when.

Connecticut Attorney General Richard Blumenthal, one of the 17 attorneys general who sent last week’s threat letter, said in a statement that he welcomed the change and was trying to verify Craigslist’s official policy going forward. In an August 24th letter, the state attorneys general said Craigslist should remove the section because it couldn’t adequately block potentially illegal ads promoting prostitution and child trafficking.

Authorities point to the case of 24-year-old Philip Markoff as a prime example of the dangers posed by Craigslist services. The former medical student was accused of killing a masseuse he met through the hugely popular classified advertising site, which was founded by Craig Newmark. Markoff committed suicide in the Boston jail where he was awaiting trial.

Craigslist’s adult services section carried ads for everything from personal massages to a night’s companionship, which critics say veered into prostitution. Craigslist’s CEO Jim Buckmaster said in a May blog posting that the company’s ads were no worse than those published by the alternative newspaper chain Village Voice Media. He cited one explicit ad which included the phrase: “anything goes $90.”

John Palfrey, a Harvard University law professor and co-director of the Berkman Center for Internet and Society, said the move from Craigslist was still a victory because it moved the ads off a highly visible location. “Will people be able to find these ads online? The answer is almost certainly,” he said. “Will they be able to find these on legitimate sites? I think the answer is probably not.”

Regular readers will remember my previous columns on this subject, August 17^th and August 26^th; this is merely the latest verse in the same old song of tyranny. Hypocritical politicians, frustrated by their complete impotence in the ongoing war to stop middle-class men from enjoying the same convenient access to women that they themselves enjoy, found a high-profile scapegoat in Craigslist and have pursued it for several years now. This result was therefore both inevitable and unsurprising; if not even Standard Oil or AT&T could stand up to the massed power of politicians out to make political coin, how could a comparatively tiny internet ad company hope to? I am pleased to note, however, that Craigslist got in one final dig by calling a spade a spade: Rather than simply removing the section, its place was covered by a black bar saying “censored”, which is the bald truth.

Though regular readers are probably almost as good by now at translating these anti-prostitution articles as I am, let’s look at some of the low points in this one. First there’s the idea of an “illegal ad”; as far as I know, only an ad which violates “truth in advertising” laws can be illegal. An ad for an illegal service is still itself legal unless some local law specifically prohibits the advertisement, which is why escort services can have phone book ads. Then in the second paragraph we are again subjected to the moronic “subjugated whore” stereotype; an ad placed by a woman for her own services magically becomes “pimping” when sex is involved because (all together now) everybody knows all whores have pimps. If a woman places an ad in Craigslist for maid services, is Craigslist a “virtual slave-dealer” because some maids in history were slaves? In the fourth paragraph we are again insulted by the equation of voluntary adult prostitution with “child trafficking”, and in the fifth paragraph we are treated to the bizarre notion that while ads for personal services are too dangerous to allow, personals ads which allow inexperienced, naïve adult women to meet complete strangers are not. Obviously, this is because all whores are imbeciles who are incompetent to make our own decisions and therefore need to be protected (all together again) “for our own good”. But the last paragraph is simultaneously the funniest and saddest of all; a Harvard Law professor is such an ignorant imbecile that he proclaims Craigslist the most “legitimate” source of online prostitution ads, when it is in fact regarded by both escorts and clients as the least legitimate one!

Though the politicians will crow, strut and preen like cartoon pimps, claiming a great “victory” over lawlessness and loose women (or “victims of human trafficking”, whichever one we are this week in that particular politician’s district), they have as usual accomplished exactly nothing. Escort services and established independents don’t advertise on Craigslist, nor do streetwalkers; most of the girls who do are either low-end independents or “semi-pros” with “regular” jobs who are just doing it for a little extra money. There are many other internet classified sites (such as Backpage) which accept erotic ads, not to mention the plethora of escort websites and local newspaper ads as mentioned in the news article. And surely these lawyers recognize that they haven’t even succeeded in getting the girls off of Craigslist; they’ll just go undercover in “therapeutic services” (i.e. massage) or the personals (watch for a spike in “women seeking men” ads) which don’t cost anything and are completely anonymous, thus removing the danger of Craigslist being forced to surrender their records via court order. If anything, this “victory” has actually cost the busybodies a weapon they could use to victimize low-end escorts, thus proving that they really don’t care about reality, just appearances.

Of course, that’s the way it always is; ever wonder why escort services are legal (and rarely attacked by government-employed lawyers)? It’s because lawyers are among our best customers, and they don’t want to cut off easy access to easy women by persecuting the services. So they allow the cops to harass streetwalkers and play sadistic little tricks on escorts and call girls, knowing full well that even if a few high-quality girls are scared out of the profession by police shenanigans there will still be plenty of others available just by opening the yellow pages and picking up the phone. These sleazy sons of bitches don’t care how many individual girls get hurt; most of them prefer endless variety anyhow and consider individual escorts to be a disposable commodity. This is illustrated by the anecdotal evidence that though easily 10% of my clientele were lawyers, I don’t recall a single regular who was.

Lawyers by their very nature are bigger prostitutes than any escort could ever be; we only hire our services, but lawyers sell their souls. A prostitute is willing to pretend to like a man in private for an hour, but a lawyer is willing to pretend to like him, believe him and espouse his cause for weeks, months or years, not merely in private but for all the world to see. Most prostitutes reject customers who seem dangerous or for whom we feel strong antipathy; few lawyers would reject the business of even the most frightening, reprehensible or morally repugnant client. And while we are willing to speak little white lies in order to stroke a man’s ego and make him feel good about himself, most lawyers are willing to vomit forth the most abominable falsehoods in order to destroy the lives of men they believe to be innocent or secure the release of men they believe to be both guilty and dangerous. How most of them must hate us! The subtlety of our whoring makes the egregiousness of theirs all the more obvious in comparison, and one of us can make more money with no formal education than the majority of lawyers can make after years of expensive and grueling law school. Worst of all, Pompous Q. Snob, Esquire is forced to swallow his pride and pay up if he wants pussy from one of us, just like any of the “little men” he looks down upon. Other men and unprofessional women may be awed by his credentials, titles, and position, but the only thing we care about is his cash.

Since politicians exceed other lawyers in whoredom by the same degree to which lawyers exceed the most mercantile of prostitutes, their hatred of us is that much greater and is magnified by the fact that our lives are a constantly reiterated affirmation of their complete inability to control everything and everyone; no matter how many of their perverse desires we may grant in bed, we deny them their greatest psychosexual thrill: The illusion of power over others, which they crave above all else. Most people are willing to crawl to the politician, licking his boots in order to gain a few scraps from his table, but the whore merely laughs at him and reverses the relationship while providing living proof of the inability of his profession to eradicate or control ours. But desires thus frustrated always seek a scapegoat, and Craigslist is simply the latest. As long as society allows its least mature, least spiritually evolved members to hold positions of leadership, and as long as we collectively allow governments to attempt to dictate the consensual behavior of individuals, this kind of thing will continue to happen with depressing regularity.

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A Pretty Girl is Like a Melody (Part Two)

Posted in Miscellaneous, Music, Perception, tagged bad customers, brothels, dirty, disease, drivers, fantasy, New Orleans, psychology, slavery, stereotypes, streetwalkers on September 5, 2010| 12 Comments »

No fellow could ignore
The little girl next door
She sure looked sweet in her first evening gown;
Now there’s a charge for what she used to give for free
In my home town. – Tom Lehrer, “My Home Town”

Yesterday we looked at two songs whose narrators are whores, and one told from the point of view of bluenoses engaged in their favorite activity, attacking prostitutes who never did anything to them. Today we’ll look at five songs told from the client’s point of view, two of which are positive, two negative and one disturbed. Four have links to videos; no video was available for “The Taxicab”, so I have included a link for you to download a Windows Media file of the song if you wish. We’ll start with an ode to the “Ladies of the Evening” from my home town; most of my readers have probably never heard it, but it would be rare to find anyone in South Louisiana who didn’t know it by heart.

New Orleans Ladies (Hoyt Garrick)

New Orleans ladies
Sassy style that will drive you crazy
And they hold you like the light
Hugs the wick when this candle’s burning

Them Creole babies
Thin and brown and downright lazy
And they roll just like the river
A little wave will last forever

(refrain) All the way
From Bourbon Street to Esplanade
They sashay by
They sashay by

New Orleans ladies
A flair for life, love and laughter
And they hold you like the night
Holds a chill when this cold wind’s blowing

Them Creole babies
They strut and sway from dusk till dawn
And they roll just like a river
A little wave will last forever

(refrain) x2

Now, though I really do like this song I must point out that it does fall into the old “all hookers are streetwalkers” fallacy. Given the way the singer lauds our working belles, I hardly think it likely he is really talking about streetwalkers; he’s simply using it as a convenient symbol so his audience understands the specific type of lady he means, so I can forgive it in this instance. Also, since Bourbon Street intersects Esplanade, I’m not sure what he really means by saying that; I reckon he just intends to describe a fan-shaped area including the French Quarter.

Next, an explanation of the word “Creole” is in order; I used the term in my column on Storyville (day before yesterday) but neglected to define it. Early New Orleans was home to many free negroes, some of whom were themselves slave-owners. So by the Civil War a large community of free, light-skinned blacks with a considerable percentage of white blood had developed; these Creoles (as they were called) usually married among themselves and looked down on unmixed black people just as much as their white cousins did. Though their social status was quite high before the War, once Reconstruction was over Jim Crow laws were imposed on New Orleans and many of the wealthy, genteel old Creole families found themselves just as mistreated as other negroes; they fell into poverty, and their beautiful, cultured, educated daughters often found themselves with only one trade in which they could support themselves in their accustomed style. Not all of them did so in brothels; many became the mistresses of wealthy white men. There are still many Creoles in New Orleans, but most of them now find it more advantageous to identify as black rather than to maintain a separate ethnic identity as their great-grandparents did.

Clearly, the narrator of our next song isn’t nearly as accepting of our trade:

Roxanne (Sting)

Roxanne
You don’t have to put on the red light
Those days are over
You don’t have to sell your body to the night

Roxanne
You don’t have to wear that dress tonight
Walk the streets for money
You don’t care if it’s wrong or if it’s right

Roxanne
You don’t have to put on the red light
(repeat several times)

I loved you since I knew you
I wouldn’t talk down to you
I have to tell you just how I feel
I won’t share you with another boy
I know my mind is made up
So put away your make up
Told you once I won’t tell you again
It’s a bad way

Roxanne
You don’t have to put on the red light
(repeat several times)

I think it’s pretty obvious that this man is one of the “rescuers” I talked about in my column of August 25th; he has fallen in love with Roxanne and simply cannot comprehend why she still prefers to ply her trade rather than be “redeemed” (i.e. owned, as evidenced by the last few lines) by him. The narrator of the next song is also obsessed with a working girl, though I would hesitate to call the emotion “love”; it is clearly a type of psychotic neediness which has fixated itself on a girl he has never met or even spoken to before.

867-5309 (Alex Call and Jim Keller)

Jenny, Jenny who can I turn to
You give me something I can hold on to
I know you’ll think I’m like the others before
Who saw your name and number on the wall

(refrain) Jenny I’ve got your number
I need to make you mine
Jenny don’t change your number
8 6 7-5 3 0 9 (8 6 7-5 3 0 9)
8 6 7-5 3 0 9 (8 6 7-5 3 0 9)

Jenny, Jenny you’re the girl for me
You don’t know me but you make me so happy
I tried to call you before, but I lost my nerve
I tried my imagination, but I was disturbed

(refrain)

I got it (I got it), I got it
I got your number on the wall
I got it (I got it), I got it
For a good time call

(refrain)
(refrain)

Jenny, Jenny who can I turn to
For the price of a dime
I can always turn to you
8 6 7-5 3 0 9 (8 6 7-5 3 0 9)
8 6 7-5 3 0 9 (8 6 7-5 3 0 9)
5309

It’s possible that Jenny isn’t even a cheap hooker at all, but merely the victim of a rather ugly practical joke. Either way, the poor girl will probably have to change her number or face repeated calls from this pathetic, lonely person (as implied in the last verse). The narrators of our last two songs (both by the famous Belgian singer Jacques Brel) are equally obsessed (though in opposite ways) by their experiences with two very different kinds of prostitutes. Brel was famed for his strong, earthy language and these examples of his work are no exception.

The Taxicab (Jacques Brel, English version by Eric Blau & Mort Shuman)

She lives on Madonna Street
In a house tucked away there
In a house so small and sweet
Though the rug’s a little threadbare
And a stairway corkscrews up
In the middle of her pad
She lives on Madonna Street
But me, I drive the taxicab.

Her bedroom’s filled with filigree
Candles dancing in the air
Cupids dancing everywhere
You can smell the sandalwood incense
She glides about in radiance
And when she breathes I feel a stab
The candles shimmer in the air
But me, I drive the taxicab.

Her bed is big enough for three
One of her and two of me
A bar that’s filled with everything
From Old Grand-Dad to Hennessy
There’s one black cat, five Pekingese
The hi-fi’s playing modern jazz
Her bed is big enough for three
But me, I drive the taxicab.

There are other tenants in the house
A captain of the artillery
A priest who chews cheese like a mouse
A guru who will serve you tea
A financier from Katmandu
A pornographer whose eyes are bad
I know what each of them wants to do
But me, I drive the taxicab.

She’s got eyes like blazing suns
Her hips in song with pagan tunes
Her ass rolls like twin waterfalls
Lips and mouth moan like bassoons
She zips up her gown, I feel my doom
She takes it off, I wanna grab
She’s got tits like virgin moons
But me, I drive the taxicab!

Gotta go down to Madonna Street
Her bed is big enough for three
Whatever it is, I’ll pay the tab
But me, but me, but me I drive the taxicab!

However obsessed he may be, our cab driver clearly views his doxy in a flattering light and is not in the least disturbed by her profession as long as he gets to partake (note the name of her street). The narrator of the next song, however, is clearly an unusually sensitive young man who was deeply (and perhaps irreparably) traumatized by his experience in a French military brothel; the song is both powerful and unforgettable.

Next (Jacques Brel, English version by Eric Blau & Mort Shuman)

Naked as sin, an army towel
Covering my belly
Some of us blush, somehow
Knees turning to jelly
Next!

I was still just a kid
There were a hundred like me
I followed a naked body
A naked body followed me
Next!

I was still just a kid
When my innocence was lost
In a mobile army whorehouse
Gift for the army, free of cost
Next, next!

Me, I really would have liked
A little touch of tenderness
Maybe a word, a smile
An hour of happiness
But, next, next!

Oh, it wasn’t so tragic
The high heavens did not fall
But how much of that time
I hated being there at all
Next, next!

Now I always will recall
The brothel truck, the flying flags
The queer lieutenant who slapped
Our asses as if we were fags
Next! Next!

I swear on the wet head
Of my first case of gonorrhea
It is his ugly voice
That I forever hear
Next! Next!

That voice that stinks of whiskey
Of corpses and of mud
It is the voice of nations
It is the thick voice of blood
Next! Next!

And since then each woman
I have taken to bed
Seems to laugh in my arms
To whisper through my head
Next, next…

All the naked and the dead
Should hold each other’s hands
As they watch me scream at night
In a dream no one understands
Next! Next!

And when I am not screaming
In a voice grown dry and hollow
I stand on endless naked lines
Of the following and the followed
Next! Next!

One day I’ll cut my legs off
Or burn myself alive
Anything, I’ll do anything
To get out of line to survive
Not ever to be next!
Not ever to be next!

I think it’s safe to say our narrator wouldn’t have reacted this way had his initiation been at the hands of Fancy, the lady of Madonna Street or one of the enchanting Creole beauties who “hold you like the light holds the wick.” I’ve actually heard this song called “anti-prostitution” by silly critics who are apparently unfamiliar with Brel’s other work and unable to follow the words of this one. As should be obvious from the title and refrain, it is the assembly-line nature of the thing, the reduction of what should be beautiful to a mechanistic process, which has done the psychological damage here.

This overview is by no means exhaustive; I can think of several other songs right now, and I’m sure some of you can as well. But I think these represent a good cross-section of the subject, from high to low and from very positive to quite negative.

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A Pretty Girl is Like a Melody (Part One)

Posted in Miscellaneous, Music, Perception, tagged archeofeminism, brothels, cops, dirty, fantasy, Hollywood, law, stereotypes on September 4, 2010| 10 Comments »

See the girls with the dresses so tight
Give you love if the price is right. – Aldo Nova, “Fantasy”

Given the strange love/hate relationship Western culture has with our profession, it only stands to reason that there should be quite a number of songs about whores. Working girls of one type or another are at least mentioned in innumerable lyrics, but what I want to talk about today and tomorrow are songs which are directly about prostitutes. To be sure the cultural obsession with streetwalkers means that they are mentioned more often than other sorts, but we’ll also see a call girl, a tavern wench, a Belgian doxy, brothel girls, officially-employed camp followers, and two who may not be what they seem to be. In most of these cases I was able to locate a Youtube video of the song, which can be accessed by clicking on its title. Since most songwriters are male, most of these songs are of course from the male point of view; we’ll start with the two exceptions in observance of the “ladies first” principle.

Fancy (Bobbie Gentry)

Well, I remember it all very well lookin’ back
It was the summer I turned eighteen.
We lived in a one-room, run-down shack
On the outskirts of New Orleans.

We didn’t have money for food or rent
To say the least we was hard-pressed
When Momma spent every last penny we had
To buy me a dancin’ dress.

Well, Momma washed and combed and curled my hair,
Then she painted my eyes and lips.
Then I stepped into the satin dancin’ dress.
It had a split in the side clean up to my hips.

It was red, velvet-trimmed, and it fit me good
And starin’ back from the lookin’ glass
Was a woman where a half grown kid had stood.
She said,

(refrain) “Here’s your one chance, Fancy, don’t let me down!
Here’s your one chance, Fancy, don’t let me down.
God forgive me for what I do,
But if you want out girl it’s up to you.
Now get on out, you better start sleepin’ uptown.”

Momma dabbed a little bit of perfume
On my neck and she kissed my cheek
Then I saw the tears welling up
In her troubled eyes as she started to speak

She looked at our pitiful shack and then
She looked at me and took a ragged breath
She said, “Your Pa’s runned off, and I’m real sick
and the baby’s gonna starve to death.”

She handed me a heart-shaped locket that said
“To thine own self be true”
And I shivered as I watched a roach crawl across
The toe of my high-heeled shoe.

It sounded like somebody else was talkin’
Askin’, “Momma what do I do?”
She said, “Just be nice to the gentlemen, Fancy.
They’ll be nice to you.”

(refrain)

That was the last time I saw my momma
When I left that rickety shack
The welfare people came and took the baby.
Momma died and I ain’t been back.

But the wheels of fate had started to turn
And for me there was no other way out.
It wasn’t very long after that I knew exactly
What my momma was talkin’ ’bout.

I did what I had to do.
But I made myself this solemn vow:
I’s gonna to be a lady someday
Though I didn’t know when or how.

But I couldn’t see spendin’ the rest of my life
With my head hung down in shame.
You know I mighta been born just plain white trash.
But Fancy was my name.

(refrain)

Wasn’t long after that a benevolent man
Took me in off the streets
One week later I was pourin’ his tea
In a five roomed penthouse suite.

Since then I’ve charmed a king, a congressman
And an occasional aristocrat
And I got me an elegant Georgia mansion
And a New York townhouse flat.

Now I ain’t done bad

Now in this world there’s a lot of self-righteous
Hypocrites who call me bad.
They criticize Momma for turning me out
No matter how little we had.

But I haven’t had to worry ’bout nothin’
Now for nigh on fifteen years
But I can still hear the desperation
In my poor mommas voice ringin’ in my ears.

(refrain)

There was nobody who could tell a story like Bobbie Gentry; she drew on her Mississippi roots to evoke slices of life whose essential truth was both profound and undeniable. Her best-known song was the enigmatic “Ode To Billie Joe”, but “Fancy” is no less powerful. Gentry has stated in interviews that she considers the song a feminist statement; as I pointed out in my column of August 9^th, feminists of the late ‘60s recognized that sexual freedom, including the right of a woman to live by prostitution if she chooses, is an important concern of feminism. Country star Reba McEntire apparently agrees, because she recorded a cover of the song in 1991.

The character Fancy has no shame about her profession, which is more than can be said for Aldonza, the kitchen-maid and whore in Man of La Mancha, as demonstrated in her song below:

It’s All the Same (Joe Darion)

One pair of arms is like another
I don’t know why or who’s to blame,
I’ll go with you or with your brother
It’s all the same, it’s all the same.
This I have learned:
That when the light’s out,
No man will burn with special flame,
You’ll prove to me before the night’s out,
You’re all the same, you’re all the same.

So do not talk to me of love,
I’m not a fool with starry eyes,
Just put your money in my hand,
And you will get what money buys!
When I am dead, no man will miss me
For life’s a cruel and dirty game,
So you can curse or you can kiss me
It’s all the same, it’s all the same.

Oh, I have seen too many beds,
But I have known too little rest,
And I have loved too many men
With hatred burning in my breast.
I do not like you or your brother,
I do not like the life I live,
But I am me, I am Aldonza.
And what I give, I choose to give.
One pair of arms is like another
It’s all the same, it’s all the same!

I find it very interesting that while the miserable and degraded Aldonza was created by male writers, the proud and unrepentant Fancy was created by a female writer. So were the well-adjusted ladies of The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, a musical starring Dolly Parton which is based on the true story of a Texas brothel named the Chicken Ranch which was tolerated by local authorities for decades until a “crusading” reporter from Houston exposed the arrangement in order to make a name for himself. The singer of the song below is the character Melvin P. Thorp, the fictional version of the ambitious reporter.

Texas Has A Whorehouse In It (Carol Hall)

(Chorus lyrics in parentheses)

(Watch dog will get you if you don’t watch out
Watch dog sees and watch dog knows.
Watch keeps us on our toes
Watch dog assures you that the laws the law
No exception to the rule, watch dog ain’t no fool.)

(Watch dog protects you, he’s out on the prowl.
Guards and checks the best he can,
Watch dog is a fighting man.
Watch dog will throw his beam of light around
If folks don’t toe the line, watch dog’s light will shine.)

Texas has a whorehouse in it. (Lord have mercy on our souls.)
Texas has a whorehouse in it. (Lord have mercy on our souls.)
I’ll expose the facts although it fills me with disgust
Please excuse the filthy dark details, and carnal lust.
(Filthy dark details, and carnal lust.)

Dancing going on inside it, don’t you see they gone plum wild
I inquired no one denied it, now I think I’m getting riled
Bodies close together, arms and legs all rearranged.
And the sheriff does not close them down; that’s very strange.
(Does not close him down, that’s very strange.)

Mean-eyed juiced-up brilliantine honky-tonk cowboys. (Oh no)
Mixing with green-eyed thin-lipped hard-as-nails peroxide blonds. (Oh no)
Not to mention some types, that you’d never guess would venture near.
Actin’ all depraved and loose and wild, ninety miles from here.

(spoken) And now our own Melvin P Thorp Singers.

(Texas has a whorehouse in it) I’ll not let this scandal fade
(Texas has a whorehouse in it) All uprooting, our crusade.
I can smell corruption, and I’ll fight it to the top.
(Loveless copulation going on), and it must stop!

(Stop this copulation) Stop that copulation
(Loveless copulation) Stop that copulation

(Texas has a whorehouse in it.
Lord have mercy on our souls.
Texas has a whorehouse in it.
Lord have mercy on our souls.
Watch dog smell corruption and will fight it to the top.
Loveless copulation going on, going on,
Going on, going on, going on, going on.)

(Spoken) Don’t touch that dial; this is Melvin P Thorp saying I’ll be back, with new and revealing information about this and other cases.
Watch dog never sleeps.

(And it must stop.
Watch dog going to get you
Going to shine his light on you
Watch dog going to get you
Going to shine his light on you.)

Tomorrow we’ll see another song in which Southern whores are portrayed in a positive light, two about men who just don’t get it, and two very different songs about two very different kinds of harlots from the late Belgian songwriter Jacques Brel.

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Storyville

Posted in History, Tyranny, tagged brothels, cops, dirty, disease, ethics, evidence, France, law, New Orleans, Prohibition (alcohol), Spain, Storyville, virginity on September 3, 2010| 7 Comments »

All you old-time queens, from New Orleans, who lived in Storyville
You sang the blues, try to amuse, here’s how they pay the bill
The law step in and call it sin to have a little fun
The police car has made a stop and Storyville is done. – Clarence Williams, “Farewell To Storyville”

Storyville postcard, circa 1910

The story “Painted Devil” (which appeared in my column of August 23rd) took place in New Orleans of the early 1880s, as most of you probably surmised; in it I alluded to a few historical details which would be familiar to educated New Orleanians but may have left others scratching their heads, especially my mention of Storyville in a reply at the end. I therefore decided to give you a quick history of prostitution in the Crescent City, culminating in the history of Storyville.

New Orleans was founded on May 7, 1718 by Jean-Baptiste Le Moyne de Bienville and named for Philippe, Duke of Orléans, who was Regent of France at the time. Besides being terribly primitive like all new colonies, New Orleans was hot, mosquito-infested and disease-ridden and therefore had nothing to recommend it to women, so Bienville petitioned King Louis XV for help in 1721. The monarch responded by releasing all the prostitutes in La Salpêtrière prison and deporting them to New Orleans, where they of course resumed their trade. So many of the early female inhabitants of the city were whores that when a priest suggested to one of the first governors of Louisiana that he banish all “disreputable women”, the governor replied, “If I send away all the loose females, there will be no women left here at all.” In 1728, the Ursuline nuns started to import convent-raised middle-class French girls as wives for the middle and upper-class male colonists and continued to do so until 1751; these were called “casket girls” (filles à la cassette) because the French government issued them small chests of clothing.

Most of the female population were still either whores or former whores, but this concerned few people other than the priests; prostitution in New Orleans was neither regulated nor suppressed at any time during the 18th century. The colony was ceded to Spain by the Treaty of Paris (1763) and remained Spanish territory until 1801, when Napoleon reclaimed it, then sold it to the United States in the Louisiana Purchase of 1803. Obviously, the puritanical Americans could not allow things to stand as they were, so though prostitution was still legal a series of regulations were imposed to allow the police to arrest streetwalkers for “vagrancy” or harass madams for “brothel keeping”. Most of these cases were dropped long before trial because the men who owned brothels or rented rooms to streetwalkers wanted their tenants back at work, and paid bribes or hired lawyers to ensure that outcome. New Orleans’ first actual anti-prostitution law was the 1857 Lorette ordinance which prohibited prostitution on the first floor of buildings; it was soon declared unconstitutional, but the advent of the American Civil War gave the city fathers more important things to worry about.

New Orleans was captured by the Union Navy in May of 1862 and placed under martial law with General Benjamin Butler in command; he was known as “Beast Butler” for his tyrannical orders and “Spoons Butler” for his habit of stealing the silverware of every Southern house he stayed in during the war. Butler seized $800,000 from the Dutch consulate, imprisoned French and English citizens (including diplomats), arrested clergymen for refusing to pray for President Lincoln, and within days of occupying the city issued his infamous General Order #28, which stated that if any woman should “…show contempt for any officer or soldier of the United States, she shall be regarded and shall be held liable to be treated as a woman of the town plying her avocation”, in other words a prostitute. This order provoked widespread outcry even in the North and was officially protested by both England and France; it was almost certainly the cause of Butler’s dismissal from the post only seven months later.

Mansions housing expensive brothels on Basin Street, circa 1900

After Butler’s removal the lower-class whores of New Orleans thrived on the business generated by lonely soldiers far from home, and by the end of the war a whole string of brothels had opened along the old Basin Canal; the road which connected them was named Basin Street after the canal, and the brothels there and all over the city continued to thrive during the Reconstruction on the money brought in by the Carpetbaggers, unscrupulous Northern businessmen who flocked to the South to take advantage of its weakened economic condition. Most of these merchants built their mansions along Nyades Road to the nearby town of Carrolton; the road was renamed St. Charles Avenue and the railway which ran along it was eventually converted to a streetcar line which is still used today.

By 1897 there were brothels all over the city, so Alderman Sidney Story proposed to limit the trade to one district specifically zoned for the purpose. The district chosen was the Basin Street area where most of the larger and better bordellos had grown up during the Occupation and Reconstruction; specifically, it was the zone bounded by Iberville, Basin, St. Louis, and N. Robertson streets. Residents simply referred to the area as “The District”; only contemporary newspapers and later historians called it “Storyville” after the official who had proposed it. The brothels ranged from 50¢ “cribs” (originally a San Francisco term) to mid-range houses charging $1-$5, up to a row of elegant mansions along Basin Street where the girls charged $10, a great deal of money in a day when the average workman earned 22¢/hour. The most expensive fee was probably that charged by Madame Kate Townsend, who though she had long retired from active whoring would still agree to see an important client if he was willing to pay her exorbitant fee of $50/hour!

A catalog named The Blue Book was published periodically by the wealthier brothels; its title page was inscribed with the motto of the Order of the Garter (honi soit qui mal y pense, “shame to him who evil thinks”) and its interior contained descriptions of each house and its featured girls, a price list and a description of any special services offered. The most lavish of the mansions was probably the Arlington (named for its owner, Josie Arlington) at 225 Basin Street, described in The Blue Book as “absolutely and unquestionably the most decorative and costly fitted-out sporting palace ever placed before the American public.” The Arlington was a four-story edifice with a distinctive onion-domed cupola, crammed with expensive paintings and statuary and featuring various parlors decorated in the styles of foreign countries. Josie Arlington herself was a remarkably ethical woman; in a day when verifiable virgin whores brought a whopping $200 or more and previously-wealthy Creole families who had fallen on hard times often sent their beautiful, cultured daughters to the best brothels, she absolutely refused to allow virgins to be “defiled or exploited” by her business. In fact, the tomb in which she was originally buried (though her body was later moved to foil curiosity-seekers and the structure was sold to the Morales family) features a bronze figure of a young girl who is thought to symbolize a virgin being turned away from the door of the Arlington.

Black, white and Creole brothels (the latter staffed by beautiful “quadroon” or “octoroon” girls, 1/4 or 1/8 black respectively) coexisted in Storyville, but these were all for white clients; black men were legally barred from hiring any girl in the District. However, brothels where black girls accepted black clients were tolerated in a separate district nearby; they were technically illegal but neither the police nor the regulators ever harassed them. And though Jazz did not originate in Storyville as is commonly believed, it was played by musicians in the more expensive houses and was therefore first heard in Storyville by many out-of-town clients, becoming inextricably associated with it in those gentlemen’s minds. “Jelly Roll” Morton and “Pops” Foster started out as musicians in Storyville brothels, and Louis Armstrong’s mother worked in one of the houses after she was abandoned by his father.

Considering its success and the amount of revenue it brought to the city, Storyville might still exist today if not for the prudery of Secretary of the Navy Josephus Daniels, a teetotaler who considered the district as a “bad influence” on the sailors at the nearby Naval base during World War I. The District was therefore closed by federal order in 1917 over the strong objections of the New Orleans city government and Mayor Martin Behrman, who said “You can make prostitution illegal, but you can’t make it unpopular.” The closing of the District is dramatized in this scene from the movie New Orleans (1947), in which Billie Holiday and Louis Armstrong perform the haunting “Farewell to Storyville”; though most of the working girls were forcibly evicted, new brothels opened in secret both there and in other parts of the city, streetwalkers proliferated and some of the earliest call girls appeared. Many of the old houses were converted into dance halls, cabarets and restaurants, and after the beginning of Prohibition many speakeasies and gambling dens joined the clandestine brothels. Frequent police and federal raids failed to hinder operations, so in the early 1930s the city government (at federal urging) bought or seized most of the area and leveled every building (even the beautiful mansions on Basin Street) to make room for the squalid Iberville Housing Project, which remains a blight on the city to this day. Basin Street was even renamed “North Saratoga”, though the original name was restored by popular demand in the 1950s.

Sadly, the current political establishment in New Orleans prefers to pretend that Storyville never existed; even an historical marker at the site mentions several jazz musicians who were “on the scene here”, but glosses over the industry which employed them with the vague and inaccurate phrase “legalized red light district” (as we have seen, prostitution was not illegal there before so it could not be “legalized”). Though New Orleans cannot contravene state law, city government is allowed to determine police department policy and could certainly order that prostitution is to be tolerated; instead they play the kind of sleazy games I described in my columns of August 4th, 5th and 6th, and thereby dishonor the memory of thousands of women who helped build the city.

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September Updates

Posted in Current Events, Miscellaneous, News, Tyranny, tagged archeofeminism, cops, disease, law, sex offender registry, streetwalkers, stripping, vaccines on September 2, 2010| 11 Comments »

In my column of August 17^th I mentioned the “No Justice Project” of the New Orleans-based charitable organization Women With A Vision. Then on August 26^th, I sent Lorie Seruntine (my contact in the No Justice Project) an email asking for an update on No Justice in general and in particular the status of “DC”, a streetwalker branded a “sex criminal” by the monstrous policies of the NOPD and New Orleans’ district attorney’s office. Regular readers may recall that DC faced a threat of imprisonment unless she could raise $1208.67 to pay for “sex offender notifications” to be sent out so she could move into Catholic Charities Voyage House, a housing program for women. Here is the pertinent portion of Lorie’s response the next day:

Maggie:

Hi! I am so glad that we were able to get the word out. Thank you so much for the article, it was great. When we get the website updated I will put a link to the blog on the page.

As for DC, we still have yet to be able to raise any outside funds to help her. She told me that she borrowed most of the money from other people, but has to pay them back ASAP. The program where she is living has provided her with a small job, in landscaping and horticulture, of which she has an associates degree, but her first several paychecks will go to re-paying people. But nevertheless, she is not in jail so that is what counts. She has another court date next month.

Unfortunately since the last time we spoke, WWAV found out that our Governor Bobby Jindal has slashed our family planning contract one month after we re-signed our lease for another year. This money, which was more in value than the little money we got from National AIDS foundation, provided supplement funding to pay the rent, lights, and internet, and most of the organization’s overhead.

So, currently we are in the midst of trying to come up with fundraising ideas. We are trying to stay optimistic, but my position may be cut down soon and the No Justice Project will suffer. This couldn’t come at a worst time. We have the trust of women with this conviction, they come to hang out, to volunteer, to chat, to do their own designed “Spit It Out” groups, they know where we are, etc…

But I truly believe when one door closes, another one will open. The women mentioned wanting to do a crafts group, so we got the owner of The Bead Shop to sponsor materials and classes for the women to teach them how to make jewelry, and the women have expressed wanting to sell the jewelry to help fund the organization.

I also wanted to maybe see if some girls that dance in the clubs would be willing to help in some way. I don’t exactly know how, and honestly don’t even know how to approach it. I had a crazy idea of talking to some of the club owners downtown to see if maybe one night they could donate the house fees or bar profits to the org. But you know how New Orleans is, it’s all about who you know, and I don’t know the club owners.

This was my reply to her:

That’s really bad news about the contract; if I may ask how much of a loss do you need to make up? I think the jewelry is not a bad idea, but you’ll need others for sure. I’m afraid I don’t know any of the club owners personally; though I danced for two years they don’t exactly make a habit of getting to know strippers, and at least two of the three places I danced have changed hands since then anyway. Still, it certainly can’t help to ask; the worst they can do is to say “no”. Also, what about a big umbrella organization like the United Way? Any chance of a grant from them?

I was also considering your website; how many hits do you get on it per month? Because if you have halfway decent traffic you could consider selling ads and maybe even some kind of merchandise like mugs or T-shirts. Desperate times and all, you know?

Good luck, God bless and if there’s anything I can do to help from home (such as proofreading documents or stuffing envelopes or that kind of thing) please let me know.

Then on August 30^th, Lorie wrote:

Maggie:

Good News!!!! I was right on time when I said when one door closes, another opens!!! We made our money back and then some!! {A well-known national organization} has been funding sex worker organizations {but wishes to remain anonymous at this time pending their own announcement}. SO now we have a money source that has absolutely no string attached, and even better no tracking or reporting necessary!!! So far it is a one time thing, but hopefully we can maintain a good relationship with them and they might be in the giving mood later. This also means that we can provide some financial help to women who can’t pay their fees. Deon also did a speaking event on Saturday about the past 5 years of organizing since Katrina, and we got some monetary donations to help women who can’t pay their fees that way too. So everything seems to be back on track as of now. We are updating our website currently, and will be updating all the no justice stuff later in the week, so I will let you know when that happens.

The interpolations inside braces {} are mine, out of respect for this organization’s choice to remain anonymous for now. I plan to contact them to ask when the formal announcement may come, and I’ll pass the answer along to you. Note that so far this is a one-time grant, so No Justice still needs donations; anyone wishing to make such can call WWAV at (504) 301-0428 or email wwavinc@wwav.nocoxmail.com. My sneaky little brain is also currently thinking of a way in which I might raise funds for No Justice; more on that in a near-future column.

Gardasil

In my column of August 8^th I talked about the human papillomavirus, cause of venereal warts and cervical cancer. Just as I was about to retire in 2006 a vaccine against this virus was finally released for public use after years of testing; the vaccine, called Gardasil, was at first approved for young adults 18-26, then for adolescents and children as young as 9. Because this vaccine is a godsend to working girls, I decided to research it personally by asking my physician (who, like all my medical professionals, knows I was a call girl) if I might receive it. She called Merck Pharmaceuticals, manufacturers of the vaccine, to ask if it was safe to give to a 43-year-old woman and the Merck representative replied that they had just submitted paperwork to the FDA requesting approval for recipients up to 45. So my doctor was willing to sign off on it, and I was inoculated last Monday (August 23^rd). It was a hip injection, which meant pulling up my skirt to show my derriere in public for the first time in a long while; if I had known that I probably would have worn underwear. C’est la vie! I experienced no side effects for the twenty minute observation period, though I did experience no small amount of pain when I went to the clinic cashier and found that the office had misquoted the price to my doctor, and that I had to cough up almost $200 rather than the $100 they had previously quoted. This was rendered more painful still by the realization that this was but the first of three such shots, the second due on October 22^nd and the third in February. Ouch!

But my willingness to suffer for my readers’ edification was further tested this past weekend. On Saturday night (five days after the vaccination) my sleep was very disturbed; since I am a very light sleeper and my husband had just returned from an overseas business trip I put it down to his restlessness disturbing me in turn. But then on Sunday night it was worse; I woke up alternately chilly and drenched in sweat, as one does during an illness. Monday night was the same, and it occurred to me during a period of wakefulness that the vaccine might be at fault, with the fever due to my, um, more-mature-than-FDA-approved physiology struggling to manufacture antibodies. I awoke Tuesday morning feeling achy and very flu-ish, so I called my doctor to ask if it might be the Gardasil. Sure enough, flu-like symptoms a few days afterward are indeed a recognized side effect, for the reason I suspected. I wrote for a while after posting Tuesday’s column but continued to feel generally icky, not exactly sick (no vomiting or dizziness or anything like that) but just tired and weak. So I eventually had a nap, woke up feeling very slightly better, then rapidly improved until bedtime and slept like a baby that night. I felt fine all day Wednesday (and still do this morning), so I presume the adjustment period is over. Based on my research I feel I can heartily recommend the vaccine to all of my mature readers who are professionals, customers, swingers or just plain promiscuous (and all of my readers under 27), but if you’re over 40 you may wish to be sure you have some sick days available at work just in case you react as I did.

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For Their Own Good

Posted in Current Events, Tyranny, tagged agency denial, condoms, dirty, disease, ethics, Hollywood, law, porn on September 1, 2010| 7 Comments »

Of all tyrannies a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victim may be the most oppressive. It may be better to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies. The robber baron’s cruelty may sometimes sleep, his cupidity may at some point be satiated, but those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end for they do so with the approval of their own conscience. – C.S. Lewis

As I mentioned in my column of August 17^th, porn actresses are a legally protected sort of whore; however, the fact that one is immune to prosecution for one’s profession does not protect one from persecution, especially not where busybody “rescuers” are concerned. The following is paraphrased from an AP article:

An AIDS activist group filed a workplace safety complaint against porn mogul Larry Flynt on Thursday (August 26, 2010), accusing him of “creating an unsafe environment” for his sex stars by not requiring they use condoms. To illustrate its point, the AIDS Health Foundation also delivered 100 DVDS of hardcore Flynt films to the state Division of Occupational Safety and Health’s Los Angeles office. Only a single scene in one of the films shows a performer using a condom, said AHF spokesman Ged Kenslea.

These films “clearly demonstrate workplace activities highly likely to spread bloodborne pathogens in the workplace,” the complaint says; it urges the state agency to order the use of condoms on film sets.

Larry Flynt Productions President Michael Klein indicated that is an unreasonable demand, adding porn audiences don’t want to watch people using condoms. “We won’t budge when it comes to condomless productions,” he said in a statement. “That’s what the consumer wants, and we deliver it.” Federal law already requires that all porn actors be tested for HIV 30 days before the start of filming, and Klein said Flynt’s productions adhere to those standards; he added that none of the company’s actors has ever tested positive for HIV.

AHF President Michael Weinstein said his group targeted Flynt in part because he is arguably the world’s most famous and successful pornographer. Hours before filing the complaint, AHF members, clad in bright red shirts, demonstrated outside the company’s offices in Beverly Hills. This is not the first time the group has engaged in such antics; earlier this year it brought similar complaints against nine talent agencies which represent actors willing to have unprotected sex on camera.

Cal-OSHA spokeswoman Krisann Chasarik said Thursday those previous complaints prompted an investigation, although she didn’t know the status of it. Depending on the nature of a complaint, Chasarik said, Cal-OSHA can either launch a workplace inspection or ask that an employer prove the complaint is groundless. “Our next step now would be to evaluate the new complaint,” she said.

According to the Los Angeles County Department of Public Health, workers in the adult film industry are 10 times more likely to be infected with a sexually transmitted disease than members of the general population. The department documented 2,013 cases of chlamydia and 965 cases of gonorrhea among workers between 2003 and 2007, and noted that some performers had four or more separate infections over the course of a year. As many as 25 industry-related cases of HIV have been reported since 2004, the department said.

The agenda of the soi-disant “AIDS Health Foundation” is as obvious as the genitalia of Mr. Flynt’s performers. Does anyone believe for one second that these people really care about the health of porn actors? Of course they don’t, nor do they believe that there is some epidemic of HIV infection in the adult film industry; what does “As many as 25 industry-related cases of HIV” even mean? Don’t they know the number? They can give an exact figure of 2013 for the far-less-serious disease chlamydia, but for HIV all we get is “as many as 25”? There could have been exactly ONE case, and that impressively vague statement would still be literally true. The AHF fully admits that it went after Flynt because he’s the biggest producer of adult films; I think it’s pretty clear that what they really want is to hijack the porn industry into producing free extended-length commercials for their crusade to modify public behavior. I also wouldn’t be at all surprised to find out that there were more than a few anti-porn crusaders enrolled in its ranks in the hope that they can do damage to porn sales.

Now, my position on condom use in prostitution is well-known; if you’re a new reader you can find it in my essays of August 6^th, 8^th and 21^st, to name only three of many. But that’s only because there is no better way for a whore to protect herself against sexually-transmitted infections; they’re certainly not necessary in a committed relationship or any other situation in which two competent, adult participants are mutually satisfied as to the safety of their interaction and have given informed consent (as in the case of porn actors). Though AIDS activists refuse to admit it, condoms are really a kind of medieval solution to the problem of STDs; they’re ugly and clinical, decrease male sensitivity and performance, don’t prevent all diseases, and because they can break they’re not 100% effective anyhow. Unfortunately, they are the best thing we’ve got at our current level of medical technology, and used in conjunction with visual examination (see my column of the 8^th) and plain common sense they are effective enough to reduce our risk to well within acceptable safety limits (I never had even ONE infection in my entire 7-year career).

But let’s not delude ourselves; they’re nasty-looking. I wouldn’t want to watch a porn movie where the guys wore them, would you? And on top of the aesthetic problem, there’s a practical one; a large percentage of men start to go semi-soft as soon as the latex is on, so one needs to be sure he’s quite ready before it goes on in the first place or one may face an involved process of short sessions of intercourse punctuated by long episodes of vigorous manual or oral stimulation to get him ready to go in again. And that is both frustrating and un-erotic, and would surely reduce the number of male porn stars able to do the job. For both aesthetic and practical reasons porn actors cannot rely on condoms as we have to, so they need another solution, and that is the mandatory HIV testing which has been in place for decades.

“But clearly that’s not enough!” some among you may say. “The article claims porn actors have STD infection rates ten times that in the general public!” Well, I’m not entirely convinced of the accuracy of that statement, but we’ll take it at face value for the sake of argument. By what factor does one population’s disease rate have to exceed another’s for society to consider it a problem? Is 10x the minimum cause for concern? What about 5x? If the infection rate of porn actors was only 5x that of the general public, would it still be a crisis? The reason I ask is because some studies show as much as a 5x higher STD rate among the general population than among whores, so by AHF’s logic we should be allowed to police ourselves while all you amateurs should be forced to carry condoms around or face arrest if you’re caught without them!

Even if the STD rate among porn actresses was 100x that of other whores, it shouldn’t make a difference because these are consenting adults. The effective prohibition of smoking from all public places was justified by the argument that “secondhand smoke” is dangerous to nearby nonsmokers (which doesn’t explain why it’s even banned in private smoking clubs or tobacco shops, but we’ll leave that for another day), but there are no such things as airborne “secondhand STDs”; one must be actively involved to contract such a disease, and the actors all give informed consent. Still, AHF’s complaint was filed on “workplace safety” grounds, whose regulations follow the logic that since people must work it’s wrong to make them work in unsafe conditions even with informed consent; doesn’t that apply? In a word, no. The gaping, truck-sized hole in that “logic” is that nobody has to be a porn actress; even if her only skills are sexual she could still be a regular whore or marry a rich man. A judge rejected a waiter’s “job discrimination” lawsuit against the Hooter’s restaurant chain on the grounds that even if his only saleable skill was waiting tables, there were hundreds of other restaurants at which he could work; that precedent applies here as well.

The truth is none of that should matter in a free society, but we seem to have forgotten that. The reason these bluenoses are attacking the adult film industry has nothing to do with safety and everything to do with the fact that their target is part of the sex industry. Bullets can kill much more quickly and certainly than HIV, but I don’t see anybody filing a lawsuit to require the City of Los Angeles to issue Kevlar “body condoms” to all cops. Every single profession, without exception, carries risks; cooks get burned, drivers get in wrecks, doctors and nurses catch diseases from patients, and social workers get raped or murdered. But for some reason nobody cares about any of this until there is sex involved, at which point even the most miniscule risks become “unacceptable” and the busybodies embark on a great crusade to destroy their victims’ livelihoods “for their own good.”

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A Few References
Boring but necessary legal stuff

All original content on this website (i.e. all of my columns, pages and anything else which I write myself) is protected under international copyright law as of the time it is posted; though you may link to it as you please or quote passages (as long as you attribute the quote to me), please do not reproduce whole columns without my express written permission. In other words, you have to say “pretty please with sugar on top” first, and then wait for me to say “okey-dokey”.

Frank commentary from a semi-retired call girl

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A Few References

Boring but necessary legal stuff