[She was] the most elegant of women, having the most aristocratic taste and the most exquisite tact: she set the tone for a whole area of society. – from her obituary
As we have seen before, it’s not unusual for the lives of whores to become the stuff of legend, often to the point where the real woman is either lost under the embellishment or people forget there was ever a real woman in the first place. Such a woman was Marie Duplessis, whose real story was far more interesting than the romantic legend later created from it. She was born Alphonsine Plessis on January 15th, 1824 to a ne’er-do-well Norman father and a mother who was the last of an impoverished noble family which had been reduced to servility; her mother died when she was six and her father raised her alone until she was fourteen, when he sold her to a band of gypsies. Yes, this is her actual story, stranger than the fiction by which most modern people know her, and as you will see it only gets better.
The gypsies took her to Paris and put her to work in a dress shop, but by fifteen she discovered that prostitution was far more lucrative and allowed her to pay off her indenture in less than a year (many “trafficked” women still make the same choice for exactly the same reason today). Her exceptional beauty and charm won her a devoted following, and at 16 she attracted her first important client: Agénor de Guiche, later one of Napoleon III’s ministers. It was at this time she took the name Marie Duplessis (the “Du” prefix connotes a noble family, an honor she felt her mother’s ancestry entitled her to) and wisely invested in tutors who taught her not only to read and write, but also educated her in history, geography and other subjects she needed to converse intelligently with men of the ruling class. By the age of 17 she was involved with Comte Edouard de Perregaux, but because he could not give her all she needed she did not devote herself to him exclusively; another patron, the Count Von Stakelberg (a Swedish diplomat in his eighties) bought her a house in the Boulevard de la Madeleine.
Like so many other courtesans, she established a salon in her residence, and many of the Parisian cognoscenti gathered there; among them was Alexandre Dumas fils, the as-yet-undistinguished son of the famed adventure novelist. The two fell in love in September of 1844 (only a few months after the publication of his father’s most famous work, The Three Musketeers), but the relationship was not to be; Dumas was far too poor to support her, and by August of 1845 she had had quite enough of his jealousy toward those who could. But as we will see, the relationship actually worked in reverse, and Marie brought Dumas far more wealth than he ever gave her. Her next lover was the famous composer (and infamous womanizer) Franz Liszt, but by spring of 1846 he had moved on and she entered into a marriage of convenience with Perregaux. Because this was an English registry-office marriage transacted without benefit of clergy it was not considered binding in France, which suited Marie just fine: she could share her husband’s title without having to observe any of the restrictions that come with matrimony.
Her brilliant career was not to last, however; like so many 19th-century children of poverty she had contracted tuberculosis (or as it was called in those days, “consumption”), and by the summer of 1846 she knew she was dying. She visited every specialist in Europe, but there was no cure. By September she was no longer able to work, and none of the clients who eulogized her after her death did anything to ease her suffering; as Nickie Roberts wrote in Whores in History, she was “abandoned by all her former lovers and friends except her faithful maid Clothilde – and her creditors.” She died on February 3rd, 1847, less than three weeks after her 23rd birthday. And though her lavish funeral (paid for by Perregaux and Von Stakelberg) was attended by hundreds, her possessions still had to be auctioned off to pay her debts.
That was the real story: a motherless young woman, “trafficked” at 14, who paid for her own education and became one of the most successful members of her profession at an age when modern women are still called “children”, then died of an incurable malady which would have claimed her no matter what because antibiotics had not yet been invented. But a spurned lover decided to twist that into a morality play, making Marie – or as he renamed her, “Marguerite Gautier” – a “fallen woman” who dies young as a result of her dissolute life; he also created a fictional version of himself named “Armand Duval”, who convinces her to give up her life as a courtesan and thus saves her “virtue” before she dies. The lover was of course Alexandre Dumas fils, and the novel was La Dame aux Camelias (“The Lady of the Camellias”), published only a year after Marie’s death. It soon made him far wealthier than she ever was; it became a bestseller, then an extremely popular play, then in 1853 a Verdi opera named La Traviata (“The Fallen Woman”). The book has remained constantly in print since then, the play and opera have been performed innumerable times, and there have been three different ballets and a dozen movie adaptations (the most famous being Camille (1936), with Greta Garbo as “Marguerite”). I’m sure most of you have seen or at least heard of one or more of these fictional representations of Marie Duplessis (especially if you read Tuesday’s column), yet I doubt more than a few of you – if any at all – knew anything of her real story before today. Some things never change: today, as in the 19th century, most people prefer to embrace romantic nonsense about “fallen women” and how awful it is to be a whore, than to recognize the simple, unvarnished truth.
There is one particular immigrant group in my country whose members I no longer wish to see due to a long and consistent pattern of bad experiences with them. Unfortunately, one of the largest review forums here is run by members of this group, so now they are blocking new reviews of my services. They aren’t slandering me with false bad reviews, but the lack of good ones has caused me to drop from visibility (I was formerly one of the highest-rated escorts on the site). I don’t think the ethnic exclusion is the only reason, either; companions’ fees here are very low compared to the international average, and though mine are still low compared to that, they’re about twice what is normal here. Because I have no trouble getting it, I believe the board members feel other girls will realize they can do the same and it will move the market. The men seem to be coordinating via email to squash the girls they decide should be squashed; I have seen this happen twice in the past year. Neither girl is in the industry any longer, despite being more beautiful than me and equally as good in service. I fear that I am next on the list.
I honestly think your best bet is to get away from that website entirely; no presence on the site at all is better than a poor rating. Work on maximizing the draw from your ads and your website, concentrate on regulars, play up your exclusivity and DO NOT lower your rates; in fact you might try an experiment. Start a new persona, with no pictures; set “her” rates even higher and play up “her” exclusivity even more. Just make sure that your contact information for the two personas is completely different so nobody even suspects they are both you.
Also, you need to expand your horizons. If the main problem is in your own city, I suggest a tour to other large cities in your country. Once you get the hang of touring you can expand it to neighboring countries, then eventually to the whole continent and beyond. I realize it’s a little scary to go so far from home, but unless there’s a problem with your passport you could certainly make a great deal more abroad than in your own country, not only because the rates at home are unusually low but also because in other countries you will be seen as “exotic”. An extended tour would also get you away from the politics at home and let the trouble die down, plus travel broadens one and a new perspective might help you to shake some of your remaining fears. Who knows, you might even enjoy the jet-set lifestyle and decide to tour indefinitely!
Since I have never toured at all (much less internationally), I’d like to invite my escort readers with experience on the subject to contribute any additional advice in the comments (or if you prefer it to be confidential, just email it to me and I’ll forward it.)
The terrorist and the policeman both come from the same basket. Revolution, legality–counter-moves in the same game; forms of idleness at bottom identical. – Joseph Conrad
“You’ve done quite well the past few years, Simon,” said Andrew, looking around the apartment at the expensive furnishings. “Honestly, I’ve always agreed with Dad; I never thought you’d amount to much.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I’m only trying to say that I was wrong. Not everyone’s good at study, very few have what it takes to succeed at politics, and none of our family has a head for business. But you’ve really managed to capitalize on these new laws.”
Though he lacked Andrew’s intellectual brilliance, Simon was by no means stupid when it came to people; he knew his older brother was sneering at him. “We can’t all be college professors.”
“No, that’s true. And though you started much later, it looks like you’ve passed me in the income department. But aren’t you afraid of getting caught?”
“What do you mean, ‘caught’?”
“Well, bounty hunting is technically illegal; a felony, in fact. And that means you’re just as vulnerable under the Citizen’s Law Enforcement Act as anybody.”
“Not really; they have to tolerate it or the whole system falls apart. You know as well as I do why they passed CLEA: crime rates were skyrocketing while revenues were tanking, and all the available police manpower is tied up suppressing riots and fighting the big crime gangs. Polls show it’s a very popular program; the bounties cost far less than police salaries and benefits, and they’re more than covered by the seized assets of captured criminals.”
“Some people call those riots ‘protests’, and point out that the crime rates wouldn’t be soaring if the government didn’t keep inventing new crimes. Some even say that the program is nothing more than a way to rob the citizenry under color of law.”
“Whatever. You and I both know that’s not going to change anytime soon, and I’m going to get mine while I can. As you pointed out, I haven’t exactly succeeded at any other kind of work.”
“No, you haven’t.” Simon thought for a moment he was going to say something else, but apparently he thought better of it and kept his mouth shut for a change. The conversation turned to the wars in Nigeria and Venezuela, the upcoming Super Bowl and their mother’s health, and after he left Simon got himself a snack and looked over the evening’s plans on his phone. He then showered, shaved and dressed and headed out for his appointment.
He was really looking forward to this one; it had involved considerable research, and as Andrew would happily point out that wasn’t his strong suit. But it looked like the tip would prove worth the money he had paid for it; there was a high bounty on sex traffickers, and his cut of her assets would be worth much more than that. Best of all, he would be able to get the kind of sex he liked best before bringing her in, with no chance of getting in trouble for it.
As arranged, he met “Regina” at an exclusive restaurant and he immediately paid her by bumping phones. The fee was high and the dinner would be as well, but one had to be willing to spend money up front to succeed in this business. For instance, he could never have passed her screening without the pricey undercover alias service to which he paid out four figures a month, nor could he have been reasonably sure she was the woman he was after without expensive software to crack the distortion all escorts now used to protect against facial recognition programs. And the miniature DNA analyzer was vital for ensuring he didn’t open himself up to a ruinous lawsuit by bringing in the wrong person.
But none of this would be worth a damn without the natural skills his pompous ass of a brother could never recognize as such: the hunter’s instinct that helped him track his quarry, and the gambler’s poker face that now allowed him to chat charmingly with a beautiful woman without giving as much as a hint of a sign that he was planning to rape her, abduct her and turn her over to the police for years of prison followed by a lifetime of Registration.
Everything so far had gone according to plan, and when she went to the ladies’ room after dinner he took the opportunity to activate the app which interfaced with the DNA analyzer; it was a positive match. Her surprisingly-flattering mug shot came up on the screen, along with her real name and criminal record: Dorothy Jenkins, born September 29, 1988; convictions for pandering, money laundering and conspiracy. That gave him his threshold; she was fair game.
They returned to her incall, where he was pleased to see that she trusted her screening methods; there was neither bodyguard nor maid, which would make his job even easier. They relaxed for a while, had drinks on the sofa, continued the conversation, and then when the time seemed right headed for the bedroom. She undressed him, caressed him, and massaged his back with a fragrant oil; she then slid off the bed, removed her earrings and did something on her nightstand…and suddenly Simon felt searing pain tear through his entire being. He tried to scream, but couldn’t; every muscle in his body seemed frozen in place. The pain came again, and once more, and then through blurry, watering eyes he saw her bending over him, reading from the screen of her phone. And he heard her voice as though it were at the far end of a tube:
“Simon Bailey, born April 18th, 1985; convictions for assault on a police officer and illegal gambling; suspected of 67 counts of human trafficking for the purpose of exploitation of the Citizen’s Law Enforcement Act. Bounty hunting’s a felony, smart guy, and that makes you fair game.”
She had the most capacious heart I know and must be the only whore in history to retain her heart intact. – Henry Labouchere
Of all the grandes horizontals of the 19th century the one I feel I can understand the most, and for whom I have the greatest affinity, is Catherine Walters. While other courtesans went through money like water, she was relatively thrifty; while others affected gaudy displays of jewelry and ostentatious wealth, she was known for her style and taste; while others made spectacles of themselves, she always behaved naturally; while others extracted all they could from their clients, her fairness earned her a number of lifetime incomes; while others exposed their clients in tell-all memoirs later in life, her discretion was legendary. And while others used exotic stage names or titles that made them sound more like institutions than women, Catherine was simply “Skittles”, a nickname derived from her first job: setting up pins in a Liverpool bowling alley named the Black Jack Tavern.
She was born on June 13th, 1839, the third of five children of Edward and Mary Ann Walters of 1 Henderson Street, Toxteth, Liverpool. Her mother died giving birth in 1843, and her father was a customs official who eventually drank himself to death in 1864. Beyond the bowling alley job, little is known of her early life except that she ran away from the convent school to which her father sent her sometime after her mother’s death, and that she also worked in her early teens for a livery stable, where she learned the equestrian skills that were her passport to success. Though she was petite, charming and very beautiful (with grey eyes, long chestnut hair and an 18-inch waist), the fact that she could outride most men set her apart from other beauties and gained her the public and press attention a courtesan needed for advertisement in those pre-internet days.
She left Liverpool at the age of 16 as the mistress of Lord Fitzwilliam, who set her up in London and remained with her for two years; when he tired of her he gave her a gift of £2,000 and an income of £300 a year. This set the pattern for her later relationships; her wealthy patrons knew that she would never reveal their names, and the annual payments they provided helped to ensure she was never tempted. In fact, the £500 pension from her second lover, Spencer Cavendish (Marquess of Hartington and future Duke of Devonshire), was continued by his grateful family even after he died in 1908. Of all Skittles’ admirers, Lord Hartington was the one who had the most profound effect on her life; their relationship lasted from 1858-1862, during which time he put her in a townhouse in Park Street, Mayfair, gave her a stable of thoroughbreds, introduced her to the tailors (Henry Poole & Co) she was to do business with for decades, and hired a tutor to give her the education she had missed.
It was during this time that she first became famous as a “horse breaker” on Rotten Row in Hyde Park; her beauty and skill attracted so many fans that she started drawing crowds of onlookers, and her clothes were so perfectly tailored (and skin-tight) that it was rumored she wore them without underwear. Noblewomen and others who could afford it copied her style of dress, but even after she became a fashion trendsetter she never forgot her roots; the majority of her tailors’ bills were for maintaining and mending her clothes rather than buying new ones. Her horsewomanship was admired by men and envied by their wives, and though she called herself “Anonyma” when riding in public everyone knew who she really was; she is mentioned by name in The Season by future poet laureate Alfred Austin, and she was said to be the model for The Shrew Tamed by Edwin Landseer (though that was actually a woman named Annie Gilbert, who resembled her). Unfortunately, all this attention was seen by Hartington’s family as an impediment to his future in politics (which was, as it turned out, quite distinguished), so despite the fact that they had very strong feelings for one another he was obliged to break the relationship off in the autumn of 1862.
Skittles was quite upset by the end of what had been the happiest time of her life, and though she made no attempt to hurt Hartington she wanted to start over again somewhere else. She eloped to New York with Aubrey de Vere Beauclerk, but this relationship was short-lived and by early 1863 she had moved to Paris. But while Cora Pearl and most of the other demimondaines of the time attracted attention by over-the-top theatrics, Skittles preferred just to be herself; her only really unusual behavior was driving her own carriage followed by two mounted grooms, all in impeccably-tailored outfits. Her reputation for discretion had preceded her, however, and it is rumored that her clients during this period included both the Minister of Finance, Achille Fould, and Emperor Napoléon III himself. One whose identity is known for certain is the diplomat and poet Wilfrid Scawen Blunt, who fell obsessively in love with her and was prone to jealous behavior which attracted unwanted attention; the affair ended when it was discovered by Lord Crowley, Ambassador to France and father of Blunt’s fiancée, who dismissed Blunt from his post and sent him back to England in disgrace. Though he later married Lady Anne King-Noel, daughter of Ada Lovelace, he never did get over Skittles and wrote the poem “Esther” to her thirty years later. Around that time he also began writing letters to her, and they became friends and corresponded until her death.
When the Franco-Prussian War began she returned to London, and in 1872 moved to 15 South Street, Park Lane, where she lived for the rest of her life. She returned to riding and hunting and instituted a tradition of Sunday afternoon tea parties for important men; future prime minister William Gladstone was known to have been a regular attendee, though it is unknown if he was a client. Her most famous patron from this time was the Prince of Wales, the future King Edward VII, who fell in love with her and sent her over 300 love-letters; after his infatuation waned he not only paid her an allowance, but also sent his own physician to care for her when needed. A few years later the doctor reported to his royal patron that Skittles was grievously ill, and fearing she might die the Prince asked for the return of his letters; she gave them back without any fuss, and His Highness was so grateful he raised her pension.
At some point in the early 1880s, she began a relationship with Alexander Horatio Baillie which was serious enough that called herself Mrs. Baillie for the duration, but there is no documentary evidence that they were ever legally married. She continued to see clients throughout the ‘80s, finally retiring about the age of 50 as a wealthy society lady. Sometime after her retirement she had a love affair with the much-younger Gerald de Saumarez, whom she had first met years before when he was only 16 (and she 40), and though they parted as lovers after a time they remained friends ever after, and she left her entire estate (valued at £2764 19s 6d, over £60,000 today) to him when she died of a cerebral hemorrhage on August 5, 1920. In her last few years she had become something of a recluse after being crippled by arthritis, but there is no evidence her mind was anything other than sharp until the very end. Though she left no diary or memoirs which could have betrayed her clients after her passing, they and many others who knew her have painted a clear picture of her charisma, honesty, loyalty, fairness, good sense and capacity for love, and that is as fine a legacy as anyone could wish.
Harry Reems, the first male porn star, died of pancreatic cancer on Tuesday (March 19th) at the age of 65. For his role in Deep Throat, Reems was convicted in 1976 of “conspiracy to transport obscene material across state lines”, and though that sentence was overturned a year later the stress of the trial drove him to start drinking; he spent the late ‘80s as a homeless alcoholic before sobering up in 1989, then getting married and going into real estate a year later. Unlike his co-star Linda Lovelace, however, he never regretted his choices or blamed porn for his troubles, and went by his stage name (his birth name was Herbert Streicher) until the end.
I left out the very rarest, but worst type: “[Houma, Louisiana] police arrested 15 men…alleging they solicited a prostitute through [Backpage]…one of [two] prostitutes…[was] issued a summons…[but] the other…was not arrested [because she] agreed to be a part of the sting…” There is absolutely no lower life-form in the whoring ecosystem than a person who collaborates with cops to ensnare others in order to save his or her own worthless hide.
Andrea Castillo’s “When Science Looks Like Religion” explores the territory discussed in Monday’s comment thread: When people blindly accept scientific findings which reinforce their irrational beliefs while rejecting equally-valid results which contradict those beliefs, the result is not science but religion. The last part is doubly germane: it describes Norwegian social scientists’ knee-jerk denial of all data which contradicts their cultic social constructionism.
…Suspicious moms and dads are hiring trained drug detection dogs to sniff out their kids’ drug stash…the RK Agency…[charges] $350…[to] “discreetly perform a thorough inspection of your entire property”…Jeffrey Gardere, a child psychologist …[told] the Today Show… “I don’t know if you can [have a relationship with your kids] if you’re bringing in drug-sniffing dogs”…
According to this post from Dr. Annie Sprinkle, Tracy Elise of Phoenix Goddess Temple has been “deemed…’incompetent’ to go to trial…she will be sent to psych ward and forced to take psychiatric drugs for about 15 months until she’s ‘competent’…I feel that if…sex workers…criticise Tracy Elise…we are in a way colluding with the [police]…and…contributing to the problem, which is exactly what the ‘sex negative society’…wants us to do…” I totally agree.
…women in Ancient Rome [married] sometimes as young as 14…[but] were permitted to own land and houses and have jobs. Women of the upper classes were educated to a high standard…It’s well known that Pompeii…boasted a large sex industry…and…open attitudes about sexuality and prostitution didn’t hold back other women from achieving…
A Chinese brothel madam and her husband have been ordered to pay back £125,000 within six months or she will face another jail sentence and he will join her…Rong Chen…and her husband Jason Hinton…only [have] £125,000 of realisable assets…[namely] their marital home in…Worcestershire, which…will have to be sold or remortgaged…
…Jakarta…has tried…to offer sex workers ways to escape the sex industry…[for] example…sex workers…[given] a dressmaking course…did not return to their villages…but rather…to their old lives in Jakarta…the income from sewing was just too far below sex work…A high ranking health official…[said] it would be better to legalize prostitution; closing Kramat Tunggak would result in the dispersion of prostitution sites to several unidentified locations — making health checkups impossible…Surabaya…is still trying to phase out Dolly, East Java’s famed prostitution site…
…Dolly…consists of at least 300 brothels…employing thousands of prostitutes…[plus] numerous supporting businesses — clinics, mini markets, sexual enhancement medicine vendors, parking lots, banks, rented houses, Internet cafes, small restaurants…University of Indonesia economist Lana Soelistianingsih said that…economic transactions triggered by prostitution [alone] could contribute around Rp 1.5 trillion to Surabaya’s gross domestic product…
Family Research Council…fellow Pat Fagan…claims that Eisenstadt v. Baird, the 1972 case that overturned a Massachusetts law banning the distribution of contraceptives to unmarried people, may rank “as the single most destructive decision in the history of the Court”…because it effectively meant that “single people have the right to engage in sexual intercourse…Society never gave young people that right, functioning societies don’t do that, they stop it, they punish it, they corral people, they shame people, they do whatever”…
…Amsterdam’s oldest prostitutes have retired after more than 50 years each in the business. Louise and Martine Fokkens, 70, have decided they are too old…Louise…says arthritis now makes some sexual positions “too painful”…and Martine…admits she finds it hard to attract punters – though one elderly man still has his weekly sadomasochism session…The pair were the subject last year of a documentary Meet The Fokkens and they have written a book called The Ladies Of Amsterdam…
Caty Simon of Tits and Sassinterviews well-known activist Audacia Ray on the Red Umbrella Project, speaking to the media, condom criminalization, the Long Island Killer and why sex workers need to ally with harm reduction and anti-drug war activists.
10 years ago, the Internal Security Act (LSI) penalized public solicitation, including so-called “passive solicitation”…[this] has reinforced the isolation of sex workers, relegating them to more remote places where they are…more prone to violence…since the introduction of the LSI, “the conduct of the police deteriorated sharply. Their attitude is less respectful and humiliation increased…their protective function…has virtually disappeared and [they are]…most often perceived as strictly punitive”…Médecins du Monde demand the immediate repeal of the offense of soliciting…[and] rejects any proposal to penalize customers…
Women’s Rights Minister Najat Belkacem responded in a typically clueless manner; though she promised repeal of the law, she also made the absurd claim that “90% of [sex workers] are victims of human trafficking” and refused to back down on her scheme to impose the Swedish model.
…Portland [has]…one of the largest sex industries of any U.S. city…human trafficking…is a growing problem in Oregon due in part to the traffic permitted by Interstates 5 and I-84 [and] the Willamette and Columbia rivers…the problem [is] one that’s inextricably linked to gangs…“When people think of prostitution, their first instinct is a girl walking on the street,” [police spokesman Pete] Simpson says. “They’re not thinking about the fact that she’s being traded as a commodity, sold as a product”…The change [in strategy] humanizes the victims…
Simpson robs women of agency, then claims he’s “humanizing” whores who were already human before he turned them into things to be acted upon. It would be funny if it weren’t so sad.
Charlotte Shane’s review of An Intimate Life: Sex, Love, and My Journey As A Surrogate Partner, the memoirs of sex surrogate Cheryl Greene (of The Sessions fame), covers much the same ground as my column, and that’s a good thing; the more of us there are speaking out against these artificial lines drawn between types of sex work, the more people will finally get it.
I’m glad to see that others are recognizing that “marriage equality” applies just as well to polygamy as it does to same-sex marriage, and are making good arguments for it:
I’m in favor of leaving marriage to the religious institutions, and registering households in whatever configuration people want to live. If a same-gender couple, or a heterosexual couple, or an elderly couple who can’t have children, or any couple want to be responsible to and for each other, let them. If three people want to be responsible to and for each other, let them. If a gay man and his female best friend want to be responsible to and for each other, let them. Let’s stop worrying about who is screwing who, and just make it easier for people to be responsible in their relationships.
The Georgia attorney general and other law enforcement officials kicked off a public awareness campaign…[which] bears the slogan “Georgia’s not buying it” and includes a [commercial] featuring professional athletes…”We’ll continue to go after the pimps and rescue the victims, but we know that the only way to truly eradicate this evil is by ending the demand,” Attorney General Sam Olens said…It is a problem throughout Georgia, in both urban areas and in small towns and rural areas…
Georgia is indeed “buying it”, wholesale. I’m sure millions in federal grants and an excuse to further erode civil rights have nothing to do with all this.
Sexual expression is a fundamental part of being human…Decades of research have uncovered the many benefits of sex, which include physical health, quality of life, psychological well-being and sexual self-esteem. Unfortunately, because of social taboos and hypocrisy…barriers are created to stop people from fully realising these benefits…Some people with disabilities have limited opportunities for sexual relationships because they lack privacy and are dependent on others…
The video of the Albany Law School symposium is now available! If you don’t have the time or inclination to watch the whole thing (4 hours), my part runs from minute 170 to 185.
Earlier this month, doctors announced that a baby had been cured of…HIV…Now…it appears that 14 adults have…been successfully treated…70 people…[received] combination antiretroviral therapy (cART)…much sooner than…normal…[because] all [were] diagnosed…early…they…stuck to the [regimen] for an average of three years…[but then] stopped…for various reasons…Normally, HIV will return when patients stop taking their ARVs. But this time…14…patients…were functionally cured…
Apparently, the proposed legislative reform in South Australia isn’t quite decriminalization (though it’s a lot closer to it than anything we’ll see in the US anytime soon): “…it makes special provisions for sex work such as special licensing, laws about safe sex and possibly restrictions on location…once a ‘reform’ law has been passed the chances of getting better legislation in the near future drop to zero. So many people feel it’s better to stay with a bad situation and hope to get good reform rather than settle for an unsatisfactory ‘improvement’…”
Man seems to be an animal whose capacity for lies is only equalled by his credulity; it does no good to let battalions of cats out of bags, to produce whole harems of naked facts, people eat the same three meals daily deception, and are always ready to turn with fury upon the purveyors of bagless cats and facts undraped. – John Dos Passos
For some time now, anti-sex politicians have been working to undermine the Netherlands’ legendary tolerance of sex work. Using the “trafficking” hysteria as an excuse and branding almost any male who has a relationship with a sex worker a “pimp”, these stealth-prohibitionists have made it much more difficult to get a brothel license, and in 2006 tried to revoke the licenses of 30 established brothels. In September of 2007 the city closed more than a third of the famous windows (by buying the buildings) and commissioned a study, which was published in 2010; it’s 232 pages long and available only in Dutch, but here is the conclusion and summary in English. Among its more interesting findings: underage prostitution is essentially nonexistent in Amsterdam, as are coercion and other wrongs among the roughly 20% of whores who are independent escorts and the roughly 40% who work from clubs or private incalls. It estimated the fraction of window prostitutes who were coerced to be 8%, and the fraction of the entire sex worker population involved in “wrongs” of any kind to be about 10%.
Of course, prohibitionists insist that this is a lie (or the result of “brainwashing”, “Stockholm syndrome”, “false consciousness”, etc), and proclaim (without any evidence whatsoever) that a whopping 90% of all Dutch whores are somehow coerced, exploited or otherwise harmed. Thanks to their efforts a massive police raid in search of “trafficking victims” was launched in April 2011 and found…none. Not a single blessed one, despite the detention and interrogation of 157 women. But prohibitionists never let little things like facts stop them, so they continued to push for “reforms” and “action”, all the while desperately searching for any kind of flimsy rationalization for their demands. But then they got what must have seemed like a godsend:
In the Fall of 2011, Parool and Algemeen Dagblad published the first stories of prostitute “Patricia Perquin”. She described the ways of the Amsterdam Wallen from the inside. It is her “true story”, as she later stated on the cover of her book…In revealing articles she led her readers into a world of sex, violence, humiliation, and exploitation…[she described herself as] tall, slim, blond [and] D-cup…[and] says she got into prostitution after having built up a 150,000 Euro debt due to shopping addiction. She…managed to pay it off in four and a half years…working through ten thousand clients. Her record is thirty-one in one day.
Patricia Perquin’s articles made a deep impression. Publishing house Prometheus contracted her for a book. In March 2012 the bestseller Achter het raam op de Wallen (“Behind a Window in the Wallen”) was released…[and soon] producer Talpa developed a TV series…The stories attracted the attention of Amsterdam Alderman Lodewijk Asscher, now the Deputy Prime Minister…[who was] very busy with [a project to] clean up the Wallen area. He took Patricia so seriously that he had a number of long conversations with her. “If one wants to get a realistic picture of what is happening in the Wallen all you need is to read Perquin’s book,” he said. Her tale strengthened him in his mission: stricter actions against exploitation. Perquin penetrated deeply into the world of Amsterdam policymakers…meeting with Mayor Eberhard van der Laan. “Her book moved me and it gives a very clear picture of what is happening on the Wallen,” he said in the Senate in June 2012, pleading for a quick introduction of a new prostitution law…
Perquin was instrumental in developing some of the “reforms” I’ve recently reported, such as raising the legal age of prostitution to 21 and demanding fluency in the Dutch language of the 70% of sex workers who are not Dutch nationals (thus dramatically expanding the illegal hooker underclass and facilitating exploitation). Needless to say, the Amsterdam sex work community wanted to know who this prohibitionist shill really was:
The first cracks in her story begin to show when prostitutes call Metje Blaak, former spokeswoman of the prostitution advocacy organization, De Rode Draad. “Nobody had ever heard of her. They asked me where Patricia worked. They wanted to work where she worked because she made such good money. She had sometimes seven clients in one day, whereas if you do well on the Wallen, you might get four.” There was also suspicion on Hookers.nl…
Of course, the politicians couldn’t be bothered to check up on her; if they had, they might not have been so quick to lionize her. After giving a lengthy radio interview, she was recognized by people who knew her in the past not as a sex worker, but rather as a disgraced journalist named Valerie Lempereur:
Lempereur…has worked in both the Netherlands and Belgium, among others for Nieuwe Revu, Story, TV Family, and Het Laatste Nieuws. Many…well-known people…accuse her of lies and deceit. In the Nineties Lempereur was fired on the spot by crime reporter, Peter R. de Vries, on account of “fraud and deceit, committed more than once,” he wrote in an open letter to Trouw…She was born [in Zeeland] as Daniël…[and] had [gender-reassignment] surgery many years ago…she was addicted…to heroin…for eight years…and…sentenced to prison for several months, for drug theft…[after she] sneaked into hospitals…to steal the goods, dressed as a nurse…A well-known window owner who wants to remain anonymous, says he knew Valérie around 2000 as a prostitute in the Singel area. That contradicts the [claim] that Lempereur began working only five years ago, in all innocence. From the four and half years she [allegedly] worked in the cribs, she also managed for two years a publishing company in Belgium. It’s not clear how she did that with simultaneously working ten thousand clients on the Wallen. Her book also doesn’t say a word about the effect of her transsexuality on her work in the crib…
Though the story has been building since March of last year, it was only broken at last by the newspaper De Volkskrant on March 9th, with the following note:
De Volkskrant has repeatedly asked Valerie Lempereur for a reaction on the veracity of her book and articles. She has neglected our requests. Instead, she applied twice for a temporary injunction to prevent the revelation of her identity. Friday night…the judge decided that De Volkskrant can publish this article.
And a good thing, too; the anti-whore momentum has been building so strongly that a socialist representative named Myrthe Hilkens has even been able to start pushing for the Swedish model. Will the exposure of this fake be able to stop the descent of the Netherlands into prohibitionist madness, or will the busybodies just find a new sock puppet (perhaps they can borrow Justine Reilly from Ruhama?) Only time will tell.
(I wish to express my deep appreciation to regular reader and die-hard sex worker ally Frans van Rossum, who not only called these articles to my attention but also invested a great deal of time and effort in preparing English translations for me. Thank you so very much, Frans!)
This essay first appeared on Cliterati on February 17th; I have modified it only slightly so as to fit the format of this blog.
The fashionable anti-sex work dogma of our times is that prostitution is “paid rape”, an exertion of “patriarchal dominance” by violent men acting out their misogyny through the “buying” of women. The most fanatical of the True Believers proclaim that all sex workers are in reality “slaves” who are “owned” by pimps and traded like cattle, while those with a slightly less tenuous grasp on reality will (if pressed) admit that it actually isn’t like that most of the time, but that we simply don’t recognize our enslavement because we suffer from “false consciousness” as a result of the “social construction” of our sex roles under evil, evil Patriarchy. “End Demand” strategies, the Swedish model and “sex trafficking” hysteria all draw on this bizarre paradigm, which is an almost exact reversal of the typical harlot-client relationship; there is a vulnerable party in the transaction, all right, but it isn’t the woman.
Because I insisted that my escort service advertising appeal to my own aesthetics, it was perhaps more “female-friendly” than that of some of the other agencies; as a result I attracted a disproportionate number of young, inexperienced applicants. And because the three other agencies with which I was friendly all knew that I was more maternal and patient than they were, they usually sent inexperienced girls to me as well. Many a time I sat on the couch with a young lady who was understandably nervous about going on a call for the first time, and asked how she should handle her fears; I replied that it was not really all that different from a blind date, and that after a week or so she would discover that the clients were often far more nervous than she was. I never once had a girl come back to me weeks later and say that I was wrong, and many took the time to tell me how right I had been.
As I explained to those who wanted me to elaborate on the subject, the client faces just as many unknowns as his escort. Even after phone or email conversation, neither knows what the other will really be like in person; either could intend to cheat or harm the other, either could be unbalanced or stoned, and under criminalization either could be a cop. And while it’s certainly true that the average man is much stronger than the average woman, many clients are elderly, infirm or in poor health while escorts tend to be young, active and physically fit; it’s also not unknown for female thieves to work with a male confederate in order to entice men into private quarters with intent to rob them. Furthermore, on average the client has a lot more to lose than the sex worker; while he is likely to be established and married with a reputation he does not want to lose, she is likely to be far less well-known in the community. And if she’s done her screening properly, she knows his legal name and a great deal of personal information, while he knows only her stage name and (if he’s done his screening properly) her professional reputation.
As if all that weren’t enough, there’s the familiarity factor; every person gets more comfortable with doing something through repetition. The more anyone goes into a similar situation the more he learns its ins and outs, its highs and lows, its likelihoods and its rarities; he develops instincts regarding it, is able to assess potential problems, and learns how to solve or escape those problems. But while the typical sex worker might see ten or twenty clients per week, the typical regular client won’t exceed ten or twenty escorts per year; a hooker who’s been on the job for a month has the equivalent experience of a punter who’s been hiring professionals for years. And that’s really an apples-to-oranges comparison; while probably 60% of sex workers see that typical rate, most clients only indulge themselves occasionally rather than regularly. Experience leads to mastery and confidence, which increases self-esteem; over 72% of escorts report that their self-esteem increased after entering the trade. Clients, on the other hand, have to contend with demeaning or demonizing cultural messages about men who buy sex in addition to their doubts or fears about a comparatively less familiar transaction.
As any experienced escort could tell you, it shows. Many clients are as nervous as the proverbial long-tailed cat, sometimes to such a degree that they get cold feet and cancel (or merely fail to show up or answer the door). Others require “liquid courage”, sometimes to the point that it impairs their performance; others insist on looking around for hidden pimps or asking questions intended to reveal police affiliation or (in the case of younger girls) legal age status. I receive far more questions from men than women, and many of them reveal other fears and concerns: they worry about penis size, performance, unattractiveness or disease; about accidentally causing harm or contributing to exploitation; about ethics, guilt and the proper way to treat their escorts; and even about falling in love with a working girl. I’m currently corresponding with one gentleman who is so nervous that he has angered several ladies by his vacillation, and has sought my advice in overcoming it. To be sure, these men are not the majority; most clients seeing a particular escort for the first time are either a little shy or else no more visibly unsure than a man going into any new business relationship. But the very nervous are a substantial minority, and vastly outnumber the abusive monsters on which prohibitionists are so firmly fixated.
I can laugh at a puppet show, at the same time I know there is nothing in it worth my attention or regard. – Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
By the end of the nineties, neofeminist leaders knew their movement was in trouble; though they had become extremely powerful in the Scandinavian countries, their power and influence had begun to wither nearly everywhere else. The reasonable goals of second-wave feminism had been met, and feminist ideas had become so normal that mainstream feminism no longer had a monopoly on them; the neofeminists had lost the crowbar by which they had pried and beat so many young women into their ugly, twisted gender war, and the internet had made it more difficult for them to sell their anti-sex snake oil to the impressionable. But fanatics are driven by their psychoses, and are thus unable to admit defeat; instead, the neofeminists formed an alliance with another large group of anti-sex authoritarians, namely fundamentalist Christianity, and together they repackaged their old ideas so as to sell them all over again. Instead of being merely “sinful” or “misogynistic” porn became “addictive”, and mercenary “researchers” with questionable credentials were hired to supplement the fabrications of the True Believers on any aspect of sex work one might name.
The keystone of this whole strategy was the myth of “sex trafficking”; as the “Nation Strategy” of Swanee Hunt’s Demand Abolition organization clearly states, “Framing the Campaign’s key target as sexual slavery might garner more support and less resistance, while framing the Campaign as combating prostitution may be less likely to mobilize similar levels of support and to stimulate stronger opposition.” In other words, the anti-sex coalition recognized it had already lost the war on sex work, so it was necessary to use its favorite tactic, re-framing (i.e. calculated lying), to paint prostitutes (and to a lesser extent strippers and porn actresses) as “sex slaves” controlled by evil “pimps” straight out of 1970s blaxploitation films. There was, however, a problem with this scheme; as I explained in “The Odor of Socks”,
…they present the “reframed experiences” of “survivors” to support their claims, but since these are a small minority the usual approach …is to present the same stories over and over again with slightly-altered details so as to “pack the collection” of available narratives. This can only go so far against the huge number of vocal whores, however; even the most credulous of prohibitionist marks will eventually notice that while we regularly post new material and interact with our readers, the supposed plethora of “human trafficking victims” are represented only in third person. And so a new weapon has become necessary: the sock puppet…while the anonymity of the internet makes it possible for whores to speak out without fear of arrest or other persecution, it also allows trolls to set up multiple accounts so as to create phantom “supporters” of their views…
Right now in Ireland, the nuns who enslaved many thousands in the Magdalene laundries are trying to once again suppress whores, this time via the odious Swedish model. Like other modern prohibitionists they use sock puppets, but because Ireland really isn’t a very big country they don’t have a large number to choose from…and it shows. Irish activists called these three videos to my attention; even with shaded faces, it’s pretty obvious that this is the same woman under three different names. Let’s start with “Mary”; you needn’t watch this whole thing, just enough so that you can be pretty sure you’ll recognize her voice, accent and characteristic syntax when you hear it again.
And now here’s “Sandy” who is supposedly a different woman:
…I got tired of being used and to being sold like a tissue; – used, then throw away. I believed Ruhama was for foreign girls but I wanted out and I was willing to try anything…so I rang straight away and was greeted with kindness, understanding and offered so much help…I wandered in like a stray dog, I felt so low, only then to see I have a future there…Ruhama have it all, its up to you to ask…no money is worth what prostitution takes, every thing in life has a cost, sell your body and your soul goes.
The real woman behind all these aliases is Justine Reilly, shown here in a photo from the 2003 prohibitionist book Sex in the City; if she didn’t want to be recognized she probably should have changed that rather distinctive hairstyle. Irish sex worker groups repeatedly petitioned the government to allow them a say in the hearings on imposing the Swedish model, but this kangaroo court never had any intention of allowing real testimony; the only ones allowed in were Justine and other Ruhama shills. They spouted the usual nonsense such as you can hear in the videos above, including the lie that there are literally NO independent sex workers in Ireland, because all of them are “controlled” by pimps. But perhaps that’s less a lie on Justine’s part and more a case of wishful thinking, since she herself was convicted of “pimping” twelve years ago yesterday:
A woman has been fined £11,500 and given a 12-month suspended sentence…for managing and running brothels in Dublin. Justine Reilly (33)…pleaded guilty…to four…counts of brothel-keeping and one of managing a brothel on dates from October 1999 to March 2000. She admitted full responsibility and told gardai she was earning about £3,000 a week.
A convicted brothel keeper was yesterday granted a taxi licence after a court heard she needed to work as a cabbie to pay off a €14,600 fine. Justine Reilly (36) challenged a Garda decision to refuse her a public-service vehicle licence…She said since her conviction she had been ostracised by her family and…had done a number of jobs, including cleaning and working in bars and restaurants, but it was not enough to meet the fine…
Running a taxi in fiercely-competitive Dublin wouldn’t be enough to pay it, either; my sources tell me it would be extremely difficult for a cabbie there to clear €14,600 in a year, and that’s before living expenses. Somebody eventually paid that fine…perhaps in exchange for PR services rendered? Ruhama was certainly a good fit for Justine; take a look at how she was already reinventing herself by the time she got the license:
The brothel operation she had been involved in was a joint arrangement between herself and other women who had previously worked for “unsavoury characters…Myself and a few girls decided to get an apartment and when the police came I accepted responsibility because these other girls had husbands and children and I didn’t. I went forward and said I was responsible, although I did not realise the seriousness of the situation”…
You can see that she isn’t yet denying the independence of most whores, though her journey toward victimhood (by way of martyrdom) is clearly well underway. It’s clear that the Irish government fully intends to fund and assist evil religious fanatics in their persecution of whores, just as it has for almost a century. But its rather insulting that they have invested so little effort in disguising the puppeteers, and given Ruhama’s wealth one would think it could afford more than one makeshift puppet.
I have never deceived anybody for I have never belonged to anybody. My independence was all my fortune, and I have known no other happiness; and it is still what attaches me to life. – Cora Pearl
Those of you who have read many of my “harlotographies” have probably noticed that few of the great courtesans were astonishingly beautiful. To be sure, pictures often fall short of reality; some women’s beauty is based less on body contours and facial structure than on personality, style and presence, none of which can be captured by the camera. In courtesans there is also a further component of sexual magnetism which, though impossible to depict on film or canvas, is equally impossible to ignore in person. And what separates the fantastically successful courtesans – Les Grandes Horizontales as they were called in Cora Pearl’s time and place – from the merely successful ones was then, as now, marketing. And though Cora was lovely, it was her ability to create an image which won her fame and wealth…and her inability to sustain that image which precipitated their loss.
The details of her birth are a litany of “probablies”; she was probably born in Plymouth, England on February 23rd, 1835, but that may be the date of her christening and she later claimed the year to be 1842. Her birth name is usually given as Emma Elizabeth Crouch, but her death certificate calls her “Eliza Emma” instead. Her father was a cellist named Frederick Nicholls Crouch who was the composer of “Kathleen Mavourneen”, a song which was extremely popular in the United States during the Civil War period. Unfortunately, Crouch was a “one-hit wonder”, but never learned to live within his means; he fled his creditors in 1847, abandoning his wife and six daughters and moving to America (where he is known to have remarried several times before dying in 1896). Lydia Crouch was an attractive woman and soon found a live-in boyfriend who was willing to support her children, but Emma did not get along with him and so was sent to a boarding school in Boulogne, France to be educated by nuns. After eight years (and numerous lesbian relationships mentioned in her memoirs) she returned to England in 1855, moved in with her maternal grandmother and went to work for a milliner in London.
Emma chafed under the strictures imposed upon middle-class Victorian girls and one day she ditched her chaperone, accepted a man’s invitation to have cake with him, and drank a bit too much gin…with predictable consequences. In the morning she found he had left her a five-pound note (about £250 today), and though she later claimed to have been “horrified” by the experience, the truth is that she used the money to rent a room for herself and immediately began hooking. It wasn’t long before she started working at a brothel called The Argyll Rooms, whose owner Robert Bignell soon recognized her potential and asked her to be his mistress, moving her into a suite of her own. Within a year he took her on holiday to Paris, and she so fell in love with the city that she decided to remain; she adopted the stage name “Cora Pearl”, took a cheap room, and made her living as a streetwalker until she met a pimp named Roubisse who set her up in better quarters. He paved the way for her future success by teaching her the business and insisting she develop her professional skills, and by the time he died of a heart attack in 1860 Cora was already well-established with Victor Masséna, Duc du Rivoli (later Prince of Essling).
It was the Duc who first introduced her to extravagance: besides the money, jewelry and servants (including a chef), he gave her funds for gambling and bought her the first horse of the sixty she would eventually own. She quickly became an excellent rider, and her equestrian skills attracted the attention of many a French noble. Though the Duc remained her primary patron until 1862, she had many other clients including the Prince of Orange, the Duc de Morny (Emperor Napoleon III’s half-brother) and Prince Achille Murat, grand-nephew of Emperor Napoleon I. In 1864 she bought the gorgeous Chateau de Beauséjour and began to hold the parties for which she became renowned, including the one at which she had herself presented to diners on a huge platter; she was fond of dancing naked before her guests, and even had a custom-made bronze bathtub in which she would bathe with clients in champagne. And when she wasn’t naked, she wore only the finest clothes by Charles Worth, the first superstar designer.
In 1865 she became the mistress of Prince Napoleon, the Emperor’s important and fabulously wealthy cousin. He supported her for nine years, usually for about 10,000 francs per month, and also bought her many expensive gifts and several houses (including a small palace, les Petites Tuileries). And though he frowned on her seeing other clients, she secretly did so anyway and charged them that much more for the risk. It isn’t that the Prince didn’t give her enough; it’s just that she was incredibly extravagant and regularly sent money to both her mother and father. She became a very popular celebrity and was well known for wearing heavy makeup and dying her hair outlandish colors to match her wardrobe. In 1867 (the same year a cocktail was named for her) she took the role of Cupid in Offenbach’s operetta Orpheus in the Underworld, dressed in a costume which consisted of little more than a diamond-studded bikini; she only appeared twelve times, but the jewels brought 50,000 francs at auction.
Cora’s downfall began with the Franco-Prussian War of 1870-71, during which she allowed her homes to be used as hospitals and paid for doctors and medical supplies for wounded soldiers out of her own purse. But the disastrous defeat of the French meant the end of the Empire; Prince Napoleon fled to England along with the Imperial family, and though Cora went with him the Grosvenor Hotel refused to let her stay for fear of scandal (ironically, the hotel’s modern management has capitalized on the incident by unveiling a “Cora Pearl Suite” last year). Within a few months she returned to Paris, but the postwar mood was no longer conducive to the social climate in which a courtesan thrives; so, when the wealthy young Alexandre Duval became obsessed with her, she did not discourage him despite the fact that she despised jealousy in her patrons. In less than a year he had spent literally his entire fortune on her, and when his family refused to give him any more she refused to see him any longer. On December 19, 1872, he went to her house with murderous intent, but the gun accidentally discharged while he was trying to force his way past her servants, shooting him in the side.
Though he eventually recovered the public disapproved of the way Cora had handled the affair, and the government ordered her to leave France. She spent some time with a friend in Monaco, and after a time returned discreetly to Paris. But the party was over for good; in 1873 she started to sell off her properties, in 1874 Prince Napoleon sadly informed her that he could no longer support her, and by 1880 she was down to just her chateau, which she finally sold in July of 1885. In 1883 she rented an incall on the Champs-Elysées and returned to middle-class harlotry, then published her memoirs in 1886; unfortunately she was too discreet for her own good and the tame result with disguised names did not sell well. By that time she was terminally ill with colon cancer and died on July 8, 1886. She did not end her days in abject poverty as some accounts claim, but neither did she have anything put aside for a funeral; her meager plot and small service were paid for by some of her old clients.
After her death she passed into obscurity, and would barely be remembered today if not for a curious epilogue which occurred almost a full century after her death. Apparently, Cora wrote an earlier version of her memoirs during her slow decline in the ‘70s, containing real names and many juicy details; it was released by a British publisher in 1890. The few who knew about it assumed it to be an English translation of her bland 1886 memoir, but when a modern collector named William Blatchford got ahold of a copy he realized that this was not the case. Blatchford publishing the find in 1983 under the title Grand Horizontal, The Erotic Memoirs of a Passionate Lady, and its vivid, on-the-spot descriptions of the gay life during the Second French Empire rekindled interest in its author and has given her, albeit posthumously, another chance at the fame she so enjoyed in life.
My Cliterati article for last Sunday was “Skin To Skin”, a strong criticism of the cruelty of denying commercial sex to men who can’t experience physical intimacy in any other way; the very next day an English council provided a perfect example of that cruelty by announcing an “investigation” of a nursing home which allowed residents to hire sex workers, and I explained what was wrong with that in this week’s essay, “Caring Professionals”. Then there was this item from Bosnia:
Members of a…wheelchair basketball club are launching a campaign to legalize prostitution…to help disabled people “achieve their right to love.” Marinko Umicevic, president of the club Vrbas, said Wednesday that Bosnia had to catch up with 21st century Europe, where…some people with disabilities “even get state subsidies to pay for sex.” Umicevic said some of his players had never had sex and legalizing the sex trade would help people like them achieve their basic rights…
A multi-agency prostitution sting conducted earlier this month on behalf of National Human Trafficking Awareness Month has netted the arrests of…46 [people]…most for misdemeanor solicitation of prostitution…[but] five [for] women alleged to have posted sex ads…Sen. Leticia Van de Putte…[says] she intends to propose…a bill that would pave the way for victims of human trafficking to sue websites that make money off prostitution ads…
Senator Van de Putte could save the state of Texas a lot of money by simply researching the fate of similar ideas.
Bitcoin has become so popular, and its value has risen so much against that of national currencies, that Bloomberg is concerned that “virtual money could undermine the role of central banks”, which as Reason explains is exactly the point. The end of governments’ ability to directly meddle with the world economy can’t possibly come soon enough to suit me.
Dr Derek Freedman told the Irish Sun: “People from all strands of society use prostitutes from time to time. It ranges from [politicians], the clergy, the judiciary to people who are socially deprived, physically disabled and people who may be regarded as unattractive and may not be able to meet people”…while people often feel anxious about contracting infections after visiting a prostitute, he believes that “you’re probably safer with a professional than with a gifted amateur”…he added: “What we forget is that often sex workers give great comfort to people who are lonely”…
…In her new book Other Dreams of Freedom, Yvonne Zimmerman, a professor of Christian Ethics, argues that the theoretical basis of US government anti-trafficking efforts derives directly from Protestant theology and traditional ideas of what she calls “sexually pure and pious womanhood”. Zimmerman challenges this basis for anti-trafficking efforts, saying that it ends up limiting the freedom of trafficked people, especially women, by conceiving of their “rescue” as them ending up in traditional, heterosexual marriages – or at least refraining from sexual relations outside of marriage…
…a team [of students]…has invented a mobile panic button for street…sex…workers in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside. A voice or text message is first recorded onto a SIM card, which is inserted into a GPS-enabled device such as a pager…Pressing a button…activates the GPS and sends an emergency message and GPS location to a contact who can get help. Because the GPS is not activated until the device is activated, the anonymity of the user is preserved…Once prototype devices are ordered, the three students will hold focus groups to determine which type of device is more useful…[then] will launch a six-month pilot project by giving devices to 100 women…The group is currently holding a fundraising initiative online…$8,140 [will] cover…the entire pilot project…
Arch-prohibitionist Paul Chabot helpfully explains not only that prohibitionism really works, but that all prohibitions are equally valid: “When asked…why we keep marijuana illegal, Chabot responded: “Why do we keep heroin, LSD, prostitution, child pornography illegal?’” As Matthew Feeney points out, “Comparing marijuana to child pornography is a great way to insult millions of people by comparing them to pedophiles. Chabot is a free gift to those of us who would like to see drugs legalized.” And of course, the same goes for prostitution.
On Monday I received a press release from Sheri’s Ranch in Pahrump, Nevada, a brothel resort on 20 acres (8 hectares) with a swimming pool, spa and tennis court which actively markets itself to couples as well as single men. It’s now added “Sheri’s Playland”, a group of bungalows fitted out like movie sets so clients can enact any of six different sexual fantasies with working girls. As I’ve said before, this is a very positive trend; “it was after Vegas casinos started ‘gentrifying’ in the ‘80s that people from other states dropped their prejudices against gambling, and now casinos are everywhere in the US.”
Prostitutes and activists…are calling on the government not to prosecute men who pay for sex…The chairwoman of Yogyakarta Women’s Sex Workers Association (P3SY)…said…that [client] criminalization…would decrease the bargaining power and income of sex workers…[and] drive prostitution further underground…[hindering] HIV/AIDS education and mitigation programs…arresting customers would lead to the closure of brothels…and force sex workers to seek customers on the streets…Ignatius Praptoharjono of the Atma Jaya Catholic University’s HIV/AIDS Research Center in Jakarta…cited the cases of Sweden, Canada and other Asia-Pacific nations, where a crackdown on [clients] led to the decline of red-light districts and reduced fees…forcing sex workers to charge less and work more. “Such a regulation will not protect women, but instead expose them to even higher risk,” [he] said…
…a new [Florida] bill…would ban massage establishments from operating between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m…to crack down on human trafficking and sexual exploitation…[it] also would make it illegal for massage establishments to allow anybody to live on the premises…the Florida State Massage Therapy Association questioned the hours restriction…[because] there are legitimate late-night clients including airline pilots and theatrical performers…[bill sponsor Dave] Kerner, a former…police officer, said…late-night massage establishments are a “hotbed” of illicit sexual activity…
Anyone who actually uses the phrase “illicit sexual activity” with a straight face should be barred from public office as a delusional busybody.
Here’s another article on the PEPFAR “anti-prostitution pledge”, the efforts to overturn it and the importance of doing so from a health perspective, a human rights perspective and a free speech perspective. It really is beginning to seem like now that the gay rights culture war has essentially been won, many activists are starting to at last turn their attention toward the persecution of sex workers.
Here’s a cute little promo video made at the Sex Worker Freedom Festival, the parallel AIDS conference held in Kolkata last summer by sex workers who were excluded from the US:
My fellow hot smart chick Amy Alkon wrote this week about that Jezebel favorite, social constructionist and penis apologist Hugo Schwyzer; his latest absurd claim (one which I called him to task about on Twitter a few months ago) is that older men are only attracted to young women because of “social construction”, and that before the advent of television guys were lining up to date old hags (presumably when they weren’t burning them as witches). In the process Amy discusses the evolutionary basis of lust, debunks the “rape is asexual” myth and quotes good sense from Dr. Gad Saad.
The story of New York City’s “cabaret card”, an artificial bottleneck imposed on nightclub performers from 1926-1966, is an excellent example of why prostitution licensing doesn’t work; the corruption such a system engenders and the destructive consequences to individuals are virtually the same.
“A divorced couple involved in running a brothel in north Dublin have avoided jail with fines and suspended sentences…Judge Mary Ellen Ring…ordered [Istvan Zeffer] to pay €1,000 to prostitute-support group Ruhama…Bernadette Kiss…is to pay €3,000…” Ruhama is the new front for the orders of nuns who ran the Magdalene laundries which enslaved whores and many other women; calling them a “prostitute support group” is equivalent to referring to the Nazis as a “Jewish support group”.
Most of this story is the typical credulous stenography of an evangelical “rescue” organization’s claims, but this passage stood out: “The United States is the No. 1 destination for human sexual trafficking, with Oklahoma near the top of the most-active state list, the State Department reports…” As you probably know, the State Department “reports” nothing of the kind.
Superior Court Justice Nancy Mills…threw out 46 of the 59 counts against the alleged co-conspirator in the high-profile Kennebunk prostitution case, setting the stage for another appeal to the state’s highest court. Mills’ decision…dealt prosecutors a…blow hours before opening arguments…were expected to begin…jury selection…[has already taken four days though] Mills said…it has never taken her longer than one day to seat a jury in her 19 years on the Superior Court…[charges were dropped after defense attorney Daniel] Lilley [argued]…that the notion that Maine privacy laws protect individuals engaged in criminal activity is “ludicrous.” The invasion of privacy charges are tied to the fact that the alleged sexual interactions…were videotaped without the [clients] knowing…the defense…is [also] free to pursue its…argument that Strong was the subject of police retaliation…
The sad tale of a prostitute being held captive in Chattanooga highlights a problem that appears overstated…it is the only one ever reported, according to area police. Meanwhile, a 2011 report co-produced by Vanderbilt University and the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation estimated there were more than 100 cases of human sex trafficking in Hamilton County. The study is, apparently, based on erroneous surveys and severely lacking in verifiable facts…
…officials in Moorhead, Minn., are expected to pass an anti-prostitution measure requiring erotic dancers, nude models and adult escorts to obtain licenses and submit to background checks…North Dakota counterparts across the Red River in Fargo and West Fargo are pushing similar ordinances and the regional approach will attempt to stem “a fairly prominent problem here” with prostitution trafficking between their cities and the oil fields…[police hope] the regulations will reduce “a huge problem of runaways and minors trafficked into the sex trade”…adult entertainers would likely have to pay $150 to $250, carry a photo ID and divulge their real names, aliases and criminal histories. Background checks revealing prostitution or drug convictions would disqualify applicants from receiving permits…
Pompous “authorities” just love creating bottlenecks that turn businesswomen into criminals, don’t they?
A…lawmaker in New Mexico introduced a bill…that would…require victims of rape to carry their pregnancies to term…as evidence for a sexual assault trial. House Bill 206, introduced by state Rep. Cathrynn Brown…would charge…[violators]…with a third-degree felony for “tampering with evidence”…
The bill is unlikely to pass, but only due to partisanism rather than because it’s a total abomination.
If you want to donate but don't want a recurring charge, you can send any amount you like via PayPal to my email address (see below). Be sure to include a note so I can thank you!
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”.
As we have seen before, it’s not unusual for the lives of whores to become the stuff of legend, often to the point where the real woman is either lost under the embellishment or people forget there was ever a real woman in the first place. Such a woman was Marie Duplessis, whose real story was far more interesting than the romantic legend later created from it. She was born Alphonsine Plessis on January 15th, 1824 to a ne’er-do-well Norman father and a mother who was the last of an impoverished noble family which had been reduced to servility; her mother died when she was six and her father raised her alone until she was fourteen, when he sold her to a band of gypsies. Yes, this is her actual story, stranger than the fiction by which most modern people know her, and as you will see it only gets better.
Like so many other courtesans, she established a salon in her residence, and many of the Parisian cognoscenti gathered there; among them was Alexandre Dumas fils, the as-yet-undistinguished son of the famed adventure novelist. The two fell in love in September of 1844 (only a few months after the publication of his father’s most famous work, The Three Musketeers), but the relationship was not to be; Dumas was far too poor to support her, and by August of 1845 she had had quite enough of his jealousy toward those who could. But as we will see, the relationship actually worked in reverse, and Marie brought Dumas far more wealth than he ever gave her. Her next lover was the famous composer (and infamous womanizer) Franz Liszt, but by spring of 1846 he had moved on and she entered into a marriage of convenience with Perregaux. Because this was an English registry-office marriage transacted without benefit of clergy it was not considered binding in France, which suited Marie just fine: she could share her husband’s title without having to observe any of the restrictions that come with matrimony.
That was the real story: a motherless young woman, “trafficked” at 14, who paid for her own education and became one of the most successful members of her profession at an age when modern women are still called “children”, then died of an incurable malady which would have claimed her no matter what because antibiotics had not yet been invented. But a spurned lover decided to twist that into a morality play, making Marie – or as he renamed her, “Marguerite Gautier” – a “fallen woman” who dies young as a result of her dissolute life; he also created a fictional version of himself named “Armand Duval”, who convinces her to give up her life as a courtesan and thus saves her “virtue” before she dies. The lover was of course Alexandre Dumas fils, and the novel was La Dame aux Camelias (“The Lady of the Camellias”), published only a year after Marie’s death. It soon made him far wealthier than she ever was; it became a bestseller, then an extremely popular play, then in 1853 a Verdi opera named La Traviata (“The Fallen Woman”). The book has remained constantly in print since then, the play and opera have been performed innumerable times, and there have been three different ballets and a dozen movie adaptations (the most famous being Camille (1936), with Greta Garbo as “Marguerite”). I’m sure most of you have seen or at least heard of one or more of these fictional representations of Marie Duplessis (especially if you read Tuesday’s column), yet I doubt more than a few of you – if any at all – knew anything of her real story before today. Some things never change: today, as in the 19th century, most people prefer to embrace romantic nonsense about “fallen women” and how awful it is to be a whore, than to recognize the simple, unvarnished truth.
