Maybe A High-Class Whore

Tour Guide called me yesterday after reading my blog entry about accepting my Inner Whore. He told me he'd had high-class call girls before, and had some wonderful experiences, how he truly enjoys the company of a beautiful woman for dinner, and for carnal delights afterward. And he told me about manipulative women in his life, "princess types" in his words, who toyed with him to maximize the number of dinners and shows they could extract.

I hate that kind of entitlement mentality. I hate that kind of sexual manipulation. It gives women a bad name. Men should be worth more than their wallet to you. Women should be worth more than their pussy. But those kinds of games reduce us to that, and it disgusts me. 

Then he asked me how I would feel if I were bought for a weekend. Taken someplace luscious, decadent. Treated to the deepest pampering. Escorted to exquisite dinners, lovely parties, and lush hotel rooms. And then used. Like a toy. The way he wanted me. For his pleasure.

And my guts clenched up and my mouth went dry and I was filled with want. And then confusion. I've never pursued those kinds of luxuries, even when I had the money to do so, except as the occasional treat. And I never pursued people who could give me a life full of them. I have contempt for women who crave those things as ends unto themselves. Where is the want coming from?

I replayed what he had said, and I heard the lust in his voice, and then, finally, I heard what he was seeing: Me enjoying myself. Me being pampered, knowing he had provided that. Me savoring an extraordinary dessert, knowing he had given me that pleasure. And it pleased him to think of watching me relax that way, to watch me be pleased by him.

Oh. Ohhhhhhhhhhh. Yeah. Yes. Ohhhhh. Of course. Now I get it. Of course. Duh. Took me long enough.

I have always enjoyed pleasing people. I know you can't healthily take responsibility for making anyone else happy. I believe that everyone who is not in physical pain at the moment is actively choosing their overall level of contentment to some extent. I understand that I can't make someone else happy. But I love being the catalyst to a grin, a laugh, a pleasantly surprised gasp, or a deeply cathartic orgasm. I treasure the moments when I can provide pleasure to others.

So I can imagine choosing to spend inordinate amounts of money to watch someone enjoy herself for days on end. Of course I can. If it were the right person, it would be a delight. In fact, in my if-I-won-the-lottery spreadsheet, a whole tab calculates the cost of taking my extended family on a cruise every summer and a ski vacation every winter, just to enjoy their company and provide them all a low-stress getaway. So yeah, I get it now. 

Gravely Moon and I talked about this as well. Money has never been about sexy for me (which is why he thinks I'm a bad whore. Don't deny it, you totally said that). Money has always been about security for me, and about generosity. It is practical, not sexy.  

Then Tour Guide helped me realize that generosity could easily be a motivation to hire a weekend traveling companion. After my a-ha! moment, he described exploring and using my body, and I kept thinking, "What if I'm not good enough?" But when he said "This is exactly what I want" I came, immediately, and explosively. 

Maybe I could possibly sort of deal with thinking about being that kind of whore. Wow, as soon as I edge from fascinating role play towards off-phone reality, the rest of my body and brain just yell, "NO." So, no. Not in my physical real life. But I sure as hell can fantasize about it now.

Thanks, guys. I'm gonna have fun with this.