Confessions of a College Callgirl: The Price
I want to be very clear that I recommend this lifestyle for no one. It is easy enough to cross the line because the line is invisible. Much harder still to go back, to return to a time when you shared no piece of yourself with strange men, men you don’t like, even men who don’t like you. I detached myself completely from the work I was doing and felt that I was getting off scot-free with minimal psychological impact. I was having fun at first; I felt beautiful and confident and adored and I was financially secure for the first time ever. But those nights found their way underneath my skin. They just burrowed down deep under the folds of my subconscious like a rat nestled at the bottom of a shopping bag.
I am a tangle of contradictions. I am not ashamed of my choices and I will fully defend mine or anyone else’s right to make them. But when you ask me if you should do this? My immediate instinct is a loud, desperate no. It’s hard for me to write you back. I can’t make your decisions for you, but I am scared for you. I just want you to know that for every dollar you make there is a price. It’s up to you to decide if that price is worth paying.
Un altre tros interessant de quan va començar a escriure:
Confessions of a College Callgirl: Ho-story
Women like me, women who don’t love themselves, are not satisfied with being the recipients of everyday desires. They don’t fill us up, don’t convince us that we are beautiful or worthy of love. We need the intensity of passion that comes from fulfilling a fetish or the unrealistic yearnings men feel for fantasy creatures like strippers or porn stars. We need dirty old men to quake with the need to feel our smooth skin. We need entire bachelor parties drooling at our feet. We need CEOs and VIPs begging and throwing money in their desperate need to get just one tiny piece of us, and only then, after these phenomenal displays of attention, do we feel attractive – for the next few minutes, anyway.
I un altre del principi de tot:
Confessions of a College Callgirl: Ho-llo!
It all started with money. The money I didn’t have, the money I needed, and the money I wanted. It was growing into an obsession. I was living on the 100 dollars every 2 weeks that my mom was sending me and everywhere I looked were people with money. My classmates are these girls from other states who are basically playing in New York City and constantly regale me with tales of their Urban Outfitters purchases and say things like “Oh my god, I spent 150 dollars at the liquor store AGAIN!”
When I reason it out I don’t feel guilty about what I’ve done. I was having lots of casual sex before anyway. I would go out on a date and hook up with some guy and not even enjoy it that much. So why not get paid for what I was doing anyway? And I do feel like it’s an honest living like any other, a service provided. The only thing that bothers me, when I think about it, is that now I have a secret so deep that I can never tell anyone. That someday I may have a lover or a soulmate, someone I want to share my life with. And I will never, ever be able to tell him.
Després de llegir tot això, estic pensant que potser no està del tot malament que la religió estigmatitzi les prostitutes, i així, potser no hi cauen. O potser si. O potser no tant.
Una noia bonica amb autoestima baixa i pocs diners es prostitueix. És massa fàcil caure en la prostitució.
I aquesta noia no hagués tingut menys problemes si hagués viscut en una societat tradicional on les dones es casen i tenen fills?
Val la pena que la societat es mogui per evitar que les noies decideixin prostituir-se?