Sex & Sadness

It was very late at night and I was on my way home when I passed by these prostitutes haggling with a guy on a motorcycle. He was surrounded by these girls in skimpy outfits, and all their eyes were glued to the guy as if they were the predator and he the prey. I am hardly an innocent when it comes to these things but I still felt a strong distaste for the scene and I had to literally shake my head because my reaction was that strong. I felt a mixture of weariness and aversion with a lingering aftertaste of sadness. A part of my mind was amused at my reaction and as an experiment, I tried to predict how I would react if the prostitutes were male instead.

If they were callboys, I would have looked at them with more interest maybe. Not that I would "purchase" one in that scenario since they make me afraid for my safety (and health) and I don't think I can spare the money, but more for the shallow curiosity of whether they look good or not. I thought that I would feel less sympathy for male prostitutes since I've always thought that men could handle these things better and that women lose more of their honor when they do these things. But I realize that this is an assumption, and a pass at the weakness of women besides. And my perspective about honor in this case is arguable. So I think that my reaction was not logically sound, and should therefore be corrected in the future.

I thought I would feel less aversion to the gay customer as well, since as a homosexual, I can relate more to the gay guy's need for sex. But lust is lust, whether straight or gay, and this is another illogically founded feeling.

And about the sadness, I suppose I also got this wrong since for me, gays looking for callboys does not inspire as much sadness as a woman selling her body. I am clearly biased here, since as I've said earlier, I have this tendency to protect women and consider them weaker than men. So after sorting them, we can suppose my initial reactions were mostly wrong.

But what remained with me though was the sadness of the whole setup from both perspectives. From the customer, that someone cannot find intimacy that one has to pay for it. From the prostitute, that someone has to act out intimacy just to make ends meet. I know that in countries where prostitution is legal, this is hardly a case for an emotional nitpicking and perhaps if I weren't feeling too sensitive, the scene would have passed me by without leaving a lasting impression. But in my current state, it painted in my head a picture of extreme sadness. I can see them having sex and both feeling empty afterward. I can see them smoking, both looking at the ceiling but seeing beyond it.

Or maybe it is just me and my sentimentality. For some, sex is a business. For others, sex is a commodity. Sex is just sex and that is that.

You get each other naked and that is that.

You pleasure each other and that is that.

You taste each other's fluids and that is that.

You insert the penis into the vagina. You insert it then you pull it out then you do it again. You focus on how good it feels and you do not think of anything else. You do not think of who the prostitute is and knowing her name is even optional. You do not think of her life beyond the motel room you are in. You think of her only as a female. An animal. You think of her like that. You think of her as a means to an end. You do not think she has feelings, other than how good you think you are making her feel. She does not feel used. She does not feel maltreated. All she feels is the orgasm you think you are making her feel and that is that. The world does not exist outside your joined bodies and that is that.

You fuck each other senseless and that is that. And then you pay her and then you may pretend to cuddle and you may get attached to her emotionally or whatever but that is part of the game. That is part of the deal and you can choke on how pretentious everything is. How devastatingly shallow it all was and no matter how you struggle against it, you cannot escape the trappings of a trade which is as old as civilization itself.

And I know these things because I've been the customer.

And I know these things because I've been the prostitute.

And fuck the world for destroying my innocence I wish I could have preserved.

Fuck the world for making me so sad that I believed sadness can dissolve sadness.

And no matter how adept you are at analyzing your feelings, a man is just a man, whether on a throne or on a pigsty.

And the cycle just goes on and on. On and on. A spreading web of sadness blooming under the cover of the night.