It's a fact. No metaphors here. Consider it yourself as I lay the facts of my job profile. But before that, there needs to be a consensus on the definition of prostitution. Going with the lexicography here, the definition is crystal clear - "Offering sexual intercourse for pay".
With the advent of refined linguists who find a... umm ...how shall I put it... say a "cool" term for everything, English has become a very convenient language. So this above definition of prostitution having severe words like "Sexual Intercouse" can simply be re-phrased as "Getting fucked for pay", fuck being the finest (yet obviously inadequate) word to describe ...................... like I said... words are simply pointless here.....
So now back to the point as to how I ended up being a prostitute. Meanwhile, a lot many people are also in the same profession and blissfully unaware of it. My only intent is to help them come to terms with this realization and thereby increase the respect quotient of this ultimate profession. I am as you know, always up and ready for charity.
So, how does one become a prostitute at all. Simple, they get fucked and get paid for it. I know I have already mentioned this. And so what! The redundancy is only evidence of my need to emphasize the basic fact. Not a day goes by that I don't get fucked! every single day.. almost every single hour.. I am fucked. By a lot of people. And after each month end, I get paid. So, obviously, that makes me a prostitute.
And a lot more than sometimes I even enjoy it. There's the thrill of new client, the excitement of exploring the avenues to please him, the silly moments of blush on his pleasing remarks, the kindness of my pimps (AKA managers/bosses) who would go to any length to make sure that their clients are satisfied. Gradually, I start seeing their point and also aspire for this job. The pay at the level of pimp is splendid but what's even better is the huge gratification of EGO! Oh! How powerful, how successful it must feel to prostrate us, prostitutes, to the big clients. Just like the dog who is happiest when fetching the ball for his master. The ball is tightly clenched in the dog's jaws; the prostitutes are wickedly held by the pimps, he.... who is so easily snared by his master, the client's fat pay check!
Consider this, the client too is the pimp to many as well as the prostitute to most above him. It is a vicious circle. We all get fucked. Always. It has been the hallmark of my life post graduation. The only gradient is in the quality of brothels. The smaller ones care to have a health card and offer some rest time ofcourse as their clients are neither in magnitudes of insanity nor do they pay in heap. But still, the charity and homeliness is welcome. The more glorious the brothels, the feeble are the prospects of fun. It's all work at the big firms.
But don't we all find sex worth it all. We can't really imagine a life of chastity now can we. We can stay home, be with one man, not be demanding, I mean, between the combined wealth of the world, do we really need to be in this profession! Don't we grow enough food, have enough medicines, enough cloths for all.
Still we choose to get fucked. Ok, agreed! Most do. And then there are the monks. The self liberated, globe trotting, back packing free spirits who reveal to us what our true self is. It ain't that they don't get fucked and all... They do. They too succumb to the pointless, meaningless chores of ass licking and ....(I intend to be polite here)... but they have reached a level of detachment which is most alluring.
3 years.. of getting fucked and paid. Some people truly claim job satisfaction. I am so surprised at this. I mean, it has to be the factor of orgasm. True, if your clients are fun, why not! I too have amazing bouts of being elated at my profession. But, it is prostitution. So straight forward and downright true. I am a prostitute. End of each day, my body hurts, my mind is sagged, I just need sleep, I feel so unnecessarily used, I find the pay often meager, more often than not I worry about the consequences of protection back-firing (the days when you do everything right & still day ends hell). It is all for money.
And what do I do with that money? Buy cloths, toys ...so on & so forth. Look pretty, pretend to be polished. Go home to my family who look up at me with tenderness and pity. For they know, what I do for living. Born a slave. Serving this pimp of a system. Serving the client of godliness & 'working hard' virtues. and we celebrate the same. 14 hour shifts, bitchy competitions, silly criticisms, diet food, promise of great future, fake appraisals & a huge ego... all leads to the perfect ambiance for the perfect fuck! and ... you get paid.
But make no mistake... performance is everything! Fuck!
All for the love of sex. Hail Prostitution. Hail Capitalism. Say yes to more money and work more. Always feel cheap & insecure. Always want to break free & realize there is no place to go. Pretend to be satisfied. Splurge in the toys & on the boys. Look great .... Live & want to die... just great!
