Lie Lie Lie

I do declare, there were times I took some comfort there

Sex.

I’ve always liked it. Who doesn’t?  And I’ve always done whatever I can to get it. Even pay for it.

That’s what this is about: paying for sex. Let’s not get too self-analytical here. This is just about pussy. Well, finding it. And of course, paying for it.

You always hear the old argument about how all pussy is paid-for pussy. A guy takes a girl out on a date, pays for dinner hoping to get in her pants. If he’s successful, he’s essentially paid for that piece of ass as well as the filet mignon. It’s a fairly misogynistic view of society that basically assigns all women the role of whore.

Once upon a time, I became somewhat fascinated by the street walkers. Driving through certain parts of a certain town, you could see them walking the track at all hours of  the day and night. How easy it became to spot them once you knew what to look for. If you were looking for the TV-sanitized and sensationalized version of street hookers, with garish make up, mini skirts, fishnets and rabbit fur stoles, you’d miss all the real working girls. The ones in jeans and sneakers. Because, chances are, they weren’t going to take their pants off for a quick car date anyway. And pounding the pavement for hours in ridiculously high heels is impractical.

Working the night shift, I could spend hours driving up and down the boulevard. And yes, I often partook.

But now, the game has changed. Sure, there are still plenty of street level hoes to be found, but the action has moved inside, online.

A few years ago, I stumbled onto the world of online escort review and advertising sites. Fell down that deep rabbit hole. And I still haven’t found my way out. It’s a labyrinth.

Or a cesspool.