Irritated and Sad

<>The truth is, last night was the second time I stepped into Orchard Towers (you know, the four floors of whores) and I cannot say how unbelievable I find the whole situation, each time. To have sex blatantly for the sake of making money is something I find extremely sad. The cab driver was telling me about how he’d pick up these couples coming out from the ‘mall’ and the guy would be asking the whore things like, where are you from and such-like, and sometimes the girls couldn’t speak English very well (one would presume they knew enough though. Essentially, yes, no, money and condom.) and they’d just look at the guy blankly and say, ‘We sleep together?’. Of course cab-drivers aren’t the best source for an opinion on anything, but nonetheless, just to get a point across. That’s how I feel about it all.

I know these girls aren’t forced into it, and they are making a great deal of money for a few hours of work; The pretty ones are definitely not poverty stricken, but I can’t help thinking, Christ, Must they, really? How many men they fuck in the few weeks that they are here? Thinking about that freaks me out. I don’t think I could do that, and I really hate counting the people I’ve slept with. I hate it even more when re-look the list and realize I missed someone out. Does sex mean so little? Sleeping around, group-sex, all of that to me, is, honestly, fine. As long as you genuinely like the people you’re doing it with. But the girl last night? Of course I’m not stupid to expect compassion from a prostitute (the fact that she took my dress says a lot), but when you’re just sleeping with people for a bunch of paper notes, and sleeping with so many of them; Makes me think of a factory line, really.

But all that moralizing aside, when you break it down, I guess it was a fascinating experience. I hadn’t seen Mr. Big in a great long while, and he has been a very naughty boy since (he probably has always been, I was simply unable to believe it). I was honestly rather ambivalent about the whole hiring a whore for a threesome thing, firstly because I’m paranoid about STDs. But I figured if we implemented some very simple measures (like, don't finger fuck both her and me with the same hand), then everyone will go home with a peace of mind. Besides, I had said I’d do it since the start of the year, and I hate people being wishy-washy about things and hate it in myself even more-so.

Secondly, the nature of their profession regardless, not all women, and definitely not the ones from developing, and intrinsically spiritual, nations, can bring themselves to be with another female. It was definitely not as easy a case of, I’ll pay you want you want so of course you’ll sleep with us and do whatever we desire (we are reasonable people, and while I am completely into hurting myself, I don’t do it to other people. Unless they ask for it, of course), so there was no reason for me to see why that would be a problem. I suppose I can identify, I had been reduced to a fit of giggles the first time I kissed at girl at 14. We had spent nearly an hour eating an absurd amount of mints and laughing every time our faces came within an inch of each other.

There were some things in the whole situation I found absolutely fascinating. It was intriguing how she asked for money without ruining the mood, how mechanized her moans were, and how her body moved when Mr. B had pinned her down on the couch. I suppose I am very voyeuristic intrinsically, and that was the bit I liked the best; When he’d started kissing and masturbating her while I sat on another couch with my legs thrown wide open, a knee over the arm-rest, working myself to an orgasm. I felt like a complete slut, and it was completely erotic.

Sadly, the morning started off with me being completely annoyed at having lost a gorgeous dress (bet she stole it. Damn whore.) An over-priced journal, and a linen shirt I had bought for Ethan. Who had, uncannily, texted me something about missing looking into my eyes while talking and drinking coffee in bed. To add to that, it was yet another hot and humid afternoon, and I felt completely heated up internally (and not because I was over-sexed), and Mr. Big wasn’t going to have breakfast with me.

He just sent me a text, something about how we should meet up next week so I can return him a bunch of his personal belongings that I had borrowed over the course of the last 7 months. I can’t help but get the sense that he’d been messaging me consistently the past week just because he wanted to do this three-way thing; that otherwise, he wouldn’t have bothered. It sounds incredibly harsh, but I don’t blame him. After all, I hadn’t been seeing him because I had been busy with work, and a bunch of other people. Well, one thing’s for sure, if relationships do have an ending point, ours certainly ended in a bang. *laughs*. He has started dating other people, and I do hope they are better suited for him than I was. But I shall not make any judgments.

I think one big problem I have with this relationship is how I always seem to think he doesn’t do his best for me, which is probably true; but still, he tries to be nice. But he never puts me first, and I cannot stand that, no matter, It is of no consequence. This is scary, but I want to be good for Ethan. Even though he says he doesn’t love me despite what I am, but for what I am. *shrugs*.

I called the G-Spot up today and it would seem that the desire to be monogamous is in the air: he was talking about a nice, sweet girl and romantic walks in the park. I’d ask him if he’d ever felt like there was simply too much debauchery in his life, and if there eventually comes a saturation point where enough is enough. Like, the last bit. Ah, it would seem so. Him and his Grecian goddess. He’s working towards it, so he tells me.

Thinking about Ethan makes me feel melancholy.

Goodnight.

xoxox