My Girlfriend is a Whore

No, I don't mean it like that, in the sense that she's a slut, or loose with guys, in the way you might refer to somebody who was promiscuous in high school, or in the way it's fashionable for young ladies now to refer to each other as "bitch" or "ho." Rather, she is a genuine whore - that is, a prostitute, who makes her living by having sex with men in exchange for money, although she has a classier word for it, which is "escort". "Escort" makes it sound like, well, she's escorting somebody, almost like accompanying them to a party or something, but that isn't what the word means in this context. The only escorting that's going on is from a hotel lounge to a hotel bedroom (though I suppose this sense of it doesn't preclude actual attendance at a social function with a man with whom she subsequently has sex).

In any event, I want to make it clear that I am not using the term "whore" in a derisory way, as an epithet, but rather, as a term of description that best defines the nature of her employment. I also want to acknowledge up front that I am a deeply flawed person. My purpose in writing about her is not to cast aspersions, or to put her down, or to make it seem like I'm better than she is, because I'm not. It would be extremely interesting (and probably somewhat painful) to hear matters from her POV. Please keep in mind that all guys basically are stupid, we're not as smart as you grrlz, particularly in re: matters concerning girls. The solipsism of this narrative, then, only can be excused by the fact that it's me who's doing the writing, not her.

As these things go, we met conventionally. Bored to oblivion, but I'm sure with sex on the brain subconsciously, I was flipping through one of the many escort websites that have popped up like flowers after the rain (maybe more appropriately, like weeds in a vacant lot). I had linked to it almost by accident. While I use the Internet tons, I've never been a porn fan - I don't have anything against it, it just never has been my thing. And, hard as it may be to believe, it never had occurred to me that there were sites like these, in which young ladies flaunt their charms and services, if you will, most of the time accompanied by careful disclaimers that what is being offered is "companionship" only, or some similar euphemism.

I couldn't believe it when we got together. She was beautiful, intelligent, sensitive, poised. And, she fucked my brains out. What I remember the most about those first few times is her absolute intensity. She focused all of her energy and attention on me, utterly obliterating my ability to think any other thought, and made me think she thought I was the only guy in the world.

It wasn't fake, or an act - I mean, while it may have been, she did this with such extraordinary skill and facility, that it never seemed anything other than completely real. She genuinely put herself at risk. She had genuine orgasms. She had genuine feelings.

In short, she was a real person - but one who had to keep track of a lot of things happening, all at once. For this reason, she kept me strictly compartmentalized from the rest of her life. I don't know, for example, if the name she uses is real (though I suspect it is); her middle name, her address, her place of birth; or anything other than anecdotal details of her life.

But all of that's OK. One thing particularly liberating about her, for me, was that I simply "lost track." The me of, say, a decade ago, would have been intensely interested in these matters. I would have maintained a spreadsheet, setting forth when we had seen each other, how much I'd paid her, what I'd gotten for her as presents. But, in this incarnation, I didn't care. I can't tell you how much I've spent on her; I can't even tell you how many times we've seen each other, or how many times we've made love.

She made it very clear that she required recompense for her favors. In fact, on her aforementioned website, she suggests to the effect that, if she's out of your league, try somewhere else. She was very expensive, like, well into four figures expensive. I'm sure there are girls who are more expensive, and God knows, there probably are tons who are less. But you know what? She was totally worth it, worth every single penny.

Furthermore, as an historical proposition, the simple fact of the matter is that I spent less on her than I did on a girlfriend I had some time ago, only then it was more, e.g. pay for this session, that re-mix, these photos, etc., rather than simply paying her. But it really is the same, isn't it? I've always believed it's the guy's responsibility to signal his affection for and approval of the girl, not only by saying so, but also by demonstrating that, in material economic terms.

Of course I could have found out all about her, had I wanted to. Not only is there our friend the Internet, but I also have access to other, more sophisticated resources. But then, what's the point? I just would have known "more things" about her, which wouldn't affect the way I felt. And, long ago, I concluded it's a mistake to try and force a situation, or try to "speed it up," or to pre-empt intermediate steps. So often we want to skip the middle pages of the novel, and turn straight to the ending. But in doing so, we miss all of the luscious parts in-between. I wanted to luxuriate there, I wanted to savor them, each and every one of them. I didn't want to lead her, or induce her, or imprecate her. There would be no trail of breadcrumbs leading out of the forest. I only wanted something from her when she realized what it was, and that she wanted to give it to me.

There's no accounting for how people meet. She was interesting to me, in a way, fascinating. In the beginning, I'm sure some of this was because of the newness of the experience. But, there came a time when this stopped being a factor, because we saw each other for well over two years. During that entire time, I was completely faithful to her, eschewing all others.

Only occasionally was her occupation unsettling. For example (I know this may be hard to believe), I discovered another website where guys actually can post "reviews" of prostitutes (oops, I mean "escorts"), whom they have seen. When I stumbled over it, naturally the first thing I did was to look her up. I was proud of the fact that she had nothing but glowing reports, scoring the highest possible marks in the dozen or so prurient categories subject to evaluation (e.g., "does she give a good blow job"). But it was mildly disconcerting to read reviews posted by others, after we had started seeing each other. Yes, those reviews were equally laudatory; no, I did not post a review myself. Even for that line of work, it is difficult for me to imagine anything quite as demeaning. The closest analogy I can think of is awarding ribbons to young shoats at the County Fair.

But I think all of this was good for me. Like everyone else, I've won and lost in love. I had come to the view that, for me, it was important to wring out notions like "jealousy" and "possession" from my system. You know, themes of jealousy and possession run through probably 85% of all pop songs, and at least half of all novels and movies. She's "unfaithful," she's been "untrue"; faith and truth are like motherhood and apple pie, they're ubiquitous. What better way to get rid of these concepts, than to have as a lover, a woman who was their walking-and-talking negation?

On a day I'll never forget, as we were parting, I said, "Darling, I love you." She looked right into my eyes and said, "Oh, I love you too, you know I do." One of the things that made this so wonderful, apart from its substantive propositional content, was the fact that it was completely unpremeditated on my part. It was wholly spontaneous; I just blurted out the words. And, her reply was equally quick; I consider it highly unlikely that she'd considered the possibility of this occasion in advance, or that she had memorized a little script to recite in the event it ever came. And so, I rappelled, obliviously, down the wookie-hole of love.

There matters would have remained, and they did, for a long while. In time, though, three incidents occurred that raised a kind of a red flag, a danger sign, or a warning signal, in my mind. They weren't apparent as such at the time, rather, they were more just nettlesome. They created a mild cognitive dissonance, when juxtaposed against the background matrix of our relationship, the mutually-shared assumptions upon which it was based. With the possible exception of #3, none of these are, or were, sufficient, in and of themselves, as cause for pause. However, the combination of all three of them put me into a perplexed and worrisome frame of mind.

The first one was when I got a note from her telling me she was pregnant (she later had a miscarriage, so, no baby). It was a happy note, filled with exclamation points and smiley faces; and I was genuinely happy for her, too. However, I couldn't help but wonder about the child's father; not so much who he was, as I genuinely didn't care, but rather, what were the criteria upon which she had based her selection. Was it good looks, braininess, or maybe some old guy with money? Who knew? So, being forthright, I simply asked her. And, she told me that, in truth and fact, she was married, and that the father of the child was, of course, her husband.

I have to admit, this was one alternative I hadn't considered. But still I was glad for her, because, at the very least, it would answer the question, "whose daddy?" And, there also was somebody around to take care of her. Her lifestyle is incredibly experimental, but evidently even she was not prepared to take on the challenge of being a single mother.

She apologized to me for not telling me earlier, and I accepted her apology without hesitation. I once had a relationship with a woman who was married, and it didn't matter at all (until she told her husband of the affair, which resulted in its prompt termination, to my regret; but for that, we probably still would be seeing each other!). Except for possibly some logistical or administrative difficulties, it shouldn't matter, here; after all, my premise was that I cared about her, and what was important was our relationship, not other relationships she may have had, or was having.

Her revelation was explanatory, though, in that now I knew why she never had invited me over to her house, and now I knew why we'd never spent the night together. Simply too many complications, on both sides of the equation.

Even so, I still had a couple of questions. Like, for instance, why hadn't she told me, at the start? This one was easy to answer - she knew it was unconventional, if not downright weird, and didn't want to scare me off. Then, what kind of understanding did she have with her husband? Belle du Jour notwithstanding, obviously he knew how she supported herself; her monetary contributions to their partnership, however comprised, didn't materialize out of nowhere. What were the terms of the peace treaty? Did this mean he got to screw whomever he wanted, as well? Was there any kind of awkwardness between them, when they made love? Did he live vicariously through her, as maybe even she recounted to him all of her amorous adventures? [If he acts in a capacity as her, er, "professional advisor," then I must say, he's doing a superb job.]

For some reason all of this seemed intensely interesting to me. She completely deflected all attempts on my part to inquire, responding with one of her cute little giggles that was code for "I don't want to talk about it," or (and these are my words for it, not hers), "it defies explanation."

I remember once she was telling me about a friend of hers who ended up "marrying one of her clients," as she put it. I suspected at the time she was talking about herself, and that in fact it was her husband who was her former client. I wondered how he'd made the transition from client, to lover, to husband. Obviously there came a time when he stopped paying her for sex; but just when was this (in the chronology of their relationship), and how was it triggered?

And, what if she just stumbled across someone, God knows how, whom for whatever reason she wanted as a lover, or just wanted to screw? Were all of her lovers forever destined to come into her life through the "client" door, forever barred from using any other entrance?

While it's challenging enough to be in love with a prostitute, I think it'd be even harder to be married to one. At least, it would be, for me. It would require either (a) not caring, in which case it isn't love, or (b) what Kierkegaard called the "teleological suspension of the ethical." That is, he would have to be so in love with her, that he has set aside all social norms and conventions, literally re-defining not only what counts as a moral boundary, but also the difference between right and wrong. In principle, if she wanted to murder somebody, he would have no hesitation in acting as an accessory, or even "taking the fall" on her behalf.

This strikes me as being an incredibly difficult psychological maneuver, and I have to say, my hat's off to him! In several ways, he presents a more interesting case, than does she. I told her I'd like to meet him, but she well knew of my predilection for, shall we say, "inquiry," however tactful it might be. "It's not like I'm suggesting we have three-way sex," I said, but all I got was another cute giggle.

She never has wanted to talk about him. She even has given him a fake name (I know it's fake, because when she wrote me about being married, she put the name she had assigned to him in quotation marks). I think this is another one of the ways in which she compartmentalizes her life. As far as her and me are concerned, it's like - he doesn't exist.

She has a lot of very well-fortified walls, and she has them for a reason, which is a good and highly valid reason, and I never wanted to stress her out by seeming like I was standing outside, petitioning for admittance. Rather, when her thoughts turned to us, I wanted to be a source of happiness in her life, not a bummer. Lots of balls to keep juggling, I'm sure.

Anyway, we're talking about incidents. And the second incident occurred when we were coming out of a hotel. It's a really nice place, I'd been there many times before in the various public spaces, but never to one of the rooms. We'd just spent the afternoon in each other's arms, her hair was brushed and gleamed in the light, and she never had looked more beautiful. And then she turned to me, as we were leaving, and said, "would you mind it if we didn't walk next to each other, so it doesn't look like we're together?"

Although I didn't show it, my heart cringed. She gave her ticket to the parking cashier, and paid. So she's standing and waiting, and I'm standing and waiting, and we're pretending that we don't know each other. Her car drives up quickly, ahead of the car of the woman who was waiting for her car to arrive, who had paid the cashier, before her. Then, she either greets, or is greeted by (I can't remember) the parking valet, who didn't seem to know her name (at least, the exchange didn't involve the use of her name), but who obviously had seen her before. I can't remember who said what to whom, but it was something along the lines of "hey, good to see you again," no more than five seconds of dialog.

As I drove away, I started mulling over the possibilities.

1. Earlier, we had gone out for lunch, and she had no hesitation in holding my hand, as we were leaving, and then re-entering the hotel, by the front entrance. There, we were greeted by the doorman, who opened the door - possibly there was a different doorman, upon leaving, than upon re-entering, I wasn't paying enough attention to notice if they were different. Thus, whatever the situation was, it uniquely pertained to the back entrance, or to the parking valet.

2. We don't know who said what to whom when she pulled up and dropped off her car, originally. Possibly there was an exchange with the parking valet at that time, who recognized her from somewhere, and the exchange when leaving simply was in recognition of the exchange upon arriving - the brevity of the later exchange, which is the one I saw, suggests it was more of an acknowledgment of an acquaintance, or a recapitulation of a prior greeting, than anything else. It's not hard to see how this happens, conversationally. But if so, why pretend that we weren't together?

3. Clearly she's not screwing the parking valet, thus, we should suppose the parking valet was an intermediary to somebody, or something, else.

4. "Parking valet" is a more-or-less transient occupation, thus there certainly is a possibility that there was no connection at all with the hotel, but rather, such connection that existed was through the parking valet, himself. For example, he could have been the parking valet at an event she had gone to, or at a party she had attended (with somebody else, which would explain not wanting to be "seen together"). But this seems unlikely, for who remembers the identity of parking valets, and parking valets are unlikely to remember the identity of the persons whose cars they park. Thus, the parking valet must be sufficiently "known" by her, for him to recognize her, or vice-versa.

5. Supporting this hypothesis is the fact that her car came up instantly - ahead of the other woman in line - which evidences a favored status, at least in the world of parking valets. Of course, this also could be because of the fact that she's a pretty girl, driving an expensive car.

6. Indeed, the valet would have to be well known to her, because the premise that one doesn't retain the identity of parking valets in one's head, unquestionably is true.

7. Perhaps she was concerned that the valet would disclose the fact of her and I leaving the hotel, to somebody else. For example, the valet could be a friend of this hypothetical "other," or that person's employee. Thus, suppose she frequented the hotel with another lover, and didn't want the valet to report this to him. The other is someone important, like the owner or manager of the hotel, or someone who frequents the hotel, or who sees her a lot. Like me, a "steady customer."

8. A contrary consideration, though: wouldn't she have been just as worried about a report emanating from the front door, where being seen together seemingly was not an issue? I didn't observe (though wasn't alert to) any interaction or eye contact between her and the doorman, either upon leaving or returning.

9. When she called, and I told her where we were going to meet, she certainly sounded like she knew where it was, and had been there before. She may even have said something like, "Oh, I know where that is!" Though this could have been in any one of a half-dozen different contexts; for example, she may have attended a function in their ballroom or restaurant (as I have, like I said, on many occasions). But - even if she'd been there with other lovers, it still doesn't explain the persistence of her interaction with the parking valet. Unless she was on the order of a known habitué of the hotel, which is possible, but seems unlikely - if true, then the correct conclusion would be point #7 (though what about point #8?).

10. Thus, a compromise explanation - albeit an unsatisfactory one, due to the plethora of open issues - is that she knew the valet sufficiently well from somewhere else, there was mutual recognition - and she was concerned about the valet disseminating the fact that she and I were seen leaving the hotel together, to this other person. This other person would have to be somebody important (husband?) (lover? - see point #9), because I wouldn't think it would matter to lover X, that she was seen with some other guy (lover Y) - unless lover X occupied a position of special prominence to her. And, she was worried about causing waves with lover X, as a result of being seen with lover Y (that would be me).