Jules was an old acquaintance of mine who ran an escort service. It was quite the jump from being a kitchen manager, which is what he was last time I had seen him. But oddly enough, it didn’t seem out of character. He showed me his operation while we caught up.
“Is what you’re doing legal?” I asked.
“Prostitution is the exchange of sex for money,” Jules explained. “We don’t talk about sex for money.” On the other hand, he assured, customers knew exactly what they were getting for their money.
I nodded my head slowly and listened as he continued. “What about these guys who sign up for Great Expectations?” Jules asked rhetorically. “They pay all that money to get a date. If they end up getting laid, is that prostitution?”
“They’re looking for love,” I replied. “Paying the membership fee doesn’t guarantee sex.”
My old acquaintance smiled at me, but still looked as if he couldn’t believe the quixotic shit oozing from my lips. “What’s love got to do with it?” he asked. “When was the last time you stuck around with a girl who wasn’t giving you sex?”
All I could do was nod like a moron. I had no reply. Jules didn’t miss a beat of his pitch: “Sure, you could go out to a bar or a nightclub–maybe even go to church–meet a girl, take her out to dinner, movies and whatever else and still not have a good time. Or you could book a date with one of my girls and have a good time, guaranteed.”
One of the girls chimed into the conversation: “You’re really paying me to leave at the end of the hour.” It was Janine, a college girl using her body to pay tuition. “I won’t give you any drama. I’ll never put you in the doghouse. Unless that’s what gets you off.”
Love by the hour for a flat fee. It seemed like a straightforward proposition–a clean transaction. It was much less convoluted than the traditional transaction of love for equity and a steady paycheck. Although my Catholic upbringing wanted to condemn the practice, I just couldn’t argue with Jules’ logic.
Tags: escort service · love · prostitution · relationships · sex