And we know that it's for money, and that's how the west gets bargained.

A friend recently recounted for me a pretty graphic account of a time he paid for sex. I was rapt at his retelling, as paying for sex is something I’ve never done and know that I would never be able to do. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have any particular problem with the sex industry per se (in fact, like most people, I’d say I find it pretty intriguing); it’s just that I know I’d never be able to go through with actually paying someone for that particular service. And on a slightly more egotistical level, I like to think that I’d never have to.

But my friend was in a situation where the practice was very much the norm, and approached it from the perspective of one of those try-it-once life experiences that also had the potential to be really fucking hot. And it was. Or rather, it started out that way.

But the way he tells it, somewhere in the midst of the act, certain psychological factors came into play. It got “heady.” And that’s just it. I think as much as I (and people like me) try to pretend otherwise, and despite fantasies to the contrary, sex does tend to involve the mind. Even when we try to bury it or ignore it.

So in this case of sex-for-hire, not only did the reality of certain risks that were involved start to prey on the mind of my friend, but there were also social and class factors involved in the scenario that made it hard to separate the hired hand’s position in life from the act that was taking place. Pun completely intended, by the way, as fucking became a psychological impossibility and hence the whole encounter turned into a quick jerkoff-and-leave transaction.

I could so see the same thing happening to me. On the one hand, I think I admire people who are able to detach themselves enough to go through with things that for me would cause psychological distress. But on the other hand, I think I find them a little scary.

Ah well, different strokes.