MY FIRST (whisper) Whore.

Indecision at the start of a post is never a good sign. Two minutes from now, I’ll probably find my frustrated self in the arms of Salman Rushdie (that wonderful wonderful man).

I can tell that you’re going to be difficult to write, oh post. You’re going to waste my valuable time (that should be spent thwacking some of the 8 pending assignments off my to-do list). But i will write you and won’t even think about your gasp-inducing title. I hereby firmly shove all thoughts like “Ohmygod my father reads my blog”  out of my mind. I’ma get on with things already!

On Saturday-2nd-October-2010, I found myself within maybe four inches of a whore; of lots of whores to be honest. At first, I thought what I was feeling was excitement. I cocky-fied and swaggered and made dashing (but foolish) gestures when the people I was with urged me to go speak to one of the girls.

The first thing I noticed was the wonderful taste these girls have in shoes. Their footwear! Amazing!  Very expensive, sometimes even classy.

I then observed that there are two types of whores.

TYPE A: The hopelessly local girls straight from some creepy village. These ones reeked of demon posessed accents(not literally) and some bad rose-inspired perfume (literally). They also wore only blouses. BLOUSES. Somebody once wrote about bottom banded dresses for Kawa- sunday vision. I think all these girls have a framed copy of this piece (and have all failed to understand it).

TYPE B: These ones (the two of them) were hot. Very hot. One of them was a wonderful size ten, all legs and flawless yellow skin (unbleached). She was wearing a pair of yellow beach short shorts and a vest. a vEST. Pretty face, cool enough weave…high price (evidently. All the guys who took her aside,I assume  to negotiate all failed to…er…disappear (for lack of a better word i swear) with her. I don’t remember much about the second one. She wasn’t as hot.

I actually met women of NEGOTIABLE AFFECTION. I saw, I pointed, I laughed, I attempted to get high off my mango juice then i got really really sad. I suspect that this sadness plagues me still.

In this country, there exist women who SELL their parts( did you know??). They parade themselves like sides of meat. They swing their hot legs into corners and negotiate. Good Lord. These women encourage men to grope and feel and…PAY. I want to give them all long hugs and then stab them. One by one. DEad, the lot of them! That’s what i want.(I think).

Because how can I now, in all fairness, throw a murderous glare and all the middle fingers I’ve got at a man who leers at me? How without feeling a bit foolish- thanks to my fellow be-vaginad peeps can I jeer and shake fists and dare the bastard who’s tapped my bum to do it again?

I’m well aware that the clawless girl exists. The one who’ll get raped and say, “It’s okay. I can move on.” The one who says, ” He wanted it. Let’s not talk about it anymore.”  This is the point where I SHOW OFF about the wonderful day that I BEAT UP (and hopefully ruined the very soul) of some creep. Some guy who thought he could rape the Sinister One’s friend and get away with it. Well bob, I hope you still have em scars. I wonder if you got to fixing that computer… hehehe.  Bastard.

I think I can handle the existence of the clawless girl because mine are long and sharp and I’m a little claw-happy; but those girls? The willing sellers? The ones who think nothing of being touched and patted and humiliated and raped for MONEY?

I feel a bit hopeless about these ones. They don’t want no heroine. They’re okay about it, or at least they seem okay.  I wouldn’t be bothered by any of their shit if they didn’t give leeeer-inclined men justification to leer on! ! I don’t expect a man who only last night bought himself a piece of ass to respect me on the street. He’s only human, isn’t he?

Then one can argue that all the women who act snooty about what the whores do for a living do it for free and get broken hearts thrown into the bargain, but the whores? NOoO. They get paid and head directly to hot shoe stores. Easy money. Right?

They confuse and miser-ate me and for this, if for nothing else, I want to sit them down and shake my fist, hug then spit and stab. Nice order, no? Perfecto.

I'm serious.

Oh for heavens sake don't do that!

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About Miz. Kyrte

I read, I write, I love. My favorite quote is: We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing. Bukowski, baby! Extremes ;-)

7 responses to “MY FIRST (whisper) Whore.

  1. Is it a bad sign of my sheer decadence that I was looking gleefully forward to the part where you ask the prostitute if she does girl-on-girl, and then paid her in advance, and then … ? 😀

  2. Hehehe. Me I don’t pay for such. There be plenty of girls who wont crush my conscience with their “pay me” ways. Plus Gosh, 27th! you’re dirty! (now we, pot and kettle can walk off into some black sunset, hehe. This doesn’t really make sense, but roll with me, mah mehn) 🙂

    • Plus Gosh, 27th! you’re dirty!

      Yeah, I made my peace with that fact long ago. 🙂 It helps to reconcile oneself to the truth; that way, even when the pot calls the kettle black, it is still okay. 😉

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