Home Pop Culture My unconventional dalliances with Call Girls.

My unconventional dalliances with Call Girls.



When a woman makes the decision to sell the pleasures of her body she is crossing a certain line. Or so it would seem. When a man on the other hand takes it upon himself to ‘pay’ for these pleasures he too is crossing a certain line, so I have been told. Yet once one begins to live life one can discern a number of distinguishing nuances, and to be sure my unconventional dalliances with ‘call girls’ has provided me with an insight into the dynamics of human drama. As much as I may crave the girls from rue Pigalle, the high society girls who charged an arm and a leg or the drug addled girl who I took under my wing what one ultimately finds is the irreparable drama that lives in one’s own heart.

In the strictest sense of the word a prostitute is a woman who in exchange for money will give up her ‘sanctity.’ In many ways, many women the world over give over their ‘sanctity’ for money, it’s just they are wined and dined along the way, or to be apt –seduced. With call girls such affections are dispensed with, what ultimately counts is payment of services, up front after the allotted time. To be sure she doesn’t expect to be provided for by you, for you to adore her, for you to provide for her into ‘sickness and health,’for you to inspire her or for you to console her when the world fails to make sense to her. What she wants is your money, that’s all. Of course that is a lie and I only came to that realization after I began to own up to mine. Such as it may seem are the affairs of human drama.

My first inclinations towards ‘call girls,’ came when I was living in a semi respectable hotel in Montmarte, Paris. I sort of fancied myself as a writer, (in fact I still do) and as such I would take it upon myself to fly off for a stretch in foreign lands and foreign turfs. I have found traversing in foreign locales as the perfect lubricant for bringing forth those sensibilities that would otherwise would go untended if preserved in the confines of ones own usual surroundings. That said, I had just finished a terrible dinner that included an overcooked piece of burnt cow flesh and a disquieting long distance phone call from my then wife who had chosen to leave me at this particular juncture of our relationship. The beoujolais to be sure was well received

Strolling along the back end Parisian streets of the Monmarte district I came along a variety of dimly lit brasseries and cafes where a matter of people were consistently coming and going. From there a quartet of burlesque shows which really didn’t interest me for no other reason because at this point of the evening I was stumbling pitifully along the streets. Lighting another cigarette I watched as some young blonde girl approached me and ask me if she could assuage one for herself. I looked at her for a while and was struck by her plaintive beauty and the bruises probing at the base of her neck. Nevertheless when she asked me to follow her down the street to a ‘madame’s’ place of residence I didn’t hesitate.

Upon paying the steep price of champagne that madame insisted, I then paid another steep price to find myself looking into the lonely eyes of a country girl who had just run away from Toulosse- a pretty town north of Paris. Without much said we undressed and discovered each other’s sexuality, it didn’t matter who we knew, where we hung out, what I did for a career, if she could cook, if she could recite ‘the Iliad,’-  just if she could unburden me for an allotted period of something that conventionality and formality sometimes fail to do. Pleased I finally turned to leave, to be honest quite unconcerned about her state of mind, my few dollars having contrived me an absolution of concern and empathy for another human being.

I came back on and off over the next few weeks, I wasn’t quite sure why, perhaps I was looking for inspiration, enjoying the anonymity, the empty emotional reactions and strangely loving it and hating it. Who that blonde girl was I will never know, but for some reason she played a perfect role for what a man in his moments of distress can readily seek out to temper the rabid human drama unfolding in his heart.

Another time, a few years later I was living in another part of the world, by this stage properly separated , loved and left by a number of women (or was it me who was doing the leaving?) and not the one bothered by it all. Women if one had charm, means to some money, empathy and a general well rounded personality could be found anywhere in the world where one practiced the laws of attraction. Of course when one is willing to pay for certain things upfront they are at the same time willing to forgo the dynamics of what could happen organically. Perhaps this is why some men like to buy their girlfriends large gifts, they let the gift love them more than they have to or are capable of.

When I met a young girl by the name of Margarita she was already was one of the highest sought after ‘dancers’ at the ‘up market bar’ where she worked at. After  finishing watching her act I then consulted with the owner of the club, an overweight but well dressed Columbian if I could for a modest fee take Margarita home with me. He went to consult with her but she would only come if I doubled my fee. The idea of paying for a woman seemed hideous, but in essence I knew I wasn’t paying for a woman but paying not to have to deal with myself and yet the strange desire to do so as well. Writers like most human beings are quite complicated at times…Nevertheless I agreed to her demands.

At this time I was renting a junior suite at the Hilton hotel in downtown Caracas, working on a bevy of literary projects that weren’t going anywhere too fast. That said I was rather charmed when Margarita upon entering my suite was impressed with all my scattered notes. She sat there took out her glasses and began to read (of course it was strange watching a stripper/call girl take out her glasses). I sat there lit a cigarette, poured us two drinks and spend the next few hours speaking to her about life, what I thought about it, what she thought about it. I discovered she had a love of the arts and had at one point started painting but had to stop because she had to take care of her family.

As the morning was coming through Margarita suggested we go upstairs for a swim (she had obviously been here before) in the pool upstairs. After rushing our spines through the water we looked at each other and kissed. Strange how the idea of money can give you courage to do the things you might not ordinarily have the courage to do.

Margarita would spend the next few weeks living in my hotel room, and the couple of times I would go to offer her money she would refuse. Of course this probably bothered me because falling in love with a prostitute never looked good on one’s resume. Nevertheless I cancelled my return to NY to enjoy the pleasures of writing in a tropical climate and having the simple admiration of a young woman who would smile, whistle and from time to time water paint while I sat there writing hours upon end. It was all kind of embarrassing since most of the time I was writing about her except she didn’t know it. Actually she did know it, but some things are best left unsaid.

When it was time to return I thought what to do with Margarita who by now was crying everyday and who told me she never wanted me to leave. For some reason I couldn’t take it and instead of showing her how much it all pained me I started shouting at her. She ran out of the room and into the lobby downstairs. I proceeded to chase her but at some point upon seeing all the businessmen coming and going downstairs I wondered to myself what I was doing. I had only meant to rent the affections of a woman temporarily not to embody them eternally. Yet the irony of being a human is our desire for eternity, such are the dramas of the human spirit.

This was all over eight years ago, and I have never seen or heard from Margarita ever again although to be honest I still have her phone number somewhere along with a picture of us she painted as we stepped out of the pool that first morning. These in short are my unconventional dalliances with call girls, the nuances of each can have a very exacting effect on ones heart.



  1. In the strictest sense of the word a prostitute is a woman who in exchange for money will give up her ‘sanctity’ !!!!!!

  2. …. really? That’s what you took away?

    The term “writer”, dear Alex, is figurative rather than literal. A ‘writer” is one who develops ideas, not one who simply inscribes the alphabet.


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