transactional sex
by seraphina
I t sounds much better, I think, to call it “transactional sex” rather than prostitution, but then again, it doesn’t much matter what you call it. I heard you scream “whore, slut, dumb cunt,” and everything else under the sun that you came up with to describe prostition. You thought you were better than me and you probably were. Women like myself wouldn’t have offered the service if it wasn’t wanted, though, so you might need to think about that a little more.
I needed ciggys, and alcohol, maybe something else on the side, and you were glad to provide it as long as I would fuck you in exchange. You screwed a homeless young woman so you could get your rocks off, and I got the money I needed to feed my need for tobacco and cheap beer. You didn’t even bring a rubber, and I didn’t have the self-respect to require one. Somehow, though, you still look down on me. I’ve begun to understand that in this society, the woman who has done sex work, no matter the context, is viewed with disgust, but when my friends made tapes you were the first to watch.
With men it’s okay, isn’t it, to have screwed as many women as you wanted to. It’s funny to be a man-whore and your mates think you’re the shit. There’s a higher standard for women. I might remind you that when I was at my lowest, homeless and hungry, you screwed me in the woods and handed me a twenty, and went on your way having gotten what you paid for. Actually, you got more than you paid for. These days I realize I’m worth far more than a rolled up orange piece of plastic.
I never was interested in you romantically, and you knew that when you handed me the money. I don’t even like sex. It was merely a transaction to get what I needed, and it was honest work. Yes, I showed up to uni “looking like a slut,” but I don’t know what you expected because I only had work clothes. I had as much right to a higher education as you did. There’s a reason you recognized me, though, isn’t there? I never told your mates why.
