(Following is adapted from my book "My Life In The Great Sexual Window")

You should understand that professional whoring isn’t real sex.

There’s something out-of-body, distant, uninvolved, about it. Men pay you good money to make them feel great. It’s a simple business transaction on each side, supply and demand. Very capitalistic. Keeps the economy moving.

And it turns out that whoring is something I’m very good at. Up to now, I’m just a world-class amateur — now I’m becoming a world-class professional.

One of the best things about whoring is that there’s no emotion involved, nothing that tangles the belly and cuts into the heart. Nothing that makes a girl yearn for that commitment, that kiss, sometimes even that one phone call which soars her to seventh heaven and occasionally way beyond. No emotion so, voilà, no meaning.

Like any other whore I’ve ever met, I have two lives. One life earns all this money to flash tits and ass, flirt outrageously, and open legs and mouth for any man who wants to put his cock in them. But whoring isn’t real life. It’s not where I live.

It’s the other life, my student life at journalism school, my personal life, that’s my real life. The life where I win and lose, behave well or badly, am happy or sad. The part of my life where there's meaning.

Like any good-looking woman (particularly big-boobed like me) I have my pick of men and can have sex, meaningful or otherwise, with as many men as I want, any time I want. So I do.

Sometimes, when I’m just paying for an evening out or there’s nothing much else to do, the sex is emotionally empty but usually fun anyway. Other times, when I’m in lust with some horny stud, the lust itself is emotional and therefore an entirely sufficient reason for the sex. Then there’s the occasional times when I think I might be in love, at least a little bit, when sex is entirely meaningful.

The occasional thinking I might be in love part, of course, is where the commitment that doesn’t come, the kiss that isn’t tried and the phone call that’s never made reminds me that being hell-on-wheels in bed sometimes just isn’t enough for a girl.

Back to whoring.

Men confuse power with money. I don’t. Men think because they can rent my body that they have power over me. But power and money aren’t the same.

In fact, when a man’s in my mouth or pussy, I have the power. And then when he cums, by wonderful coincidence, I have both the power and the money.

 
 


My mother, who knows a thing or two about sex and men, is the most liberated person I know. She teaches me early on that women are as good and usually better than men. That most women are tougher, smarter, kinder, gentler and more generous than men.

We almost never hit people. We almost never kill people. And we certainly don’t rape people. Instead, we nurture, nourish and support people.

My mother even has an explanation for why women and men still don’t understand each other after all these centuries of sharing beds, offspring and lives.

It’s because women are so complicated — and men are so simple.

Women, she says, grow up in a complex, almost entirely female world of mothers and grandmothers and aunts and best-friends-for-life girlfriends who all understand that because we’re female we lack male upper-body strength. So, to compensate, we have to concentrate on forming complicated protective relationships which help us survive as we learn to manipulate the dangerous world around us.

Men, on the other hand, grow up in a simple, almost entirely male world in which fathers and grandfathers and uncles and buddies place far more value on physical force and sport and oneupmanship than on relationships. Something called backchecking is far more important than the scary something called love. In fact, men almost never discuss relationships with each other. Relationships are for sissies.

The result, says my mother, is that men don’t understand us women because, to merely survive and protect our wombs, we’ve had to become incredibly complex, complicated and manipulative.

And we women don’t understand men, she says, because we just can’t believe how incredibly simple they and their lives are. In fact, she claims, men are exactly what they appear to be. Nothing more. Nothing less. What you see is what you get. Men think relationships are what women have with each other in Sex And The City, in between bedding men.

In the end, says my mother, female survival all boils down to understanding male simplicity and taking advantage of it with the most powerful, complicated and manipulative combination of assets we women have  — the female mystique and pussy power.

My mother’s words made sense to me when I was young and they make even more sense to me now that I’m a grown woman.


(Samantha Jones is a Canadian journalist publishing her erotic memoir at www.lulu.com)