Fridae

I was sitting at my comp, humming to myself with that just-after-nice-sex good feeling. My regular masseur had just left with his usual tip, and I was enjoying that languorous sense of post-coital lethargy.

Phone rings.

I pick it up to a woman asking for me by name, and asking if my masseur had already left. Suddenly feeling confused, I asked who the caller was.

"His wife," she told me casually.

My relaxation suddenly dispelled, I was unprepared for the barrage of questions she asked me. How much do I give him, do I realise that he just uses the money for drugs, etc, etc. And as I struggled to regain my composure, I realised I was getting pretty pissed off. I didn't know what was going on his personal life, and I really did NOT want to know.

Brushing her off as quickly as I could, I finally hung up fuming. But as I calmed down, I started wondering if I was in a whole new mess of trouble.

I mean, those of us who have reason to avail of the male Asian sex trade know that 90% of them are straight. We don't even have to think about it - it's a very basic assumption. And the sheer number of breeders on sale from Hong Kong to Bangkok to Manila bears this fact out.

To them, it's just a job. And, depending on how you look at it, it is. Putting morals, religions, law and ethics aside - as we know how these vary for people in various parts of the world - let's try to look at it objectively.

Just as people employ their skills, time, labour, knowledge, and talents for a fee, sex workers sell pleasure, instant gratification and illusions. Of course, some would point out that working has dignity, while whoring is the sale of that dignity.

I'm sure you've heard all the reasons - poverty, hunger, lack of skills, unemployment, etc., and have conjectured on the ones they would never admit - laziness, extravagant lifestyles, drug use, etc. And just like any job, the more successful ones have the routine down pat. They gyrate their torsos in sordid, shadowy strip joints, on lonely street corners, in cinemas and dark parks. Their eyes knowing, their hands expressive, their inviting lips bearing practised smiles, their noses sniffing eagerly after the contents of your wallet.

We don't worry about it - after all, these guys sell their bodies for their own reasons, of their own free choice. The reasons would have to be pretty compelling - but money always makes the best grease, whatever the appendage or orifice.

---

You probably think I'm being a cold, heartless bastard about the trade. But on the contrary, I do feel sympathy for sex workers.

I do realise that many are forced into it out of need or desperation, and whenever I have occasion of avail of one's services, I make sure to treat them with kindness, and try to help them salvage some of their dignity. But I'm also a realist.

Over the weekend, I heard another friend refer to male hookers as "fast food". The analogy is apt. It's fast, easy, and convenient. No emotional mess, no bother about selecting the right qualities and ingredients, no fuss.

You get your craving satisfied, and just throw the wrapper into the trash when you're done. You don't care whether the burger you just ate was made from the meat of a cow or a bull. It's just meat.

And therein, is the danger.

The only times the sex trade - of any gender - have ever bothered me, were those situations when I see or read about minors peddling themselves for the price of a burger. Those I do feel disturbed and sorry for.

Adults, however, are another matter. They make their own moral choices: easy money over dignity, need over personal accountability.

It's not my problem. Right?

But when the reality is slammed in your face, then you start to wonder if you ARE in some way accountable.

Is the patron responsible for the goods sold? If a guy is prostituting himself to support a drug habit, does this make the john responsible for supporting his drug habit? If he's doing this to feed a family, does this mean the client should continue to "buy", so that the family won't starve?

There aren't any easy answers.

After I had gathered my thoughts, I realised that I couldn't continue to see this masseur again. Now that I've been rudely shoved into his personal life, it would likely be impossible to return to my previous state of deliberate ignorance.

I couldn't see myself being an accessory to anyone's drug habit, and I didn't want myself receiving any future calls from strange wives. Especially one who actually knew what her husband did to make ends meet. No pun intended.

And in a small, dark corner of my mind, I thought I heard a small voice whisper, "anyway, there's more where that came from�"