Less to Atone for

September 29, 2009

Today is Yom Kippur, Judaism’s holiest day of the year. I’m blogging, not in a synagogue, because though I was raised in a Jewish household, I’m not religious – not even, like so many other people, just on and around Yom Kippur.

Yom Kippur is the Day of Atonement, a day specifically set aside for thinking about what we did wrong to others throughout the year, and for making amends. I’ve never been big on the concept of having just one day set aside for that. Its always seemed to me an easy way for people that fuck people over all year to wash away their sins in one quick swoop, with the final conscience-washing achieved by generously responding to a solicited pledge to the temple’s building fund. By contrast, not by religious dictate but as a matter of unconscious practice, I atone all year continuously, constantly fretting over whether what I just did or am planning to do was or is right by someone else.

I ‘m anti-religion, but mainstream religious services are four parts worshiping of the supernatural for every one part mentioning of actual religious tenets. I might actually be able to handle an occasional religious services if it were the other way around. And while I have a measure of respect for mainstream religious dogma about how society and relationships should be structured, I’m just not cut out either to be the guy with the cross on Bourbon Street warning about fire and brimstone, or someone he would even remotely approve of. The fabric in the sail of our societal ship may very well be tearing, but if there’s a good party, I want to be in the middle of it. Naked.

Besides, while I have no doubt done some people and non-humans (lets not forget about them) wrong in the past year, recreational drug-using, whore-mongering me has less to atone for.

In fact, the mongering is why. I’m an ethical player. Yes, its possible.

I’m the anti-Tucker Max.

For a host of reasons, the whole conventional marriage/family thing by-and-large seems pretty dismal to me. I’m not tall, don’t make a lot of money, am no spring chicken, like hot chicks, have few opportunities from work to meet hot chicks, and eschew monogamy, so the opportunities for a girl to come along that blows me away so much that she causes me to think with my balls and disregarded my instincts about conventional marriage are few.

But I don’t use women for sex, either, or at least I try not to, and pretty darn well succeed. I can’t even remember the last time I dated someone who wasn’t at least a marriage maybe, unless she first practically shouted from the rooftops in the face of cross-examination that she wasn’t looking for a husband.  Or unless I was paying her.

While not all women are looking for marriage, the vast majority are, or at least the vast majority I get a shot at are. After all, its not like DirkJohanson is a celebrity (yet) such that chicks are happy just to sleep with me for the five-pointed notch on their bedpost, and I’m particular enough that the limited number of women that consider me hot are rarely passable enough to have a shot at me.  By the time hot women have worked themselves down the guy food chain to me, most aren’t putting up with a temporary relationship - if they just wanted that, they could, objectively speaking, do a lot better. To paraphrase Meg Ryan’s Sally venting to Billy Crystal’s Harry, its not that they just want a guy in order to get married – they just want a guy for marriage purposes if they are reduced to having that guy be me. And they usually make that quite clear to me over dinner – the first dinner.

Unlike faking a relationship for sex, or continuing one long after it becomes clear it isn’t going anywhere or should be over, paid sex is almost always win-win for the participants - despite its near-universal illegality in this country, it leaves little or nothing to atone for.  I go online to pick out a girl I am attracted to, and if everything goes according to plan, as it almost always does, I have sex with a hot chick, and she gets every penny of the money she asked for. Plus, in my case, since I look better than most sex tenants and give it my all to make the date hot for the girl, unless she’s sexually unresponsive (a rarity), she gets some hot sex out of it, too.

In other words, when I pay, I get that elusive guilt-free sex that most women can have all the time, but that us guys, including me, generally need to risk jail, unemployment, and public shaming for.

To be sure, paying for sex is not without its complications. Probably brainwashed from TV portrayals of hookers, too many guys forget that escorts are human beings, too – and include some of the nicest girls I’ve ever met, though of course the fact that they don’t have to worry that a guy is putting them on to get sex makes it easier for a girl to be nice. While many are jaded, at least temporarily, like most other women, most escorts would prefer to have a husband than escort, or a new husband if they already have a husband. In fact, I’m confident most of them want a husband on average more than the average girl, so they don’t have to ever again suck the uncircumcised cock of an old fat guy with hairy, smelly unwashed balls.

I’ve experienced some of those complications first-hand. When Amber (real alias) offered to come back free the night after we met, I couldn’t resist. As adorably perfect as I could already tell she was for me in nearly every way, I also already knew she had six kids, but I was helpless to refuse her offer, helpless to turn down her enthusiasm for seeing what a swingers club is like when I let on that I was a veteran of the scene, and helpless to turn down her jockeying to be my date for the soon-upcoming Central Florida Adult Entertainment Awards. Despite my misgivings, a year-and-a-half later, we were still going out. Then again, I ultimately fell in love with her, let her know about my misgivings, and, far too late, decided I wanted to marry her, anyway, so, in the end, I probably really did little bad by her to atone for.

As pleasant as Tori 4 is by temperament, her obvious crush on me, and the fact she’s only 21, my plans to assume more of a boyfriend role were recently muted when her mother told me Tori’s brain tumor was worse than Tori had let on. Maybe I have my change in plans to atone for, but I was still paying her for sex when I found out, and, besides, she already has a live-in boyfriend, albeit one she’s trying to get away from, who presumably will be around to see her through it. Even if not, I don’t think resisting the urge to plunge myself in a new relationship with someone that has a brain tumor is something to atone for. Its a far cry to being Newt Gingrich.

Even swinging with a hooker is not necessarily guilt-free. Just yesterday, on the long ride back from orgying at Trapeze, Summer (real alias) got a little heavy on me, when she noted that not only do we have really hot sex together, but that we travel together well, too. I’m too much on the fence about her as a potential girlfriend, and I felt like her statement started a tock ticking to which now I’ll have to respond with more of the trappings of traditional romance, which could turn out to be misleading if the things I see in her now which I think would stop me from taking things futher turn out to be the deal breakers. She claims she doesn’t want to get married again, but I feel I’m in an ethical quandary. Unless I am ready to assume the full-fledged boyfriend role, even just a quick fuck for money will never seem quite the same between us anymore – it seems like it could result in me having something to atone for.

Now you can probably see why I don’t need to go to a formal religous service to atone. I wear guilt around like a ball-and-chain.

Summer

In fact, it was quite ambiguous as to whether Summer was charging for the weekend, at all, which raised another ethical complication. Since its expensive to get in to Trapeze and requires a hotel stay due to the distance from where we live, she originally agreed two years ago to go to The Trap on a date to be agreed to later as something she would do free just so she could experience her first full-on orgy. Our plan was to make a weekend out of it, including afterpartying on South Beach, all on me. But, when last Wednesday night the subject came up immediately after I’d said I’d pay her $300 to for an ecstasy-fueled Saturday night overnight at my place, based on context, it was less than clear whether she was still expecting to go free. In fact, it was still less than clear when I bought her a t-shirt with the club logo when she expressed an interest in it while we were leaving the club, and still less than clear when I thought about nudging her awake for more sex in the morning but didn’t want to push the envelope out of concern that after-club sex might trigger an implied monetary obligation. Anyway, we didn’t talk money the entire trip, but when I dropped her off, I thought about her station in life (she has no car and I picked her up at a trailer park), thought about mine, thought about her comment about “us”, and thought about wanting less to atone for, I gave her $300 without any prompting.

But, in the end, there surely are fewer ethical issues when paying for it. The girl still gets her end of the bargain, not a fertility-wasting walk down the primrose path to nowhere.

All of this just goes to show that Guyinism and the guys’ right to choose willing sex partners isn’t just about fucking and other some such fun. Guyinism is pious – you’ll have less to atone for.

And we don’t even ask you to contribute to a building fund.

Yet.

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