Paying for it, paying a lot for it

Governor Spitzer, a rich man, can afford to pay a lot of money for sex. I am not rich, but even if I were, I would not pay a lot of money for sex. Paying for sex interests me only because of what the money cannot buy. If you are interested in what money cannot buy, it helps not to have very much of it. I am glad I am not rich.

Expensive whores are necessary for men like Spitzer, for whom the greatest risk is being recognized and then exposed when the story is sold to the tabloids. Paying $4,300 for under three hours with Kristen is really just making the blackmail payments in advance of the sex, rather than afterwards. Because of the large sums involved, Spitzer was forced into a complicated series of financial transactions, and it was those that tripped him up. Unlucky for him - but lucky for us, as we get to meditate on his predicament, and on the fascinating topic of paying for sex.

What do you get for $4,300? I have no idea. But less than I get for nothing with, say, D. D longs to be fucked by me, just as I long to be fucked by her; when she grabs at my ass to get me in a little deeper, there is no part of her mind that is watching the clock, or weighing the merits of getting it over with sooner rather than later. Many whores enjoy their work, at least when the client is somehow pleasing, not a brute or a jerk. It is still work, but perhaps sex is always work for some women - always something traded for something non-sexual, whether money or security or tenderness. Whores who enjoy their work seem to me no odder than other sorts of worker; I suppose that chefs who enjoy cooking do not enjoy all the cooking that they do, and may resent being asked to boil an egg at home. But for insight on providers in the sex-industry, I suggest reading College Callgirl's excellent blog, which is linked to here.

Whether $4,300 or $430, money paid for sex gets you so much and no more. I assume $4,300 gets you a lot, but the difference between limits and no limits is the big difference. B, for example, I have not fucked in the ass. She has been fucked in the ass before, years ago. She wants it again. We will get round to it, probably, if it feels right to do so. But if we do, or if we don't, it will not be because I was unwilling or unable to stump up the cash.

Not very long ago, I revisited S, the sensual provider whose delightful work on my body I recorded in an earlier post (Beautiful Sensual Masseuse). This time, I paid to be touched, but not to touch her at all. It was a very interesting, involved experience. Not touching S was exciting, at times almost overwhelmingly so. I realize that this experience can be replicated in some measure with ropes, but then it is a different sort of restraint that is at issue. By not touching S I could experience my desire to touch her more fully and more intensively. But the money clouded the issue that it created, for when one pays to be touched but not to touch, touching is only out of reach contingently: a few more bills, and then I can touch. Negotiating this boundary is fascinating, but like any boundary, it is easily crossed by accident, or bumped into. On this occasion, I was interested in the distinction between looking and touching - a distinction that seems to me as robust as any in the metaphysics of sex (and one that porn blurs irremediably). S, though, wanted to distinguish between looking at some parts and looking at others, attaching a price to removing her panties. This held no interest for me; money was here used to attach significance to a distinction that was, for me, insignificant. I suspect that this goes on at any level of the market - whether at Governor Spitzer's elevated prices or my own. S does not long to touch me, as I long to touch her; I pay her to touch me, but more importantly, I pay not to touch her. I hope that, for his $4,300 dollars, Governor Spitzer bought an experience as interesting and complicated and delightful as I bought more cheaply just the other day.