Warning: Adult Content in This Post
I’m willing to allow for that
My TiVo recorded a suggestion for me a couple of days ago. It must have known that I was really tired of My First House Design Flip With Hidden Potential To Climb The Property Ladder, so it grabbed an hour of documentary television from HBO.
Near as I can figure, since it sees that I like Documentary Reality and it just assumes that I like sex, the TiVo pulled down 55 minutes of Cathouse 2: Back In The Saddle. As you may have guessed, this was all about the comings and goings in a legal brothel in Nevada. Never having been inside an actual brothel and possessing more curiousity than is good for me, I decided to watch a few minutes. It starts with some truly sad fellow running up eleven thousand dollars on four or five of his credit cards in order to pay for Fantasy Parties with two sex workers. Thoroughly indoctrinated as I am by Dave Ramsey, it was the credit card stuff that made me mad. I mean, if you want to patronise sex workers and you aren’t married to me, then I guess that’s between you, your genitalia and your god. But I’m prejudiced enough to be really ticked off at the thought of you charging enough to buy a used car on the credit cards you are likely going to file in your bankruptcy.
Here’s the part that really got me, though, and made me realise that I was gonna be too angry to finish the show and meant that I only saw the first 11 of 55 minutes.
They had a talking head interview with one of the sex workers. She was bragging about how she earns $200,000 a year at her job and she’s not dependent on any man. [Unlike the women like me who are “naive” enough to be dependent on a man!] They then cut to the owner of the business driving around in a convertible and talking about luck vs. hard work.
That was a man. While the female “not dependent on a man” sex worker is on her back, her knees and other sorts of things just gutting it out to earn her two hundred large, some fat old guy gets to drive around, smoke and be a millionaire. Then of course Ms. Not Dependent On A Man goes on to talk about how she gets flowers every time she sticks her tongue in a guy’s butt.
Let me say something right now, and let us all be clear. There is really NO amount of money you could pay me to stick my tongue in a stranger’s ELBOW JOINT, let alone his butt. So, yes, I may rely on my husband’s income for my meals and clothes and health insurance. And we don’t earn $200K per year. Then again, neither of us spends any time with our tongue in the nethercrack of some nearly-bankrupt truck driver we’ve never met before who is putting off finishing his education so he can pay our boss to pay us to put our tongue in his butt.
I’ve been in the feminist camp for a long time, albeit I’m in the wierdo arm of Libertarian Feminists who tend to be the black sheep of the Feminst fold. I know that the accepted thought about Sex Workers is that they are earning their independence.
What brief bit of Cathouse 2 I saw didn’t look at all like independence and female empowerment. It looked like exploitation and subjugation to me.
But then again, maybe I’m stupid.