Ladies, get it through your overly teased heads, sex for cash is not a career. Porn star, stripper or call girl, it’s not feminist leaning or screenplay worthy. There's no romance, no handsome, salt-and-pepper gray millionaire coming to climb the fire escape. Your contribution is the erection and a happy ending.
As a woman abetting equality, you piss me off. And this from a woman who loves naked time.
Ex-call girl Ashley Dupré, the one who ball busted Eliot Spitzer, has a spread (pun intended) in People Magazine. Like many in the industry (others always say they just love sex; if hedonism begat profession, there'd be a lot more watching TV in underpants positions available), she claims and blames a troubled past for her now-must-atone-for-it-folly. Yet she reasons, “This wasn't any different than going on a date with someone you barely knew and hooking up with them. The only difference is I can pay my rent."
I date. I hook up. I can pay my mortgage. I also have a career built on ambition and self-reliance and “The Ramen Noodle Years” when money earned from pithy and pissy jobs went to school and learning more and taking risks and making mistakes and trying again and embracing being a woman in a mans world.
And I kept my tits in my blouse the entire time.
It’s maddening how sexualized girls are today. We thought the classmate who wore a top hinting at belly button risqué, never contemplated kissing a girl for the attention. “Porky’s” was downright pornographic. My nieces came of age in a generation that considered oral and anal the safe kind of sex.
The sex worker has become mainstream, just another booth at career day. Women, especially young women, must make wise choices. We can't have it all, not all at the same time, but can take smart steps to ensure long tastes from the full buffet throughout a lifetime. In my 20’s, I had neither the ass nor the time to display it on stage. The clock was ticking and I had to run to keep pace with the boys. In heels yet. I know a handful of women who used to strip, now stuck in per hour jobs in menial professions. None used that money to get through college. They got boobs.
Dupré calls herself a “survivor”; no, survivors are those with healthy and empowering lives, regardless of and because of the journey. Fucking is easy.
She concludes her People interview saying she will, “No! Never again!!” sell her body. Counting the months until the Playboy spread and bologna-throwing Howard Stern appearance.