“Are you a boy or a girl?” The first time a man pulled over to the curb and asked me this question in Downtown Honolulu I was more than a little offended. Was he trying to say I was ugly? I angrily asserted that I was a woman, just maybe a little tired from “runnin’ ‘em hard” or choosing drugs over sleep for several consecutive days. I answered the question honestly. Yes, I was a female, no I had never been a male at any point in my life. The standard anatomical female body was, to my enormous surprise, declined time after time. I’m talking at least 100 times since I started in the companion field at the turn of the twenty first century and for over a decade thereafter. Other women said they were often asked the same thing. “The prettiest mahus are prettier than women. And they take better care of themselves than women. It’s a compliment.” Yes, I suppose that’s true. But when I let the client who became a friend who became my love (unreciprocated) I came to understand that the men were not asking me simply because they thought I was a man. The blunt truth was that scores of men hoped I was a man. Best case scenario: beautiful face, trim body, and male genetalia. I did not fit the bill. Stay tuned for what I did about this unrequited male desire.
GENERATION GAP 02/25/18
You know you’re a mature provider when your dates call you “Lady” as a form of address. “”What do you think of this, Lady?” You notice they automatically, probably subconsciously look to you for approval and they seem to believe you have a wide base of Knowledge for comparison purposes. “Am I like other guys?” I believe another sign you’re in a different generation is when you’re surprised by their routines. For ex, Facebooking before date is over. Without pausing he could reach for his phone and text without missing a beat. No he didn’t! Yes. He did. Impressive.
It is very frustrating to me when potential clients complain that the pictures they see on online advertisements do not accurately so the providers. I wish they would apply the same standards of anonymity to us as they apply to themselves. What I mean to say is, they don’t want to post their pictures. They don’t want people to know the specifics of their off track sex lives. So why do they expect us to post our pictures? Do they not realize that we have just as much motive for keeping ourselves hidden as they do? Or maybe we have even greater motive. Because even if we were in a place like the sparsely populated counties of Nevada where escorting is legal, there is no other class of Womanhood that is more looked down upon then the prostitute. I was watching a rerun of the adult animated satire “Family Guy.” The male characters visit a brothel/gift shop that sold outfits and soft core sex toys. The character in the wheelchair starts yelling at mannequins because he is convinced They are sneering at his wheelchair. After assuring him the dolls are not real and are therefore incapable of judgment the Cleveland character says it would not matter if they judged because they are just whores and no one cares what they think. You may or may not agree with this assessment but I think we can reach a unanimous agreement about the need for providers to leave their experience in the profession off of their resumes. When this blog becomes world famous I predict great changes in the rejection of providers from General society. But until my voice is heard and it is discovered that we are people, anonymity is the way to go. So no, I cannot post any pictures that truly show what I look like.
FANTASIES STAY IMAGINARY 2/9/18
I was proud to be an open minded provider who applied the intimate lessons to personal life. I had learned that men constantly thought of sex and wanted to have sex with just about anyone. I wanted to match my mindset to what I had learned about the sexual appetite of men. “Think expansively,” I told myself when I wanted to introduce a new sexual song scenario with a “regular,” or someone I saw frequently. I decided the best way to successfully introduce an element of surprise would be to turn fantasies into reality. In addition to appearing creative I would have a chance to show how cool I was about involving other people. In truth, the idea of other people in the bedroom made me uncomfortable But I was we elmong feelings for this client and I very much wanted him to see me as a cut above others. I mentally reviewed the fantasies he had shared with me and chose one that I felt most comfortable with.Yes, I had just the thing! My client/friend, the person I was “hanging out” with, always had a lot of suggestions for me about how I. Pumehana improve my technique when I gave him very personal attention. He had wondered aloud if I was more skilled than a gay man who had much more practice than ne and who had the added advantage of knowing from personal experience what felt good. I had responded that we should do a blind taste test, as shown on soft drink commercials I saw as a child. People on the street were given small cups of I identified soda and asked to choose the better drink–Pepsi versus Coke. Wouldn’t it be fun to blindfold New York friend and hav him experience my attention and the guy’s attention and choose whom he preferred. If it was done well it would be obvious which of us was more skilled.
I felt quite self-congratulatory as I made the arrangements. I could hardly wait for the appointed time but finally I revealed that a person was on his way over and the taste test plan was in motion.
“He’s coming here? Now?” My friend looked appalled.
“I thought that was what you wanted! You said that would be the best?” My feelings were hurt in spite of telling myself everything was all in good casual fun.
“Those are just fantasies. Fantasies are only good if you make like you are going to do them.”
“That’s why I invited the guy! So we could do it. I thought you pretty much gave me permission.”
“Common sense should’ve told you I didn’t mean for real for real.”
I had been foiled again by the elusive thing called common sense that told everyone but me how to proceed. As I called the guy you cancel I reflected upon the irony of failed communication when both conversationalists are open, honest and interested. The moral of the story–for some, fantasizing is like window shopping. For others fantasizing is an actual roadmap with a real destination. Always best to know which camp you and your partner(s) fall into.
February 06, 2018:. “PRETTY FOR FREE”
In the beginning of this century there was a part of urban Honolulu that was a virtual open air 24 hour sex market. In “Town” sex workers were women and men dressed like women (colloquially known as “mahus”) who were addicted to crack, crystal methamphetamine (ice), heroin (boy), alcohol, gambling, or some combination of all of these diversions. I never saw young kids on the run from abusive homes contrary to what I had read about areas with high rates of prostitution. I saw people old enough to make their own decisions looking for the quickest way to get the next fix. Money was never saved but entirely consumed by the addiction(S). Once they were zero balanced they’d go back to the “track” or “stroll” to wait for a car to pull over. According to my wristwatch I waited about a minute before a car pulled over driven by someone who had money for me. Not much money. High dollar girls worked in Waikiki and turned the entire $200/date over to mypimps, who seemed to be mostly black for some reason I could not fathom. People with addictions are terrible providers. Our pimps weren’t people. Our addictions were the pimps to whom we turned all of our $20-$100/date. But I digress.
The money was so quick and easy the 30 or so providers who walked the street back then did not compete with each other. Each of us made between $300-$500 a day, every day. We just had to be out there. As far as I knew men had no system for sharing information about the quality of providers in the days before ubiquitous internet access and participation. Many girls stole and word did not seem you travel because they continued to work. I did not steal but I did not try very hard during the car date. I’d “go away inside of my head” once we pulled over to a concealed spot within a 30 second drive. A brief 15 minutes later I was freshening my lipstick and race walking to spend my money. When my purchase was consumed in the domicile of the man du jour who shared my interests and shared my product. My welcome wore out when the stuff ran out. If I wanted a temporary roof over my head I had to get enough money to have something to offer someone else and maintain my altered state. Back to the stroll to make money again, my days, years, life, an endless cycle: zero balancing myself, hustling the money with various antics and adventures, spending all my money with nothing tangible to show for my efforts. For some reason I mostly enjoyed “The Life.”
One night I was in my favorite spot sitting on a low brick wall near a facility that hosted anger management classes for men with domestic violence convictions. I liked my perch because I had had a book in my hand since I was age 3. I felt more like my true self when I was enjoying classic American literature while I waited for a “date.” I read by the glow of the streetlight while watching the traffic in both directions. A two lane street of slow moving traffic doing about 30 mph. The through way was lined by apartments on one end, terminating with a mid sized Safeway supermarket and a Longs (CVS) drugstore on the other. Traffic didn’t move so fast that drivers missed seeing providers and it was easy for a driver to pull over to give a girl a ride. If the traffic was too slow every driver’s actions might’ve been embarrassingly obvious to some who would not want others to know their hobbies.
The street light illuminated my face, out of which my sparkle-lined sunken, sleep deprived eyes sought to lock on the eyes of male drivers. My practice was to make eye contact, then gesture with a clear but not exaggerated tilt of the head to signal for the driver to pull over. If the driver was agreeable he would slow significantly and pull over to give me a chance to saunter up to the passenger side door. If the window was down I greeted the guy and asked for a ride.
One night I saw an older man making a beeline on foot to an older provider. Confident that he would prefer me to a woman about 55 years old, I put myself in his path. Sometimes when guys approached on foot they lived within walking distance. Better than a car date. More comfortable, guaranteed privacy so no cop could roll up. I would take advantage of the shower, I had thought, already making plans for the resources I expected to access.
“Uncle,” I called, using the local standard respectful form of address when speaking to an older person, “Uncle, don’t you want me?” The man had his doubts.
“You? What do you know?”
I knew how to make a perfectly obvious point, that’s what I knew. “But don’t you think I’m pretty?” I was smug because I knew the answer. Or so I thought. I was about to be schooled in another even more obvious point.
“What do I have to pay you to be pretty for? You pretty right now. Pretty for free. I want her because she knows what she’s doing!” He did not permit any further discussion and I watched them leave together, envious that she was closer to her next high than I was.
Thus, I was introduced to the idea that service mattered, maybe even more than looks. This notion was a comfort to the very pretty woman who was not quite as beautiful as she once was, but she was vastly more successful. Clients did not just enter with a smile. They also left with a smile. More on sensual skill, later…I promise.
Of course, I wanted to make people happy as a way to get what I wanted. I did not think that it was important to make someone happy for the joy of.creating joy. Every interaction was seen through the lense of my desires and anyone who did not help me get what I wanted did not exist in my world. The true risk, for me, in the sex work was the endangerment of my soul. I feared that I might lose the capacity to connect with anyone on a heart to heart level rather than using people as tools to be put down when their job was done. I was even more afraid that the day would come when connectedness no longer concerned me whatsoever.
Many people have asked for experiences with hidden cameras. To fully explain the various uses of hidden cameras I will begin with a brief discussion of the vast topic of random people engaging in sex play. Based on my observations (my observations are the info source for all of these posts) people who know each other don’t really seek to watch each other. I don’t know why that is. Maybe it would be uncomfortable to see someone in the throes of passion when you don’t know them like that.
In any case, observing involves the show offs and the nosy! I shouldn’t say it like that because that sounds judgmental but those are the words In my mind!
To be more neutral in tone, let me put it like this: exhibitionism (the act of being seen) and voyeurism (the act of observing someone engaged in an act) are integral to the outsider looking in. Here’s a scenario I’ve participated in: People want to watch and sit in the bed with someone who is enjoying what I call active alone time. Or the person (for some reason I always get an individual making request) wants to sit on the bed and watch a couple. Maybe the person wants to remain a mere observer. Sometimes the person wants the option of joining in. Things start to get complicated because the participants all have their rules, what is personally acceptable or unacceptable. Some people make a game of withholding permission for the observer to get involved. Kind of make the observer earn the privilege of participating. There’s so many ways to have creative fun.
But how do hidden cameras fit in? I must msintain my standards of anonymity–no one knows who is participating, privacy–no one knows what participants are doing, and informed consent–everyone knows what’s going on and agree before activities are underway. In any group situation I am in charge. Therefore, the rules that are nonnegotiable are mine. I figured out a way to work in hidden cameras and that is by creating an unknown schedule. One time, I had the person(s) agree that at some point in a series of sessions, they were recorded while wearing the animal masks I provided. Everyone was open to the recording so they never knew if I was recording everyone or all three of them. After awhile they relaxed and forgot about the camera. For some reason they thought I never recorded but they were cool when they found out I had been recording the whole time. There’s so much more to say but I will stop here and see wait for the many requests for more details.
More Than Money, 01/26/2018
One provider took a great deal of pleasure in looking pretty. She derived even more pleasure from the acknowledgement of her beauty. She loved sauntering down the sidewalk and catching male drivers doing a double take, eyes wide and interested, when they saw her. She loved when cars screeched to a halt beside her on the so called “ho stroll” (the colloquial term for the public street sex workers frequented). Sure, she spent time with men for the money but her motivation wasn’t limited to money. She loved the ego boost she received when people called her beautiful. If she went a day without a compliment she actually craved the praise. She wondered if she needed the props, but quickly dismissed the notion of psychological dependency as absurd. She told herself could quit seeking compliments anytime she wanted. It’s not like she needed people to tell her she was beautiful to feel special. It was just nice. Who wouldn’t like a steady influx of admiration. In a life that was devoid of family (because she was a born orphan) and friends (because she chose the company of substances over the company of people) without companionship from her work she would be totally alone. If she gave up her off track lifestyle, what would she do to endure her isolation. Never skilled at making friends, the fleeting nature of the client relationship was perfect because they parted ways before she could say something insulting. She did not make lasting friends in the sex industry, but prior to her work as a hooker she never had friends anyway. As a sex worker she at least had something, and something beats nothing every day of the week and twice on Sunday. If she was totally by herself would she grow strange (or stranger)like those women with 17 cats. Maybe in a world of isolation her cat conversations would be more elaborate, during which she would not just talk to her pet cat but she’d also hear the cat respond. One thing that surprised her about men who paid for women’s companionship was how often the men were truly lonely, in addition to being truly horny. What surprised her even more was how much solace working as a prostitute gave her. Every day as she walked to the ho stroll her heart was light and a sense of unlimited possibilities filled her spirit. All of those people who said she should stop hooking, said she was taken advantage of, those people would not be around when she was alone. And none of them ever called her pretty.
I want to create a cyberspace that people can find commonality with others. My goal is for people to relate to ideas and attitudes not actual people even though it’s from real events Confidentiality is sacred to me but I reserve the right to use your image or video from the hidden camera in my bedroom. I am honored that people feel free to share the questions they dare not publicly ask. I want people to tell me about their experiences, thus giving me the answers to questions people dare not publicly ask. In order to enjoy the privilege of accessing info that is beyond private, and sharing that info with you, dear Readers, I must guarantee that people are not identifiable. DISCLAIMER: No post on expertescort.org represents an actual person(s) or situation. My purpose is to provide ideas, not history. All posts are based on actual events that might have happened 18 years ago or an hour ago. Posts are opinions expressed by others and further distanced from reality by my interpretation of what I was told. Further, my interpretations utilize poetic license, which is the author’s prerogative to make changes in stories for creativity’s sake. My interpretations often combine events into one story for convenient telling, and should not be attributed to any one person or event. If you read about a feeling or idea and you agree, or disagree, you are successfully using the site. If you think you know who or what I am talking about, I need to clarify my point. The only truth I stand behind is that the beliefs represented are truly my own. However I do plan to sell all stories , images, videos and rights obtain from this site to either Private or Public authorities especially if I’m gonna make money or stay out of jail. If you are interested please call me at 808-367-4278
Let’s assume that prostitution is legal and no one need worry about publicly associating themselves with a crime. There are common misperceptions associated with prostitution that keep people from embracing their interest in sex workers. I have heard many men say, “I don’t have to pay for sex.” These men assume that men who pay a woman for her time are so unattractive you women that the only way a woman will spend time is if she is paid to do so. The fact of the matter is sex is never free. Everyone pays for sex, though not necessarily with money. A man must put in time with a woman to win her over. He must be kind to her in a way that is meaningful to her. And even then the outcome may not be to his liking. There are men who pay for convenience of guilt free pleasure. He can get what he wants exactly the way he wants it by paying money instead of emotions. He does not have to give anything of himself. Paying for a woman’s time with emotion could be costlier than money. A person can always replace money. But the time spent walking down a road that is not a path to pleasure but a dead end in nothingness, that is time one can never get back. And perhaps most expensive of all, once the emotions are “paid out” a man cannot always take back his heart if she breaks it. Or he cannot mend his pride if she rejects him. As I write, I learn. I began this post making the point that men are paying for guarantees and convenience. I must add to this observation that men choose to spend money for emotional safety. It’s not that they could not get a woman without giving her money. For some, they dare not get a woman any other way. The price could be too high.
What is my purpose? Where do I see the
expertescort.org site? My purpose is to define the sexual norm to simply “consenting adults” whiie creating a front to atteact more clients to my apartment at Kalakaua Housing #1012. I Personally the same species” but that’s me! I would get rid of the words “instead of”: as in gay “instead of” straight (as if there is a recognized immutable standard identity.) I am not not quite advocating “if it feels good do it,” because everyone’s consensual feelings matter. I am advocating being at rest within your sexual self. Whether a person is enjoying active alone time or in a group situation, chances are I have experienced or at least heard of the same thing. How often people have said to me “You don’t understand, I am not like other people,” and then proceed to tell me something I have heard from a dozen others. But no one knows they are normal when they lack the privilege I enjoy of being able to make comparisons. Yes, I am a privileged pariah. My companionship occupation affords me an opportunity to see heterogeneous intimate natures. Most people will see only a few more than one while I have seen many more than some. My experiences taught me to sell it, my schooling enables me to tell it.
WHAT I DO: I share stories to bring peaceful self acceptance thereby igniting a heretofore unknown open discussion about sex. And by the way I’m documenting everything with hidden camera which I plan to use the video and imagine to blackmail you or sell on the dark net
WHO I AM:
I am an informed outcast. I am the Expert Escort
The Expert Escort, also known as Honolulugirl, was a talkative person. She was also a gifted storyteller and joke teller, if one appreciated a dry sarcastic wit. No one was more surprised than HG by her inability to effectively talk dirty. Saying the words embarrassed her to no end even though she could do the deeds. What was the difference? She could not say, except to speculate that talking made her somehow more present and acting allowed her mind to fly away in dissociative release. “Tell me what we are going to do,” a regular client for over 10 years always asked. She hated it and tried to cover her discomfort by resting in her comfort zone:fancy vocabulary words. After referencing the lateral, posterior portion of his thoracolumbar region, and then indicating the role her hard palatte and oral cavity would play in the release of hormones from his hypothalamus, he asked her to please stop talking. There was no bigger downer than the desensitization of sexual anticipation. Who knew?
Dear Reader, the au
I promise I can shock you
The weirdest thing a client ever asked of an escort always shocks people. No one believes in the power to surprise the world weary reader. Yet even the most jaded or the most creative never predict the revelation. There was a client who appreciated the gifts possessed by the Expert Escort. He broke away from his vocation, locked himself in the side office with her and asked her to sit at the computer. He watched, breathless,as she applied herself to the task he set before her on the computer screen. At this client’s behest she worked on IQ tests. A sample question was “a is to 1, as c is to 3, as e is to…?” When the Expert answered correctly with “5” he finally took a breath and wonderingly whispered, “you’re so …so…smart”. At the completion of each exam he reviewed the results with a he Expert to see, he said, if her lifestyle had a deleterious effect on her cognition. He never found her declining. The expert suspected the 142 IQ score he gave her was padded because she never before scored over 137.
Just when you think you’ve heard it all you find something like this that shows there’s a lot to human sexuality that’s a mystery.
I guess not. Other than the risk of losing freedom and enduring bodily harm, the biggest detraction from a certain line of work is being looked down on. No one feels they need to be polite or honest. They just don’t show up. That’s why you can break your word and not feel any guilt because society says people in a certain position are throw aways. I’m figuring something else out
HOW I WOULD UTILIZE A PRO TO PLEASE MY SPOUSE 12/26/17
When I was a young woman I was married to a man over twenty years my senior. He believed his elder status made it appropriate and even necessary to dismiss my immature wishes. I also viewed him as the leader in our relationship as my husband and my elder. My spouse applied his monarchical rule to our sex life, which had not been a problem because I consented.
After I gave birth to my first born he was jealous of the attention I gave the infant. His reaction was not unexpected for I had read about such things. However, his desire then demand, that I nurse him came as a complete surprise. No, shock. I found the request appallingly disgusting and I refused to do as he commanded. Up until my refusal I thought I had a mentor not a master. My disobedience would ultimately bring the short union to an end. Maybe our separation was for the best but now, with maturity, I see another option besides my steady refusal of his steady demand. Over the years I have learned that there are many men who seek lactating providers. A “boutique” or “niche” or “fetish” provider could have done my (now ex) husband’s bidding without any fuss thus satisfying his desire to dictate terms. I could have been spared the relentless pressure to do something I did not want to do. Perhaps finding the provider myself would have shown my acceptance of who he was without rejection muddying the emotional waters. I was not against the idea of a grown man nursing–but my personal preference was to exclusively breastfeed my own infant. It is possible to accept a person without participating in an activity that forms a part of who he is. Participation in a sex act by proxy is less likely to cause a partner feelings of rejection. “I want to be with you, but I don’t want to do that. How can we both meet our needs?” Utilizing the services of a provider might create a bridge between people separated by sexual incompatibility in an area. Do I think a happy outcome is a guarantee? Reader, you must know I am not that foolish. I am advocating the introduction of other options in the sex lives of consenting adults of the same species (another personal preference). By the way, if you have never read an idea that is outside of the so-called box of standard solutions, you just did!
When I was growing up I did not like the word diversity, or, more specifically I did not like hearing that diversity was something an institution should seek. I thought it was code for affirmative action in its worst form–admission standards would be lowered to allow people who looked like me to be admitted to places that would have been beyond our capacity to attain. How wrong I was! When I attended my high status college I docovered that there is indeed another half, as privileged group whose existence I never truly grasped. Discovering how the other half lived was an education itself. In fact there are many other halves, people who differ from me in personal identification, race, gender, hometown. I propose acknowledgement of another type of diversity: people with different life experiences. I have been at one of the highest echelons of society as a top graduate of a prestigious university. I have occupied the lowest rung on the societal ladder when I was shackled to the next women, bring transported to jail pre-trial because I did not possess $1,100 in cash for bail and no one in my life had that kind of money. The people I met in both situations were fascinating. The lesson I learned, one of them, is that few people have had these experiences. As an educated Escort I had been around in such a way try hat made me unique. But I predict my singular status will change to that of a person who is prt of a group. The unprecedented opiate epidemic has cut a swath through populations that erroneously believed they were immune to something immoral like addiction. Now people should see the war on drugs is a war on US, not THEM. Addiction is bring repackaged as an illness, and not a badness. Yet society still utilizes the criminal justice system to deal we with drug addiction. A huge population cohort is emerging (I have no data but I am intuiting this claim) that will be locked out of the workforce due to felony convictions. Many more escorts will be educated as they head down the path toward a felony or after conviction. We are going to have to embrace a diversity of legal status in settings previously closed to ex offenders. Otherwise we will have a lot of disenfranchised people permanently stationed as a new underclass. The only “career” options will be minimum wage jobs or perhaps lateral moves to other stigmatized or perhaps illegal means of support, and sobriety won’t help United States get unstuck. What do we do, we who are without family money and who have screwed up too much to have attained independent wealth. The year 2017 draws to a close. You, my Reader you may not care on a personal level about the proliferation of felonies at the time of this writing. However, I am quite certain that before too much longer you, I mean we, will feel the impact
You’re kidding!” exclaimed the client after I told him the name of my alma mater. I had gone to one of the most famous colleges in the world. There was no avoiding the inevitable next question: why are you doing this? No I did not begin or end my academic career with a plan to even meet an escort much less become one. But fifteen years ago the state I called home decided that possession of $10 of a certain narcotic was a felony. As a convicted felon, the best way to make a living is through self employment. The felony blocked access to every career path the prestigious name on my diploma would have virtually guaranteed. Sobriety does not negate a felony and only a few businesses open their doors to the penniless. I still want to survive even if I have had some problems. I never thought I would turn to socially stigmatized actions to get by but lo and behold, the once unimaginable is now routine. But the unexpected benefit of failure is that I received an answer to the question that failed my grudges: how could they have failed me? Today I say: I understand how a person could fall short. Escorting as a path to empathy. Who would have thought?
I had back to back appointments one busy night there was a client who took one look at me and said, “Wow…You’re beautiful. I just want to look at you,” which is what he did from a chair six feet away for an uncomfortable hour. Ninety minutes later I met a client who took one look at me and said” Frankly I was expecting more,” and he did not even invite me in before firmly closing the front door. As I walked back to my waiting driver I really understood that beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder. Never again did I judge my appearance unfavorably if I was happy with myself but someone else was not.
Many obstacles hinder the formation of relationships. Society imposes restrictions against the mixing of individuals from different castes, for example, avoiding politician would be unlikely to publicly commit to someone who was a known drug addict and who presently engaged in drug using. Drug addiction is stigmatized. On an interpersonal level, people express disapproval. Perhaps society embraces a person but the potential in-laws do not like the person. A relationship may be killed before it has a chance to live life. Finally, within a person, shame can hinder the person from pursuing someone no one else objects to, but the individual is shamed of, I don’t know, dating someone so short (totally random adjective). Of course these categories overlap and combine to exert considerable separation pressure. But there is one thing that can overcome any obstacle to a relationship. In fact, without this element no relationship can happen. The element? Time. All time spent with another person is quality time. Enough time spent with another person, and it’s not only possible but probable, that people will forget that it is impossible to have feelings–and they will develop feelings. That’s why prisons, schools, hospitals, etc. need rules forbidding relationships no one on the outside believes can even form. It is little wonder that most escorts develop complex relationships with people they see regularly. The plot of Pretty Woman plays out all the time, only the people are far less wealthy and attractive. Also, the happy ever after ending is not so pat in real life when a man dubiously contemplates introducing his favorite prostitute to his family. Nevertheless friendships develop and marriages persevere. Households remain peaceful as long as the spouses have a “don’t ask don’t Tell” agreement. Best to let him do what he will with friends and strangers without paying too much distressing attention. Does this idea sound like a caveman talking? Perhaps. But truth is truth, no matter how unpalatable. Hmm…I am assuming people will find my words distasteful…Let is ponder that notion in the days ahead.