Chapter 26

Sometimes people kind of wonder where I picked up a lot of things.  Especially people who see me as hick jock with a payday ass.  Actually, I didn’t just “major in varsity” at school.  I took French because I thought it was cool and worldly and a galaxy far, far away from Gritville.  Then I got caught up in the poetry and short fiction and ended up majoring in lit, becoming a reader.  I should have majored in something more lucrative, but I figured it didn’t matter because I had the world by the balls.  Kind of literally, as it turned out. And also because it’s all the same, in a way.  You can learn it all really fast and easy and never really have to keep anything together more than one class year.  I didn’t get all that involved with it.

I think that’s why my little sis Bethany amazed them all by blowing out.  Little Miss Child Bride of Jesus turning into Notre Dame du Bong ‘Ho.   She thought it mattered.  Her whole life she didn’t so much pour herself into things, she let them pour into her.  At some point it flipped her off the tracks.  I just turned in the papers, recited the stuff I read the night before, and went to practice.

But what those people I mentioned way back there didn’t really get is that I learned from men.  Always have, even back when I’d be fourteen and hanging out with some guys learning how to tune a six pack carburetor  setup because I wanted to learn something and he wanted to get into my cutoffs.  Higher education, to me, has been learning from being around older, more experienced men.  That’s my idea of a great time, in many ways: sitting in some café or bistro or boat with a guy, listening to him explaining stuff to me.  And most men have a great time sitting there spieling their line of work to an attentive young babe.  I learned about Japanese literature from men.  Finance (a lot).  Politics.  The gears and ghosts of the way the world runs, and the “finer things in life”.  Power poker.

The guy across the table has money, or I wouldn’t  be there with him.  But more that, he has some degree of power or accomplishment, or he couldn’t pull off being seen with me.  I’m sure that sounds arrogant or obtuse, but it’s true.  Escorts really are escorts in many cases.  Femme bling to be seen with, like tooling up in an S Class Mercedes.  See, I say “escort” and people think  “syn: whore”, but there’s more to it than that.  Maybe they see ads on the internet or those magazines that are always at bus stops: some hot number presenting her butt in the air and hourly rates in all caps.  But for a lot of us, and I think I could say the top tier, it’s kind of like being an American geisha.  Without having to learn flower arranging and tea and koto playing and obsessive suicide protocols and what all.  Entertainers of men, at all levels.  All cats are alike in the dark, as they say.  But not when you’re having lunch with potential producers or schmoozing a reception or trying to impress investors.  Richard Gere didn’t hire Julia Roberts for the nookie.

Recently one of those internet acronyms has emerged that tells a lot.  GFE.  “Girlfriend Experience.  Are you really looking for an hour in a hotel room to clean your pipes?

Or is your idea of “girl” somebody you take to dinner and out on the town and is funny and kissy and affectionate and makes you feel good like your best date in high school?  Or your fantasy date with a Bond Girl, or whatever?  Wouldn’t it be great to have a girlfriend who’s beautiful and dressed to kill and makes other guys envious when she snuggles up and laughs at your jokes and is always lovey and sweet and never makes demands or puts you down and tries to get you to marry her or give her something?   What if you could afford to have that when you want it, but not have to put up with it when you don’t want?  Would you pay for that experience?  How much?  Drop me a line.  Come set a spell.  🙂

At some level, escorting can become what the word literally says: not rent-a-pussy, but full-spectrum entertainment for men.  Men whom it pays to listen to.  In more ways than one.  A lot of women could really advance their own understanding of the world by just shutting up about themselves and paying attention to what men really have to say.

So I’ve managed to get a world-class education that paid for itself.  Lucky me.  But what I’m saying here goes further and wider than that.

Like most good-looking women with brains, I’ve run into the idea that you can’t have both.  And you can’t be an athlete and also smart.  Well, you can.  Both.

But in fact, with girls it’s more than just statistics.  Contrary to popular stereotypes, hot girls learn more and get smarter because of their looks.  Not always. There’s truth to the idea of “with tits like that, nobody is going to argue with you,”  but that’s not necessarily the big picture.

If you were paying attention, you might have noticed that the hotter girls in your school, which meant “faster developing” at certain grade levels, were more sophisticated, more mature, seemed to be more acquainted with the world you were trying to grow up into.  There’s reasons for that.  For one thing, they went out with older guys.  The average fourteen year-old was still in junior high, but the cuter ones might very well be out in cars, running around to places beyond that experience.  Getting on a few years, they’d be dating college guys, military guys.  They’d be getting exposed to a lot more of what’s going on, and learning things they don’t pass out in school.

Move up a few more years and the pretty girls with nice bodies are dating the bosses, running with a more moneyed crowd, getting into places they wouldn’t be seeing if they weren’t attractive.

It’s well-known fact that younger siblings are smarter and more sophisticated.   They pick things up from older sisters and brothers.  This is something like that, but selective.  And, I have to say, it’s learning that is not only “older”, and not only “more money to take you out”, but also it’s man world stuff.  And that makes a big difference. For one thing, it’s different, so it’s more learning.  But it also can be more about stuff that can matter.  Maybe working on cars doesn’t matter as much as what your big sister’s friends talk about, but once you get to college and work, what the guys know and think and care about becomes important to you.

There’s a saying, “Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go everywhere.”  And that applies to this.  Or course, somebody could be reading this and saying,  “She’s talking about pretty little hussies getting corrupted and stepping down the path towards Ho’ Hell  Hotel.”   And that can happen, I’ll witness to that.  But what I’m saying isn’t all about sex and sin.  Being desirable leads young women, fairly or not, towards exposure and information that’s not as easily available to their less-endowed peers.

And like any other advantage that life hands you, you can capitalize on it or let it eat you up and spit you out.    The point I’m making here,  jocks and hotties aren’t necessarily the dummies folks might want to make us out to be.