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Huspimps and other hilariously unfunny tales of adultery
This week, dear reader, I coined a new word. All by myself.
*(But first, a disclaimer — I know women can find themselves in difficult circumstances due to things beyond their control. This piece is in no way meant to be anti-sex worker or to demean anyone. I am fully empathetic to the traps that life or a manipulative husband can throw up. All I would ever ask is that honesty, up front, is the best policy.)*
“Huspimp.”
More details to follow.
Firstly, though, let me explain yet another landmine hiding under the already treacherous road trodden by men seeking out of network sex.
Anyone familiar with the territory already knows, or should know, if they’ve been paying attention to the excellent advice of MonalisaSmiled or Teresa J Conway 🧚🏻♀️ here in these pages, about the woeful ratios, about ghosting, about secret money stashes, “burner” credit cards, liars, the list goes on.
“Affairing is not for weak hearts,” Monalisa so eloquently warns. And she’d know. And she’s absolutely right.
So you’ve done your due diligence. Cleaned up your shoddy profile, you’ve worked on your intro messages, got rid of the dick pics (yes, dude, get rid of them) and your Ashley Madison or r/naughtyfromneglect game is on point.
One day, the planets align and a P A/P (Potential Affair Partner) appears. Their profile sounds great. All the right boxes are ticked. Hell, she even has some similar sexual….interests as you. Could she be real? Contact is made. Credits are burned. Messages are exchanged. She definitely seems interested.
“Wow! Finally! I might actually be going to get laid….” you’re thinking. Then….
Boom!
Then the next message contains the landmine you had no idea was buried under the road, and it explodes in your face.
“I need to be honest with you. You’ll have to pay me for sex.”
Wait. You fucking what?
“Pay you?” Are you off your tiny head? Pay you?
The first time it happened, I reported her to the admins, and next day her profile was gone. Nowhere. But I was still frustrated.
Years of a DB. The gut wrenching choices one makes to decide to seek out of network affection & emotional connection. If she’d been up front, told me right from the start what her arrangements were, I could have backed out then. But burning expensive credits and getting my hopes up that there might be someone genuinely interested in me, only to find out it was purely business, and she couldn’t care less about my circumstances? Well, that hurts.
I know. Men, especially cheating men, aren’t supposed to have feelings, right? I got news for you. We, or at least I, do.
A month or so later, the next one was even fucking better.
“So, you’ll have to meet my husband first. He approves all my meets. He’ll explain how much……”
Girl, go buy yourself a gold mini skirt & stand on a street corner. You seriously think I’m
(1) going to be fucking vetted by your Huspimp (boom, reader, boom!)
and
(2) going to part with a single dollar to fuck you?
You’re kidding yourself.
I’m already down for paying for the coffees for our first meet, the room, dinner, drinks, transport, lubes, pretty much everything else required. And I have absolutely no problem with any of that. I’m signed up for the whole nine yards, baby. I’m fully committed and anyone who finds me desirable, who wants to get naked and personal with me absolutely deserves to be spoilt in any way I can. And spoil her I will.
But you, babe, think I’m paying you? Let’s be frank. So I was straight forward.
I replied with all of the above, plus. What was the plus, I hear you, dear reader, ask?
The plus was this line -
“I’m up for all that plus the paper bag to put over my head so I don’t have to look at your face while I’m fucking you? No fucking thanks. Hope you and your pimp husband both get crabs.”
Yeah, I know. Cheap shot, right? Truth was she wasn’t that ugly. But I was so frustrated I couldn’t resist.
Hopes built up. The excitement of “Blah blah has sent you a message” in my shady inbox. The back and forward messaging getting more and more positive and exciting. Risks taken with exchanging photos, providing other options of communication, the quiet optimism you shouldn’t feel but always do. Bam! Gone in a second of second rate prostitutive deception.
As if the whole soul destroying, demeaning, frustrating, heart breaking process isn’t bad enough, now these people think they can shake me down?
I get it. Life’s tough. There’s bills to pay. In so many ways I wish I could help. Just don’t lead a guy into a honeytrap. That really is low. There’s probably lots of guys who will pay. Just tell them, first. Don’t be deceptive & lead them on to thinking you actually find him attractive and worthy of AP status, only to drop the invoice at the last stage.
This article has been edited after reflection on advice supplied by other writers & readers. I appreciate their feedback, and acknowledge that I may have been too…..forceful….. in my language. You’ll get used to that, Dear Reader. My heart decorates my sleeve quite regularly. Dead Bedrooms can do that. Sometimes that’s a good thing, sometimes maybe not so much. Sometimes my sense of humor might not translate to the written as well as it should. One thing to be sure of? If I write it, then I passionately fucking feel it.
And I absolutely do not enjoy being treated like a slavering desperado who can be led along by the semi erect cock into making someone some quick bucks. So however you justify it to yourselves, it’s still prostitution, and just like I wrote about “Open Relationships,” makes the already treacherous waters of affairing for men even murkier.
Believe or not, some of us are seeking so much more from an affair than sex.
Fuck, Bedswerver!!! Really? There’s men who are also seeking affection, attention, and feeling appreciated?!?!?
Men who have emotional needs to be met alongside the sexual neglect they’re suffering? And that those emotional needs include forming genuine connection, of mind and spirit, to a kindred soul?
Yep. Some of us do.
That’s the key point, Dear Reader. If I just wanted to fuck someone super attractive, and hotly compliant to making it a nice experience, I’d happily hire an escort. Two minutes searching online and I can hook up with, for instance, a stunning lady half my age, and another equally pretty woman who has some….interesting….interests.
But two hours later, is she sending me texts? Do I get to ask her how her day was a week later? Do we get to share coffee and heartfelt conversation in two weeks? Late night messages to prompt mutual sweet dreams?
None of it.
So yes, transactional sex is a thing. Fuck, I’ve even been told about some guy who “has someone in every country he does business in, some paid, some not….”
Great. Thanks for telling me that. But you’ve missed the important info in that enlightening message, my friend. What’s his home address? I want to meet his wife……
As I began: No problem, whatsoever, with sex work, sex workers, and complete sympathy for any woman who has no other options. I’m as Left as they get. Coerced sex work is a failure of Government. Sex work by choice is fucking joyous. I’m all for it. In fact I’m open to offers…..
