Why intercourse with a hetaera is as addictive as heroin
Bigoted wives
You can’t blame bigoted women for refusing to show solidarity with whores. When opponents of prostitution claim that they only want to punish unfaithful men, this is only half the truth. In a certain Christian middle-class milieu, where women’s only means of power against the poverty trap of marriage and motherhood is to deny men the only resource they have at their disposal – sex in marriage, the availability of love for sale in the battle of the sexes is a war crime.
It’s not that we whores don’t realise this. It’s the secret satisfaction of our stigmatisation.
What happens to a man who pays a hetaera? Pays her and is not disappointed? Is so taken with her that he wants to meet her again? Cue life-chan-ging sex. The somnambulistic sexual sophistication of a woman who has already been trained on hundreds of male bodies can hardly be compared with the shameful amateurishness of most women, who begin to fear for their reputation from the fifth serial monogamous relationship onwards. No wonder vile voices from the women’s union insinuate that we are just worn-out, emotionally dead objects, or discredit us with the stigma of venereal diseases in order to keep their men away from us. Recently, the law is supposed to take up their cudgels with the glorious idea of punishing punters.
Wicked triangles
Every customer relationship of a hetaera is a triangular relationship. Either with his partner, or with the future women who will have to endure the comparison with the professional love artists. When a young man has his first experience with a hetaera, he has no idea how much she will spoil him for all his future relationships with women.
Easy availability (money provided), combined with the elimination of emotional labour – the so-called art of seduction, because this miracle being does not confront him with any emotional needs. He is flattered, he is the centre of attention, he can do practically nothing wrong. What’s more, the woman is so beautiful and capricious thanks to the secrets of the most refined grooming, clothing and other such important details. Apart from any fair competition with women who do not regard their bodies as capital and would never spend such sums and so much time on their bodies. He gets used to a certain standard, becomes a sensitive gourmet. He receives attention, devotion and sex for his money alone, like a commodity. Nevertheless, he falls prey to the seductive fallacy that it is up to him alone that this woman – or rather, the women – lie at his feet.
Many bitter things have to happen to him so that he can once again be satisfied with such a nice-normal, perhaps inconspicuous, but honestly devoted woman.
And then there are the couples who buy sex together with a hetaera. A harmless adventure, or so they think. In fact, these are the dates that are most often cancelled spontaneously. Probably due to the keen instinct of a loving woman. If this doesn’t happen, such a menage-à-trois can easily end in a silent or screaming disaster. Women who, upon experiencing what they themselves have agreed to, realise what a mistake they have made.
My guideline for such dates is therefore to concentrate solely and exclusively on the woman, to turn it into lesbian life porn for the man who has been left behind. This is the only way to avoid disaster.
Some wives think they can maintain control over their husbands and their jealousy by pre-empting their breach of faith. Encouraging them to go to a whore themselves. And in doing so, they think they are making themselves accomplices. In fact, they always underestimate the power of intimacy between two strangers. And the feeling of freedom for the man who shares his intimacy with the equally discreet and understanding whore, to whom he can say anything that could compromise him in front of his partner or in their mutual circle of friends. The intimacy with a whore is unrivalled. Within hours, she will learn more about this man than his wife, precisely because this knowledge has no social consequences for her. The wife who allows her husband to go to a whore – in order to be the addressee, the one he is actually thinking of, the one he should be grateful to and tell about later – must be prepared to spend far more than she has calculated in advance (the thrifty housewife!).
Jealousy is always right
Jealousy is always right. It is the most embarrassing of all feelings, and it cannot be erased with liberal views. This is the lie behind the so-called poly-amoury, the model of the open relationship, the partnership of three or more.
When new-fangled relationship guides raise their fingers in warning and emphasise: Loving does not mean owning! You can’t own a person, only if you set them free will they come back to you, etc., the usual kitsch, they miss the point. It is love that possesses you, as a possessed person. It’s about the tragic loss of inner freedom, of self-determination, through love. Regardless of whether the lover only receives a smile, a kiss, or whether he receives the body of his beloved with skin and hair, again and again: he remains dependent on the love he craves. She will never be a resource at his disposal after he has received her testimonies. She is in control of him, his desire robs him of his freedom, and thus his life, while he is still alive. He no longer belongs to himself. Jealousy is such a humiliating feeling because it proves his dependence, proves to him that he is an addict, a morphinist, a junkie. Love can be a drug, just as dangerous as heroin – not only for the junkie, by the way, but also for the dealer. This kind of love is only a hair’s breadth away from hatred. From a desire for revenge and murder. Murder out of frustrated expectations of love, out of rebellion against this powerlessness, the humiliation that love means. Hatred of love, hatred of women. Femicide, or relationship tragedies, as the tabloid press calls them. But even the death of the beloved cannot give freedom back to the lover.
So many works of art deal with romantic love because this love is something rare. Something that does not occur in every life. Love is always extraordinary. We usually only confuse it with the much more common form, sympathy and loving affection, which leads to two people coming together. Such tender affections are more compatible with human beings than romantic love. This extreme feeling, for which we have no other name than the commonplace. Such love is a toxic suffering, a severe crisis. It is never a bond, never a community of souls. One suffers from one’s love alone. Even if the object of our passion is warmly connected to us in every compatible sympathy. Even if we hold this object in our arms, possess it sexually. We are as lonely in love as we are in death. We can also suffer namelessly, insatiably and misunderstood in our love for our own faithful spouse. Every hetaera has experienced first-hand the wrathful suffering of these love fools, whose thirst and hunger cannot be quenched even by the most violent, enduring acts of lust. The agony of Tantalus (so that even the absent-minded Professor Unrat understands).
Sublimate yourselves!
Customers who are in love with a hetaera allow themselves to be humiliated by her. They offer her the sacrifice of their money, but then withdraw it and instead brazenly come along with the offering of their unwanted emotions. Money and property seem far too trivial to them compared to their self, their personal freedom – both of which they can no longer freely dispose of. They don’t offer them to us, they rather want to get them back. Suitors in love do not want to love. They want to be loved. They want power over the beautiful tyrant who has power over them. My undifferentiatedness, my dismissive coolness, which forces such intrusiveness on me, seems cruel. I know how cruel it is. I have been unhappily in love often enough myself.
But I am not cruel. It is cruel: human life. This existence between eternally unquenchable longing and the awareness of the finite nature of life. How could this yawning void be bridged by the flimsy gauze veil of my feigned love? Which can never be enough anyway. Which does not satisfy the longing, the dependence, but only deepens it. The more I pretend for his sake, the more I allow, the more I give myself up, the more I suppress my aversion in order to please the love fool, the more he will demand, the greater his dependence on me will become. I have a dangerous job. I have a few former clients, stalkers, who I think could one day become my murderers – to whom I would like to say, rolling my eyes, just before he does it, should I still have the opportunity: Don’t stare so romantically!
Romantic love cannot be lived. It demands that we offer our entire banal existence to it as a burnt offering. It demands that we die for it – or kill the love within us. A tough battle for life and the right to live. We survive love like a serious illness from which we emerge changed. If you are lucky, this struggle leaves you inspired and with compassion for this object of your former love, which caused this crisis through no fault of your own. Love takes us beyond the limits of our natural being. It points to a higher existence that we can never fulfil. That is why art, which is so similar to it, has consecrated itself to it. Sometimes love is chronic. Then nothing helps! Only an artist can imagine Tantalus as a happy person who does not strive for satisfaction and tranquillity, but for eternal enthusiasm, eternal longing – the principle of romanticism. Romantic love is only perfect if it remains unfulfilled. Sublimate yourselves! Art is the only answer to love and death – but what a pity: artists, unfortunately, are usually too poor to be considered as customers for a hetaera!