Salomé Balthus

To love an intelligent woman is a pederast's pleasure. — Charles Baudelaire
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Salomé Balthus

Salomé Balthus

Writer

 

Languages: German, English, French, Italian

Height: 156 cm

Shoes: 35,5

Figure: Petite

Eyes: Glacial ice

Skin: Honey gold

Hair: Noisette

Parfume: Veilleur de Nuit, Serge Lutens

Favorite drink: Champagner Ruinart Rosé

Favourite dish: The dessert

Favourite restaurant: Grill Royal

Salomé Balthus

Salomé Balthus

Writer

 

Languages: German, English, French, Italian

Height: 156 cm

Shoes: 35,5

Figure: Petite

Eyes: Glacial ice

Skin: Honey gold

Hair: Noisette

Parfume: Veilleur de Nuit, Serge Lutens

Favorite drink: Champagner Ruinart Rosé

Favourite dish: The dessert

Favourite restaurant: Grill Royal

 

All good spirits should warn you against this nymphet, for you might become addicted to her. Petite like a doll, this creature stands in front of you and looks up to you batting her eyelashes. This by itself is a perverse situation, albeit maybe only to the true connoisseur’s eye. Salomé is an expert in erotic secrets and imagination. She loves playing the lead role in her semi-legal phantasies, with her capricious presence and a natural ease that leaves little doubt about how much she loves being in her own world. You can either follow her to that place, if you want, or you just listen to the girl and enjoy the show. However, be cautious: Even if Salomé’s depraved ideas makes you go crazy with desire; her body is vulnerable and it needs to be handled with tender care.

 

Salomé Balthus about herself.

Oh excuse me; did I make you wait a few minutes? But perhaps you had already been waiting for me for an eternity! For my part, I will be confiding as if we were old friends. I will snuggle up against you, supple and soft. Do you actually know, what you are getting yourself into? This is only the beginning! My strong imagination is a sweet drug that blurs the boundaries between phantasy and the reality of your unconfessed desires. It is only a game, though: the things we whisper to one another and the things you will do with me later on; in the lightness of this game we are beyond good and evil.

Selling love

When people say people like me sell love, they touch upon an interesting linguistic ‘blunder’. After all, love is not buyable, and the fact that it can’t be bought is perhaps the inner contradiction of prostitution…

Party times

One should not be deceived by ambitious power politics and an overbearing desire for pleasure; both are symptoms of the blackest depression. Instead of striving to win a kingdom of heaven through religious zeal or a place in history through heroic deeds, all that remains is the modest desire to pass their earthly existence in lust: life as “nothing but the fattest possible last meal”

Against violence

The conditions under which women are always in danger of being considered as a whore, whether she wants to or not, are already in place before any decision can be made. The only choice that is left is to cower in shame and to assume a role characterised by an ever-insufficient humility – or to break with the rules. Prostitution as a result is the litmus test of feminism. Violence against women is violence against whores. Whether feminism is actually worthy of its name is ultimately decided by the question whether it is also the feminism of whores.

Sacrifice yourselves

My new life as a lobby whore, or how an honourable gentleman kindly asked me to relinquish my civil liberties. #respectsexwork is something.

War on the shacks

There once was a young man. By young I mean a member of my own generation. Born a few months before me. Same country, same time. The difference: I am a sex worker, he can afford sex work. The distribution of power is clear. Or not?

Behaving Oneself

I don’t want to belong. I don’t want respect. I don’t want to be accepted, nor proper, nor fitting. I want the resentment, the hate of all who say of themselves they are normal.
After all most are suspicious. One is vigilant against participating in something only because everyone else is. A banal insight, really, anything but creative, the moral of every other great novel. Everyone dies for themselves alone. Nonetheless, people don’t get it into their heads that they’re alone, transcendentally lonely, solo, and can’t talk themselves out of it by saying they’re only doing what everybody does, that they’re adapting to the circumstances.

That time I danced with Judith Butler

I queued up to Butler’s podium. When it was my turn I didn’t ask her about her theories. I asked her:“Dou you dare to dance?”An enchantingly embarrassing smile flashed across her face. There were so many waiting their turn in line. I should just dance alone.“It’s a party, isn’t it?”What a diplomatic response. My feeling: she was in a funk. It must have come as a horrid surprise for her to realize what was going on here: the enemy was leading her into temptation.

Abolitionism is hypocrisy

What peeves me most about the abolitionists is their hypocrisy. No, they don’t hate sex workers. They just don’t believe that they exist. Prostitutes are for them, namely, not women who work, but rather women who are wronged with violence. In us they see victims, not acting subjects. That they themselves are doing violence to us which they ascribe to the patriarchy, they do not see.No, they don’t want to criminalize us. Only our clients. They don’t want to take away our jobs. They just don’t want anybody to pay us for what we do.No, they don’t hate foreigners. They just don’t want them in their city, in their country.

Beeing a happy hooker

The door closes behind me. I am alone in the long corridor of an elegant hotel. It’s the middle of the night; guests are sleeping behind monotonous hotel room doors. In the elevator, a quick glance in the mirror – my hair is wet, my eye make-up is smudged, but my skin is glowing, my cheeks are rosy after sex and I feel pretty. I believe I never look as good as I do after some hours of fruitful sex.

Lolita, revisited

Humbert is in reality not a nymphet-lover. He rather despises Lolita because her nature is foreign to him.
A nymphet: a little or pre-pubescent girl who acts like a woman towards men, who because of this one may not treat like a woman because in doing so, in using her as a ready-made woman, you ruin her. The nymphet’s intention to please is diffuse. She doesn’t really know what this triggers in a man’s body. She wants to find out but in the next instant she doesn’t, being instead interested in something entirely different. Nymphets do not systematically pursue a particular goal. They play. They play with adults and assume that adults are only playing.