I don’t think prostituting oneself is cheating in the sense that, at least I would think, you aren’t getting people, who would think that they didn’t have to pay to have sex with you.

I have never been with a prostitute, but I would think the woman is “better than” the man having to fork out the money to attract her.

But, then I realize the service inherent in selling one’s body.

There is a plateau of beauty, a place, where a man looks at a woman, almost any woman, and finds her his opposite, the key ingredient to an intimacy he can’t find alone.

It’s like women are the answer or at least the meaning or reason why any man moves through space or time.

You see us and we see you, like beams of light in an otherwise dark room.

You are our meaning of life.

In that sense, I can understand your point.

It’s like two equals, not really sharing sex, but paying for the chance to be equal to what we desire.

I hear your voice in these words.

I don’t even need to know what you look like.

I just know that you have taken command of us.

You are the Tinder date that waits in a cafe, who will say yes, and let me be.

I will tell you exactly what I am feeling.

Who I am and it will be good enough.

I can truly rest in your arms, because I am tired.

I am tired of fighting the rest of you, because the rest of you can’t see that.

There is no war, only lovers.

Everyone wants to make love.

It seems so F’d up.

How can so many people seeking intimacy be so alone, so mismatched, and unmatched?

It doesn’t take much, just one person.

We see hundreds a day.

This is where you come in.

You wipe the obstacle course off the table and simply look into my eyes.

I am only there because I am attracted to you.

You are the one I want.

I want to rest.

Why is that so hard?

It’s me wanting you.

I don’t even have to see you.

I am tired of fighting a battle that doesn’t actually exist.

I have no weapons, only vulnerability, truth.

Yes, I am lonely.

Lonely, because everyone I have ever loved found my truth unappealing.

My naked love was not good enough.

I find that funny.

A prostitute is all the layers peeled away.

No mystery.

A kind of true love.

Getting to and solving the mystery of why there is so much yearning.

I am ready for you, lying peacefully in a clean bed.

Ready to and for love.

For the money is just a ruse.

It’s the last obstacle.

I realize that love always has a price.

Nothing is free, not even the truth.

I lie there with you.

Looking at you.

I know you wouldn’t be here unless I brought it.

It, the disguise.

This is why we will never be equal.

Because for you ultimately it is about money, and for men, it is about love.