Yes, where I lived and been living, there are pictures of nude women all over the place. Ads full screen for whatever product, movies, Internet, even good old magazines with posters for good old boys’ lockers. But all you get out of those are just glimpses. Shy and furtive glimpses for most. Pictures, 2D, there’s no exchange, no giving. Nudy bars are just sad and a strip tease is just that, a tease, and that’s already a defeat. And there’s always a sale somewhere and you’ll go home and feel worse than you did coming in.
There are of course the naked bodies of the women you loved. And I remember each one of them and the first time I could see it and the last time and how I felt about it. Still, no matter, time, tiredness, war, laziness, pain, desperation, among other things, make quickly disappear, in such affairs, the chance to gaze at leisure at a female body, whether loved or not, really.
So that takes us back to my desire, now that I could afford it with aliens’ money, to hire three ladies to just live naked around me.
Fact is, I had figured that I needed first to find a very decent head hunter bureau in the capital city of this warm Eastern Asian country, a place I don’t know the language and never had been to before. Then I knew I’d have to explain to the director of this bureau that I bought a house by the ocean in the south province. Then I’d have to explain further that I solicited this meeting in order to recruit three women and, for that purpose, needed all legal matters resolved.
I could probably have saved money and time by just asking the guy that sold me the house. I’m sure he’d find some cousins of his. But who trusts a real estate salesman? Do I talk with the salesman about what I’d do with aliens’ money when I buy shoes?
I also knew the local mafia, for good dollars, would be more than happy to fulfill my every dreams. But that was not the point. This was about writing down a contract between one free willing man, old Mr. Me, and three free willing women. Otherwise who cares? And that’s also why these three ladies had to come from another part of the country so the local pimps would have no bearing on them.
Yes, with aliens’ money, I could go to Miami and find three bimbos, or go to L.A. and bimbos would be actresses or to Moscow and Russians bimbos would just be Russians. Yet, somehow, I’m quite sure this ‘going-around-the-house-naked-business’ wouldn’t last long with those.
Yes, every woman in the word has the right to sell her pussy the way she likes it and the best she can, and many call this marriage. But pussy is not what I’m talking about here. I see those old guys, with their young new girlfriends, acting as if they know something. Well yeah, I have news for them, if these girls go out with those guys, it’s not for their looks. And both of them, the dude and the woman are full of crap when pretending love at first sight. And that goes for the professors, the grocers, the architects, the bankers, the politicians. Usually acting is so bad you want to puke but, hey everyone does what he can with what he was given.
Well, for old Mr. Me, in this case, I don’t want girlfriends or wives or mistresses or loved ones; I’ve done too much of that already and it’s not to find it again here, especially after buying with aliens’ money the house of my dreams by some beach in Asia.
All I want is just to hire three women to live with me, and I don’t care that much about their age and forms and, save for a bit of cooking and stuff, their job would mostly be to be walking around the house all day in the nude.
But there has to be a contract between them and me so there would be no ambiguity, so they’d know there’s zero chance they’d become another Mrs. Me and they’d understand I’m no ticket to Paris or Chicago. And that contract has to be fair and square and the women well paid so that they may even, maybe, like their job. Anyway, looking at myself, I know this should be a short to middle term contract only. Then again, maybe this will be my ticket for long and happy years to come. In any case, there has to be a contract. Thus the head hunter bureau.
And, come to think of it, maybe one or two or all three of them would also like swimming.
Iconography: 1940s-1950s: Blindfold typing competition, Paris