HOOKER. The great thing about hookers is that, unlike normal women, all the costs involved are clearly stated up front. You don’t have to buy a hooker a canary yellow diamond necklace if you get caught screwing around with a different one. You’re paying for sex instead of paying for everything but the sex, and that’s a huge cost savings in the long run. Plus, they’ll do whatever you ask. You don’t have to spend weeks trying to introduce the idea of anal. They’re cool like that.
The other thing hookers offer is discretion. No hooker who wants to keep her client base is going to go blabbing to the press about all your bizarre sexual proclivities. Do you enjoy bringing random immigrant grocers into your sexual encounters? Best to entrust that sort of thing to a hooker. The only loose lips they have are the ones below the garter belt.
The problem with making love to a hooker is that it eliminates the joy of acceptance. Speaking personally, there’s no better turn-on than someone legitimately wanting to have sex with me. It engorges the ego and the penis simultaneously. Getting a hooker also means missing out on the thrill of the hunt. It’s never a legitimate score you can brag about. And I find that 98 percent of the joy of sex comes from being able to brag about it the next day.
Should you wish to procure a hooker for the evening, simply hang out in your team’s hotel lobby. Hookers follow the rules of supply and demand. Hotel lobbies are full of athletes, businessmen, and government officials who are in constant need of coldhearted, anonymous sex. If, for some reason, this fails, consult the back section of your town’s local free progressive newspaper. Find the hooker that best suits your needs, and call the number listed. Ask for “full bodywork.” In hooker lingo, this means intercourse. Yay, intercourse! And always double-check for penii to make sure you didn’t get a she-male by accident. Happens all the time. LaWanda, if you’re out there, I apologize for kneeing you in the groin like that.
GROUPIE. Groupies fall into any number of subcategories. You’ve got your skanky hos, your Fly Girls, and any number of three-hundred-pound women hanging outside the arena in outfits the size of a linen coaster. It’s tough distinguishing hookers from groupies. After all, both are whores in a sense. The thing that sets groupies apart from hookers is that groupies will have sex with you for free the night you meet them. That certainly makes them alluring, but they aren’t giving themselves to you just because they like you. Groupies have motives that will remain unclear to you until after you have slept with them. Some will simply want to brag about having sex with you. It’s a way of boosting their superficial self-esteem, while deep down doing the exact opposite. Other groupies will hope that a sexual encounter with you is a first step on the road to a potentially lucrative divorce and / or paternity suit.
If you’re going to take the plunge with a groupie, I recommend doing it on the road and away from the hotel room in which you currently reside. When you are finished, burn any evidence of your sexual encounter to destroy any leftover seminal residue. And I suggest leaving immediately when you are finished. Most groupies do not pass the Morning Test. In fact, by the morning, your groupie will probably look like a prairie dog that got run over by a semi. It’s like Chili’s: “Get in. Get out. Get on with your life.”
STRIPPER. Why have sex with a regular woman for free when you can pay to watch a stripper? Strippers and athletes go together like Carnie Wilson and pancake batter. Hell, Pacman Jones sacrificed his entire career because he couldn’t give them up. Smart move. Yes, there’s nothing quite like walking into a strip club and spending $20 every fifteen minutes to have a stripper tell you about her dream of one day working with animals, then staggering out at 3:00 a.m. to go jerk off in a back alley. Strip clubs truly are magical places, where you can mingle with any number of asshole junior analysts from Morgan Stanley while maxing out your credit card on $50 hamburgers and $500 dry humps in the VIP lounge. Shangri-la, I tell you.
Strippers are smart, savvy women who know how to charm a man without actually having sex with him. So tread lightly. That girl grinding against you in the corner booth doesn’t actually like your shirt. She’s just delivering one of the many tip-inducing compliments she learned at l’Académie Strip-Teaseuse in Quebec. She, in fact, fancies herself an ultra-postmodern feminist: a woman who combines smart business sense with a smoking hot body to earn a cool $5,000 a night giving you a wicked case of blueballs. She enjoys having power over you. It’s her way of asserting her female dominance for the brief period during the day when she isn’t being sexually harassed by the club owner or being accused by her bounty hunter boyfriend of being a no-good whore. It’s the kind of women’s lib Gloria Steinem always dreamed of.