Let’s turn to the pages of Slate, where left-leaning sophisticates mull the issues of the day. Among which, an obvious question for the woke and well-adjusted:
I (35, male) started dating someone (33, female) recently that I’ve really enjoyed connecting with and have found a higher level of chemistry with than anyone else I’ve dated. It’s exciting and has given me a chance to imagine a stable future with someone, something I’ve struggled to imagine in the past.
Ah, bless. And just in time for the holidays. Brings a tear to the eye.
But there’s something else that’s new for me this year that complicates things: I’ve started seeing sex workers.
At risk of seeming drearily conventional, the words stable future have suddenly taken on an ironic tinge. Still, the headline is memorable:
Do I Have to Tell My New Girlfriend I’m Going to Keep Seeing Sex Workers?
And hey, give the guy credit. He does a pretty good rhetorical dance:
To be clear, I’ve attempted to pursue it in the most ethical manner possible, being careful to consider everyone’s safety and consent. The moral issue of sex buying is a serious one for me, but one that I’ve ultimately come to believe can be ethical in the right context.
How immensely surprising.
I believe seeing a sex worker can make me a better partner. Not unlike seeing a therapist.
seeing a sex worker allows me to focus on myself.
Which, to date, has apparently been a struggle.
Witness ye the burdens of this selflessness:
Getting certain sexual needs taken care of elsewhere would allow me to better focus my attention and invest in our relationship.
Yes, ladies. He’s a giver.
Well, again, we can’t fault our chappie for lacking boldness. There is, inevitably, some mumbled guff about how bourgeois expectations of faithfulness and monogamy are terribly oppressive, because whoring on the side can lead to “stigma” and “judgment,” both of which really harsh our Slate reader’s buzz.
And entirely unrelated, I also found this:
You might even find that you’d like to make a habit of it, if only because there is a charm in the novelty of holiday solitude, like how having breakfast for dinner can sometimes feel like the most deeply disorienting and passionately independent joy available to humanity.