A Different Kind Of Love (the oldest profession)
Alison Neilans (1884-1942)
The prostitute is the scapegoat for everyone’s sins, and few people care whether she is justly treated or not. Good people have spent thousands of pounds in efforts to reform her, poets have written about her, essayists and orators have made her the subject of some of their most striking rhetoric; perhaps no class of people has been so much abused, and alternatively sentimentalized over as prostitutes have been but one thing they have never yet had, and that is simple legal justice.
Love For Hire.
by John Hansen © 2012
She sits cross legged on the rug,
Her hair shines by the fire.
Soft music sets a gentle mood,
A sign says, "Love For Hire".
She reads a book of classic poems
By Keats, and Shaw, and Frost,
And sips a glass of French champagne
With no thought of the cost.
The private number of her phone
Is known to privileged few,
Some senators, and movie stars,
And others well to do.
Her penthouse on the highest floor
Is furnished to perfection.
Four poster bed with white silk sheets,
And rare Renoir collection.
The bathroom has a sunken spa,
With mirrors wall to wall.
A fireplace warms the spacious lounge,
And plants adorn the hall.
Her nom-de-plume Danielle Rousseau,
Her real name unimportant.
Fluent french pours from her lips,
She's a model of deportment.
Her body is in perfect shape
She sculpts it in the gym.
Her waist length hair is sleek and black,
And flawless is her skin.
No man can resist her charms,
This lady of delight,
And for a sample of her love,
500 bucks a night.
Polly Adler (1900-1962)
The women who take husbands not out of love but out of greed, to get their bills paid, to get a fine house and clothes and jewels; the women who marry to get out of a tiresome job, or to get away from disagreeable relatives, or to avoid being called an old maid — these are whores in everything but name. The only difference between them and my girls is that my girls gave a man his money’s worth.
Most girls want to marry
And have families of their own,
But Danielle is quite content,
She rarely is alone.
Millionaires ask for her hand,
But each time she declines.
Her life belongs to her alone,
She needs no ties or binds.
She could have been a model,
Or an airline stewardess,
A wealthy city lawyer,
Or a doctor, nothing less.
With a college education
And numerous degrees,
She had the choice of her career.
A 'whore' she chose to be.
Though that word is never used by her,
It doesn't suit her style,
And if her service you require,
Your name must be on file.
“Churchill: "Madam, would you sleep with me for five million pounds?" Socialite: "My goodness, Mr. Churchill... Well, I suppose... we would have to discuss terms, of course... "
Churchill: "Would you sleep with me for five pounds?"
Socialite: "Mr. Churchill, what kind of woman do you think I am?!" Churchill: "Madam, we've already established that. Now we are haggling about the price”
― Winston Churchill
Everybody has the chance
To set goals in their lives,
Each of us then makes our choice,
And Danielle's was wise.
Pimps have tried to muscle in
And hit her for collection,
But Danielle just laughs them off.
She has police protection.
Tonight she meets a V.I.P.
A foreign diplomat,
A man who's known throughout the world,
From Australia to Iraq.
The doorbell rings, he has arrived,
Danielle unlocks the door.
She greets her client with a kiss
And soon he begs for more.
On the bed, between silk sheets
With passion uncontrolled,
Desire and love is intertwined
As ecstasy unfolds.
No need to dress in uniform
Or aproned as a maid.
She doesn't stoop to kinky sex,
Unless it's done her way.
While strolling down the boulevard
She can feel the staring eyes.
Women look with jealousy,
Men with wanton sighs.
Danielle may be a prostitute,
A 'lady of the night',
Though never just a common whore,
But an 'expert in delight'.
To change her life and settle down
Is just not her desire.
She's rich beyond your wildest dreams,
This girl whose "love's for hire'.
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