Is it Korea where families in the provinces send their daughters to the cities to become hookers?
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From what I know (and I surely can't claim to know everything about S. Korea -- but it is a place I'm pretty familiar with) this is not the case in recent decades. More likely your parents will push you to work for LG or Samsung or start a cafe or get married to that nice boy who has a promising career...
Perhaps towards the DMZ, up north near the border where the US maintains some of its basing facilities and various cottage industries (including sex work of course) cluster in nearby small towns. But I doubt that even there families are actually sending their daughters to become prostitutes. Women (some of whom become quite successful entrepreneurs in the tony districts of Seoul and Gwangju) move into the biz without their parents' knowledge.
There may be exceptions to this -- perhaps sub cultures where this happens. Again, I can't claim to know with 100 percent certainty.
Kelley:
In Asia, it costs a sailor $10 for a "short-time" girl -- 1/2 hr on a futon in a back room or upstairs. The girl got half, the house got the rest. Usually, the half hour is preceded by, as Mike Ballard said, a bit of a courtship ritual. In some countries, you have to be approved by the woman who runs the house and/or the girl can complain to the woman who runs the house who will 86 the guy.
That means he has to be nice, respectful, not more physical than the girl wants --and sometimes she wants to keep her options open, to leave you for another guy she'd prefer--not overly drunk. If you don't pass muster, you're out.
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I grew up in a pretty religious environment and was taught to avoid all sorts of *sinful* activities -- including, of course, visiting sex pros. So it was a serious culture shock for me when I met a guy who I'll call Jose Z: a Chicano dude who'd done a tour in the US Navy and was very familiar with the situation you're describing Kell.
Z and I were very tight -- *bros* as he put it -- we spent a lot of weekends at bars, strip clubs and parties looking to have a good time and collect the phone numbers of hotties. This was the mission.
I was young, still getting my bearings around women and *oh gosh mam* shy. Z was, as they say a *chick magnet*. He enjoyed an easy charm that made it seem like he rolled out of bed in the morning, tousled his hair, put on a bad ass Hugo Boss shirt and some nice pants, simply stepping into the light to have yet another fun day. Yeah, Z was the kind of hustler who somehow (and with intriguing frequency) ended up having affairs with his female bosses and escaping any and all consequences like a movie hero stylishly walking away from an explosion while calmly smoking. Adding to the aura was his intellectual brilliance, mad writing skills and deep, passionate love for Dostoevsky. He carried a copy of *Crime and Punishment* -- in Russian -- with him nearly everywhere and quoted passages often.
Needless to say, the man was my role model in matters related to getting laid and looking good while working it.
So given all that you'll understand how surprised I was when, one Saturday evening, Z suggested we stop by a brothel he visited about three times a month (the first I'd heard about this part of his life). To me, guys who visited sex pros were either a.) losers b.) weirdos c.) evil because the women must surely be slaves or d.) some self reinforcing combination of the three. Add to these impressions my growing identification with feminist ideas and you'll feel why I was a having a serious crisis of comprehension at that moment.
But I went and, while Z did his thing in some room upstairs with an extraordinarily lovely woman I sat on a leather couch in the waiting area next to a drop dead gorgeous woman wearing very little. We talked about Camille Paglia. I tried not to stare too much at her thighs but while the spirit is willing...
Now, I'd like to report that my scruples kept me from taking out the credit card but in truth I was just a chicken shit afraid of some unnamed horribleness befalling me.
About two hours later, Z walked downstairs smiling and said, *OK, that rocked. Let's go to Atlantic City.*
So we did.
Like I said, I was confused. For one thing, I noticed how much the women seemed to really like Z. You can fake a smile but it's very hard to fake that gleam in the eye of genuine, friendly regard and affection.
Although he picked his favorite that night, he hugged everyone and even brought a gallon of strawberry ice cream and a few bottle of quite good champagne for the house. Up till that point, I'd thought of all sex work as involving strange, violent men and strung out women. This ice cream and champagne business -- not to mention the obvious good feeling Z generated -- was messing with my head.
Of course, on the ride to Atlantic City, I asked him to clarify. And the story he told -- of brothels in various E. Asian locales and how the women ran the show, which he really, really liked *because it doesn't feel dirty somehow, knowing they're in charge and can say no* -- matches almost exactly the one you told Kell.
I sort of understood that (and was, at that moment, feeling even dumber for not going with the long legged Paglia fan who sat inches away from me on the couch earlier) but still did not get how these women -- who surely must be sick of guys given their work -- would be so obviously pleased to see a customer.
Z laughed. *There's surely some fucked up shit in the world* he said *but it's not all fucked up. You know how you go to a million stores and most of them are just places you go to to get things done but there may be one or two that are extra special because you know and like the owner or manager and he knows and likes you. You're in the loop when his grand mom dies or his kid gets an A and he knows the same sorts of things about you. When you come to his spot he's happy to see you -- not just because you're buying something but because he thinks you're a nice dude, the kind of guy he wants around. And you feel good about an upcoming trip to see him because the vibes are so golden between you. Well, believe it or not, the same kind of thing can happen between a working girl and her johns if...* he paused *she's in the biz cause it's what she wants to do.*
This was such a new concept to me that I sat in stunned silence for much of the drive to AC.
I never became a habitue of brothels but my view was expanded.
No doubt.
.d.