Why I’m Jealous of Prostitutes
By: Matilda Swinney
Tags: Relationships, This Happened To Me, Sexuality, Love, Sex

Why I’m Jealous of Prostitutes

The unexpected love triangle

Photo by Vidar Nordli-Mathisen on Unsplash

It was an unspoken tension between us. I would never be exactly what he wanted. My skin would never feel like a strangers. I could never be the unknown prostitute, with her new scent and different body. There was an excitement for my boyfriend there, which can’t be created after years of being together.

Over the years we had become old friends. We knew every inch of each other. The smell of his hair, his deodorant, the softness of his favourite stripy boxers were permanently stored in my memory. I still wish I could have kept a frisson of excitement for him. Preserved it forever. Wrapped it up in the goosebumps he deserved, and kept it for everytime we touched. But I couldn’t. I knew him too well.

He knew all of my lingerie

And he knew me. All my underwear had a familiar, less then exciting feel. There were no surprises. He taught me how to have sex, so I couldn’t shock him. He was my first. He gave me tips from porn films. I’d listen eagerly, desperately wanting to be the best. He was all I knew. And it would be that way forever.

Until forever evaporated into a broken promise. Forever drifted away as we grew up. Our time together became fictional. The memory was now the highlights of our journey together.

At the time, I did all I could. I was determined to become the woman he desired. Black stockings and garters looked good on me. New underwear every month freshened things up. I discovered magazines had essential tips for adventurous sex. I planned to surprise him.

But I was fighting a losing battle

Every woman looked sexier than me. They made wild noises on the porn shows we watched together. I ignored any stabs of jealousy. After all, we were friends, as well as lovers. I wanted to share his passions. We discussed sex clubs and brothels together in his bedroom in hushed excited tones, so his parents didn’t hear.

Except, I wasn’t excited. There was a sadness in my heart. I wanted to be the woman he discussed in hushed tones. I wanted to be his prostitute. But, how would I ever compete with their illicit skins and lustful moans? There was a nervous thrill surrounding prostitutes which I could never create.

The truth was, my prince charming wanted a prostitute

And who was I to stop him? We would be together forever. So, we had to try things. We had to be free and open to explore the world. Our relationship couldn’t hold us back. It must amplify life, not squash it. If he wanted to explore all sexual avenues, who was I to get in his way?

A human must be free. And his freedom was prostitution. So, I waited outside the brothel. We were on holiday. It was a balmy, gentle night. It was easy to wait in the early morning light. I got us both a drink in the bar. I sat on a metal chair and waited happily. He would need a drink after his adventure. I was determined to be relaxed about it.

I closed my eyes

Images danced in my mind. Soft skin on his, sultry sweet perfume, lips brushing against his neck, heavy breathing. I took a sip of my drink. I had to ignore my thoughts. I would try and relax. I closed my eyes again. Immediately I heard a helpless moan, increased breathing, his grunts of pleasure. My imagination was running wild.

I drank quickly. I drank his vodka too. It didn’t seem like he would be arriving anytime soon. He shouldn’t rush. It was a nice evening. I wanted desperately to be the carefree girlfriend I knew I could be. I closed my eyes again but the torment was still there. I saw nails digging into his back. Bodies hot against each other. Moans moulding into one.

I stood up abruptly.

I couldn’t cope with the images my mind was creating

It would be refreshing to go for a walk. I had finished both drinks now. I needed something to do. I would walk straight down the main street. It would be safe and well lit. I would keep walking until I got to the beach. I would take my heels off and feel the sand beneath my feet. I would look at the sea and feel the ocean spray on my face. I would feel better. I was sure of it.

I walked fast. It felt good to have a plan.

“Tilly?”

I looked up. There he was. He had rushed to catch up with me. I stared at him. Was I disappointed he had interrupted my plan? I didn’t know. Had he slept with a prostitute? I didn’t care. All I knew is I wanted to sleep. I wanted to crawl into a warm bed and sleep for hours. I was exhausted. We would talk in the morning.