From the surface, Jack’s got it all. A six-figure a year corporate dignitary, he lives comfortably with his family. But beneath the surface, this workaholic financier is trapped in a mediocre marriage, pining for release and zest. He diverts these misgivings to an underbelly world of vice in which he escapes his daily demons, paying for the affections of beautiful women.
Enter Lara, articulate and cultured, but struggling to find her path. The two begin a sordid affair that takes them across state lines and through countless airports, under the cloak of a tight-knit clandestine world fueled by wealth and control.
Our work was highly stigmatized and misunderstood. As a result, many of us kept our lucrative income a secret from our families and immediate people in our lives. It has been dubbed as sex work, inherently degrading and an easy way out. Any woman who chose to dance half naked for leering strangers surely had no self-respect or dignity. But I didn’t see it that way. I saw it as the one industry where women made more than men, where manipulation and charm came together to squeeze every last dollar out of some pathetic man paying for someone’s attention. A lot it came down to entertaining fantasies that ultimately would never happen, leaving the guys to go back home and take care of their sorry selves. But they weren’t all pathetic. We had businessmen, young twentysomethings who sat with their arms glued to their sides during their very first lap dance, bachelor parties and lonely men who needed to feel wanted, even desired. These were the easiest ones to make money off of. To me, it was a power rush, a form of mild misandry in lingerie. The men were like sitting ducks. You knew the drill: bat your lashes. Smile. Appear interested in the conversation. Find common ground. Don’t sit any longer than twenty minutes. Close the sale. Onto the next victim.