THE DECLINING WORLD PRICE OF PUSSY

My friend, a classical guitarist whom I call Segovia, used to brag to me about his refined sexual techniques with women. “No woman can leave me once I have touched her. The delicate fingering techniques I derive from my classical guitar training drive the girls crazy until they are begging for my cock.”

I figured, this guy is really smooth. His longtime girlfriend was real cute, and the women seemed to admire his sensitive, artistic personality.

Compare that with me, whose philosophy might charitably be described as, “Bend over and spread ‘em, Baby, here comes the Express Train to your Butt!”

I’m the type of dude who comes to the bar and the women move down one seat in the other direction. New Yorkers have never had a problem telling me, “I don’t like your face. (Gee, thanks for making my day) The only people who seem attracted to me are masochistic gay guys looking to get their asses whipped. No Thanks!

So imagine my shock when the guy comes to me one day crying, “My girlfriend moved out and left me.”

“What happened to banging out ‘Rhapsodie Espagnole’ on her box?”

“She hooked up with a harmonica player.”

I hit myself in the head like The Three Stooges. “You dummy!” I thought to myself. “I should have learned to play the harmonica.” Lips, tongue, sucking, blowing – harmonica players must get laid a lot, because the girl figures she’s going to get “Follow Me Down to Old Virginie” blown on her G-Spot while her clitoris gets tickled with “Under the Boardwalk.”

It just goes to show you that sex is a no-win situation like the paper scissors rock game. Somebody is always going to beat you out.

But my friend Segovia is a musician and not a philosopher. He didn’t care about the philosophical triangulations of the situation, only that a totally lovable piece of ass had escaped into the wild. And he happens to be right. Your sexually horny years can’t be replaced, so all that fun goes right out the window if you don’t use it, like all your money disappearing because you didn’t spend it. A lot of prudes will fight me on this, but people should make hay while the sun shines.

I explained my insight to Segovia. “Where you are going wrong is that you are confusing love and sex. Love is a process and sex is an act. You think that you are devastated because a woman left you. In reality, you are really unhappy because a specific part of her left you.

“Love you can get later, even when you’re eighty. Sex you need right now. You have to think of the pussy as separate from the woman.”

“200motels, I think you’re an idiot!” he cried, inconsolable in his grief at being abandoned. “How can you relate to women like…like a commodity?”

“Since you invoke the law of supply and demand, I just happen to have this news article from The New York Post (it’s gotta be true!) dated last week announcing the arrest of Eliazar Juarez, 23, of Long Island City, who offered an undercover cop two hookers for $40.00.”

“Wow! Two girls for forty bucks!” he exclaimed, immediately brightening. “That’s really cheap!”

“Why do you think I kept the article? I’m going over there myself. Imagine what you could buy with a c-note!”

“That works out to FIVE GIRLS.”

“Six, if you bargain the guy.”

“He might not have that much pussy in stock. But six girls! Even Schwartznegger probably never did six girls.”

“Forget Schwartznegger. Body builders don’t have big dicks, or at least they look smaller because the rest of the guy is so big. Also, the steroids shrink it. All Schwartznegger has got is his little skinny wife, and she don’t look so happy.

“But the reason I’m showing you this article is that as a commodity, the price of pussy is actually dropping.”

And it’s driving the pimps crazy! I interviewed this one guy, Willie Cadillac, who runs a string of whores in Hell’s Kitchen, and he told me that the price resistance is ferocious.

“How’m I supposed to keep up my front? Cadillacs ain’t cheap! My bitches need crack."

"Yeah, we need crack!"

"And these m’fuckahs coming in from Jersey and they want a blowjob for twenty bucks. What can you get for twenty bucks these days?What do they think, that blow jobs grows on trees?”

His aspect grew dark. “These Spanish mutherfuckers with their cheap imported hookers are killing a market I done spent my whole life buildin’ up. Pussy is my whole life. If I get my hands on this sumbitch Juarez, I’m gonna pop a cap in his ass!”

Like the real estate market, the market for Manhattan pussy is totally inflated. The women are using subliminal psychology to build up the price points by working out hard in the gym and letting you know in advance “I’m High Maintenance,” so that you don’t complain about the sticker shock.

But as with so many products in the marketplace, the actual customer satisfaction is much less satisfying than the packaging. The women are not showing any artisanal expertise for satisfying a man’s cock. There’s no culture, as in the cultural erotic traditions of the ancient Chinese and Indians, or the depth of European civilizations. The pussy is too much like modern culture, raw and unrefined. It’s like a blow up sex doll with a string you pull at the neck and it talks. Only when you stop pulling the string, these Barbie Dolls don’t stop talking.

The only sexual refinements they have taken any interest in developing seem to be in those that end the encounter sooner. In a lot of cases the energy you have to expend convincing them to spread out in the first place leaves you with hardly any animus to achieve the act. Second, like a carnival barker or a waiter at a sidewalk café, New York girls have specialized techniques for getting you on your way soon, in time for the next customer.

“See, I have this thing I do with my hand, and the guy thinks he’s getting a blow job when he’s actually getting a hand job,” said Daisy, who I met at Cha Cha’s bar on the Coney Island boardwalk, where I actually conceived the concept for this commentary. “With the condom on he don’t know what’s happening anyway.”

Latex aside, compare this last statement with Madame Chang, proprietress of the Shining Lotus Friendship Club on Pell Street in Chinatown.

“My girls love you long time. When they suck your dick, it’s like the rising sun of the east. I always tell them, No use hand, only mouth.

“My girls make happy ending and never a complaint. You come now?”

Maybe later. With the intense foreign competition and the cheap Asian imports the price of pussy is collapsing in Manhattan, where the aging population of men and the increased interest in sports and computer games is depressing the market. The situation has become so critical that the market is in danger of collapsing completely and wonderful moneymaking opportunities could be lost forever. Like a syndicate buying the rights to a particularly exquisite piece of ass and selling time-shares. And don’t tell me this is exploitation of women. A lot of these girls just don’t feel like getting jobs. Hell, I’d to the same thing, except I’m ugly, and there’s no market for men’s butts.

Since chains of brothels have already had IPO’s in Europe, it wouldn’t be absurd to suggest the same thing in this country. Imagine a bond issue where the bonds are backed up with the butts of hookers like the New Jersey Turnpike. Or even for private capital to invest. Like Wal Mart. Now, there’s a concept! Let’s see, I need barbecue briquettes, new tires and , oh yeah, a blow job!”

The revenue possibilities are endless. Women’s butts could provide a continuing source of tax revenue for states and municipalities. Just attach a meter to the pussy and charge for all the dicks going in an out. Hell, that’s a job I fight would for – reading the meters on women’s asses.

But before America can reap the rewards of women’s asses, we as a nation have to take responsibility for intelligent exploitation of this valuable, pardon me, asset. And that involves protecting domestic pussy against cheap foreign imports.

The way I see it, this could be done by the President appointing a National Pussy Department and paying subsidies to the women not to give pussy, like wheat.

Or, better still; issue the women vouchers every time they get fucked. The voucher would look like this:

RECEIVED
ONE PIECE OF PUSSY IN GOOD CONDITION
from
HELEN SCHWARTZ
signed
200MOTELS

This way, you get the pussy, the girl sends the voucher to Washington, they send her a check, and everybody's happy. 
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Posted on 9/3/2006 ( Permanent Link )
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