When the only sound on the empty street is the heavy tread of the heavy feet that belong to a lonesome cop I open shop. The moon so long has been gazing down on the war ward ways of this wayward town my smile becomes a smirk, I go to work. Love for sale, appetizing young love for sale. Love that’s fresh and still unspoiled, love that’s only slightly soiled, love for sale. Who will buy? Who would like to sample my supply? Who’s prepared to pay the price for a trip to paradise love for sale? Let the poet’s pipe of love in their childish ways. I know every type of love better far than they if you want the thrill of love. I have been through the mill of love old love. Knew love, every love but true love, love for sale appetizing young love for sale. If you want to buy my wares follow me and climb the stairs. Love for sale. – Ella Fitzgerald (written by Cole Porter)
Recently, I went to the Dominican Republic on vacation. I spent the bulk of my time at a resort with my cousin and brother. While there I watched the members of the “Animation” Crew. The animation crew, are the entertainment. During the day they try and engage the resort patrons by playing various beach or pool type games, doing “impromptu” dance routines etc. In the evening, they perform in the various shows and mingle among the guests, talking, drinking, dancing, etc. The interaction is overtly sexual, very aggressive and determined. I watched as the male members of the animation crew behave like heat seeking missiles. If you are alive and breathing, they were all over you. Equally as interesting to me, was the behavior of the female guests. Regardless of age or martial status they were reduced to giggling, blushing little girls. We had the chance to speak with a few members of the team who told us a little about what they do. Each male animation crewmember, and we spoke to several, in not all, told us about their “girlfriends” in Holland, England or Germany. One member told me that he much preferred the white women as opposed to the women of color. He made a point to say that the black women are just too just difficult.
Because of snow at home, I ended up staying two extra days, and on one of those days I was alone. This is where the story gets fun. So my routine was to wake up have breakfast, go the beach. After lunch I would sit by the pool. That’s where it happened, at the pool. I became the target of a heat-seeking missile, code name “Sexy Bomba” (I’m serious, his name tag said “Sexy Bomba”) I was sitting by the pool, drinking an ice cold cervesa, reading a trashy novel, and listening to my Ipod when SB (Sexy Bomba) approached me. Here’s what happened:
SB: Hello Mami
AL: Hey how are you?
SB: Good Good… I see your brother and prima (Spanish for cousin) have left you alone.
AL: How did you know that?
SB: Ay please, Sexy Bomba? He know everythin’.
AL: Well yes, it was sno---
SB: …Snowing in Nueva Jork, so you stay.
AL: Well yes.
SB: So April… you and me we have sexy party before jew go.
AL: You and ME? Have a sexy party before I go?
AL: Umm no.
SB: Jes, and Mami? (Whispering and giving me the knowing look) I do everythin’.
AL: I’m sure you do, but still sadly no.
SB: Si, give me jor room number; we have a berry sexy time, jew and me.
AL: A sexy time?
SB: Jes, a berry sexy time. And after, I do everythin’? Jew give me geeft. Big, small whatever. Jew give me geeft.
AL: I give you gift?
SB: Si, but what you want.
AL: How about you go and find a nice blonde?
SB: Aye no, I like jew. I prefer my color… Our color jew know? (Wink, Wink, Nod, Nod)
AL: Ummmm yeah, listen, how about I give you gift right now… no sexy time.
SB: Just geeft, not sexy party?
AL: Yeah (reaching into my beach bag for 10 US dollars) here you go.
SB: I geeve jew sexy kiss.
AL: There is no need for sexy anything. But thanks.
And off he went, leaving me to my cervesa, no longer fria but caliente. I sat there for a moment, laughing to myself and shaking my head.
I shared my little story with El Shrinko. And he asked me, So did you? “Umm no I did not”. Why not? First of all, I really did not get the sense that SB cared if I was male or female. I don’t think he was gay per se, I just think that he was an equal opportunity gigolo. Second of all, I really think that once you pay for sex, you have gone to a whole other side, a dark side, and you can’t really come back that. Yeah I know, we all PAY for it one way or another, but still.
While I can still see the humor in my little encounter, it also gave me pause for thought. This is someone’s life. I am not participating of the victimization of SB, and trust me, whether or not he knows it, Sexy Bomba is a victim. When the only way that you can supplement your income is by selling yourself? You ARE a victim. That is one shitty situation. It’s not funny, it’s tragic.