Stop right where you are.
We read this article in the MM office and we did a bit of everything. Laughed. A lot. Scratched our heads. Asked questions to no one in particular. Then kept reading. Say what you will about the subject matter, this is a brilliantly deft piece of writing. Yes, it’s true, Hollywood couple Jenny Mollen (Crazy, Stupid Love) and her husband American Pie actor Jason Biggs hired a prostitute for sex. And what happened next was hilarious. We’ve shared some of our favourite parts:
So my husband and I got a whore. I’m hoping, unless you’re some sick depraved dissolute of a person, this isn’t the kind of thing you hear everyday. If it is, fuck you, I thought it was pretty gangster. So, ok, where do I begin? I wanted to do something special for his birthday, isn’t that how all these stories start? We were married for just over a year, and in Gemini years, that’s like twelve.
The adventure started when I called up my asshole friend, Chelsea and asked if she knew any “massage therapists”. Chelsea insisted that this chick would come over and with the proper amount of alcohol, do whatever we wanted.
That night, I made the arrangements. I set the mood, turned on some Enigma, and poured champagne. My husband, however, paced around the house like a lunatic, wondering if he was going to get arrested for having a hooker visit our home. The girl arrived at the proper whoring hour of 9pm. I answered the door in a see-through bra and undies. I led her upstairs to my bedroom where she set up her massage table. About thirty minutes in, I started to realize something was wrong. This girl wasn’t a prostitute!! This girl was a legit massage therapist! Fucking Chelsea set me up. The entire hour she wouldn’t shut up about my rotator cuff and various bulging discs. As the night progressed, I did manage to get her drunk. Only to trap myself with her! She couldn’t drive home and wouldn’t shut the fuck up about her pilot she thought we would be perfect for and how, “Can you believe, so many people assume just because I’m a masseuse, I’m down for sex?” YES! I am one of those people! After hours of nonsense, she left. Jason was ready to strangle me. I called Chelsea, who proceeded to laugh her ass off for twenty minutes straight.”
So the masseuse wasn’t a hooker. Who knew? This calls for Plan B. A hesitant phone conversation with Eva the new (actual) lady of leisure follows before the meeting:
“Do whores prefer eyeliner or just mascara with a pinch of shadow?” I pondered.
Before I could answer the question, there was a knock on the door. My husband opened it to reveal a no more than three foot tall Filipino chomping gum and twirling her hair.
“Eva?” he exclaimed. “Hi, guys.” she purred as she walked over to a chair and sat down.
I was a bit taken aback. This girl looked nothing like her photos online. In fact, to me, she kind of resembled one of those little island pygmies from Gulliver’s Travels. I wasn’t sure how this was going to work out.
“Why is everybody so giggly?” she went on.
I really only had one way of answering this which was, “Well, because you are a hooker and you are in our hotel room.”
“Oh, and you didn’t mention that you were a gartenswerk in your profile.” I decided against saying anything. Further laughter ensued until finally my husband said, “So, should we talk business?”
I took this to mean that he was willing to look past the munchkin factor and proceed as planned. Eva asked for three hundred dollars just to talk shop. She explained that it would just cover her bills and her “door fee.” Bullshit the kind of party we were going to have was up to us. In other words, hinged on how much more cash we were willing to fork over.
“Why is Bilbo Baggins being such a sheisty little bastard?” I thought.
Frustrated, my husband handed over the money and bluntly said, “OK. What can you do for three hundred more?”
Eva, laughed and asked us to hold as she called her fucking nail lady and told her she was going to have to push her appointment back an hour. We just sat there as she described what was going on with her acrylic and how she needed her fill a week sooner than usual. Once she hung up, my husband notified me that he was going to have to run down to the ATM for more cash.”
But there are problems with trysts like these. Money, for one. After Hooker Mach 1 (otherwise known as Eva) arrived, too much time is spent in prep and the money runs dry … among other things. Eva leaves and they’re on to Hooker Mach 2, Keisha.
“Do you want to go down on him a bit?” Keisha suggested. In my mind I was thinking, “No, dude, that’s why I paid you the six hundred dollars, to do the work for me! I’m going to be over here eating chips.” Of course, there was no way my husband was going to let me get away with that so I obliged.
The most exciting part of the day was Keisha complimenting me on my blowjob skills. I love approval of any kind. Sadly, however, I think it was pretty obvious that my husband and I were both bored. He quickly became flaccid and we were left with nothing to do but stare at each other.
“I kind of feel like you are a giant baby and we are putting a diaper on you,” I blurted out.
“Umm, that’s not what I wanted to hear, Jen.” my husband laughed.
We spent the next half hour lying in bed with Keisha and listening to her crazy stories. She told us about the guy who makes her and her girlfriend come over, call a male prostitute, then order said guy to suck the male prostitute’s dick. “But he’s totally not gay, you guys!” Then there was the innocent looking couple from Washington State that wanted her to go home and take a laxative so she could come back later and shit on the husband while the wife took photos.
The thing that struck me the most significant was how casual and seemingly well-adjusted Keisha seemed. She was articulate, gregarious, and were it not for the torpedo boobs, the type of girl you COULD see being your cousin. As our time came to a close, Keisha apologized that she hadn’t done more for the money. She told us to call her if we wanted to try again later that evening. She lightened the mood by saying, “Look, see? Your husband must really love you. He couldn’t even stay excited by the idea of another woman.” I told her I appreciated the gesture and walked her to the door.
On the plane ride home I texted Keisha and thanked her for her work. What ever it was she had done, worked. I was instantly more aroused by my husband. He seemed so mysterious to me. Even though the actual act was relatively boring and a financial bust, the reliving of it grew hotter and hotter in my mind. “What a sweet whore,” I said to my husband, staring down at the flickering lights of good ole Sin City. He laughed and grabbed my leg. Something was rekindled between us. Or perhaps something blossomed that was never there before. I don’t know which it was, but I felt closer.
I kissed him, bashed my forehead against his, and asked “Do you think she’s on Facebook?”
Whoa whoa whoa. You can read the full article here at The Smoking Jacket. It’s brilliant.
You can follow Jenny on Twitter here.
Can a threesome really put the spark back in your sex life? Have you ever done something TOTALLY out of character?