Unpretty Woman: The Tale of an Unhappy Hooker

Everyone knows that your first experience with a hooker should be a pleasant one–unless you’re Hugh Grant or my Uncle Pepe (which in both cases, they both claimed they only stopped them for “directions!”) So you can understand how shocked and completely taken aback I was this past Saturday when I came in contact with my first prostitute and she totally didn’t fit my fantasy. (Yeah, I’ll be accepting donations for therapy through my Paypal account.) Let me explain.

Picture it: Brooklyn, 2010, Santiago and I were visiting some friends in the neighborhood. We were all just hanging out and watching The Food Network–I know, very gay–but we love Paula Deen and butter; don’t judge. We had just eaten a major meal and everyone was feeling a little bloated, gassy and full–you know, just another normal day for me. I went down to the corner deli and purchased some fresh mint leaves to make into a nice tea for everyone because mint is known to help in digestion–aren’t I just full of knowledge?

Once I made the purchase, I came back upstairs and made the tea. As I straining the minty liquid into four individual tea cups, I heard one of the roommate’s door open wide (which lead into the kitchen). I continued pouring tea–I know, I’m such a Mexican Martha Stewart, when from the back of my eyes I spotted a young chubby girl with  a bad haircut rushing out Emilio’s room.  (Emilio rents a room in the apartment) Now, Emilio had just experienced a rough break-up about a month ago and there had been no woman in the house since his girlfriend left him (and I mean really left him–she took off to Chicago and even packed the cooking spices!). As I stood there pouring tea, I saw Emilio rush out behind the chubby girl as he pulled his pants up with one hand. You know how Spider Man has his “speidy” senses? Well, I have my Mexican senses, which have been passed down from generation to generation, so I knew something was fishy.

I heard the apartment door slam. Emilio walked through the kitchen again.

Nando: Who was that?

Emilio: That? Oh, a whore.

Nando: Excuse me?

Emilio: Yeah, here, look.

He handed me a two-sided business card with a naked woman bent over as if looking for an M&M she’d dropped that rolled underneath the couch–except her coochi was exposed and she looked unhappy. On the other side it read, “Beautiful experienced Women, Ask for Raul.”

Nando: That was a prostitute?

Emilio: Yeah, but not a very good one or happy one. She didn’t even let me touch her boobs.

Nando: Did she please you orally, at least?

Emilio: NO!

Nando: So what did you do?

Emilio: I banged her.

I was upset. I had no words. I was heartbroken. Didn’t he know that ever since I saw Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, it’s been my fantasy to learn about hookers and become friends with one to see if any of their friends had ever experienced the “Cinderella” ending that I’ve come to admire and expect from hookers? He ruined my life. In one brief moment, my dreams had been shattered.

Nando: Emilio, I don’t want to talk to you right now. You’ve hurt my feelings.

Emilio: What the hell is wrong with you?

Nando: Is that how you spoke to her? Well, no wonder she didn’t let you touch her boobs! I wouldn’t have either.

As I stood there, with my mint tea and broken heart, and Emilio stood there with a confused look on his face, I began to imagine what my friendship with the hooker would have been like. It  would be hard at first, she wouldn’t really trust me because all the men in her life only wanted her for sex, including her uncle who abused her at the age of 12. But we’d eventually become best friends and she’d call me up after each trick to laugh at their small penis or discuss how “this one” liked to bark during sex. But after learning how to use Twitter and Facebook, she’d come to understand that life was more than just anonymous sex and broken dreams. Eventually, she’d want to escape from her pimp, Raul, and would need my help. I’d get her as far as New Jersey when I’d get the inevitable text message from her saying that she couldn’t go through with it. I’d respond, “Yes, you can Juanita! You’ll give up this life of prostitution and become a nail salon attendant and live a life of stardom we know you deserve.” But in the end, she’d return to Raul and her sexually explosive lifestyle and I’d be left with nothing but a hole in my heart.

As Emilio left the kitchen, I had but one question for him.

Nando: Hey, by the way, how much did she charge?

Emilio: $30.00

$30.00? This changed everything. There was no way we could have been friends. I mean, who whores themselves out for $30.00? I would need my hooker friend to at least charge a minimum of $80 (it is the recession).  So I forgave Emilio for his insensitivity and rewarded him with some mint tea. I guess in the end, the Pretty Woman, that Gary Marshall and Julia Roberts painted was a false tale. And in reality all you get is a $30 hooker who’s unhappy, won’t let you touch her boobs and isn’t in the market for a gay best friend to save her. All in all, it wasn’t a bad weekend for me, Emilio or the unhappy hooker.