Wow, Daisy. There was so much truth in this, which makes this so brutal.
I think you shared about this incident before. I don’t know what the point of me saying that. The point is, it is all true. The husband who is not satisfied, the wife who doesn’t want to see her husband’s lust.

I guess it is because we buy in this societal conventions and many of us are too much of cowards to part.

Maybe the problem is we tend to keep our fantasies in the dark, in the room where all that is shameful lives. And the ones who dare to turn on the lights of that room they are spat on their faces.

I’m not going to say sex is a disease that needs to be healed. I feel that there’s a deep longing for connection and acceptance from us men (or maybe that is the way I perceive myself).

I’m saying this because on going with the metaphor of the dark room, I was thinking about a wound I had to clean the other day. Deep into the abdomen of some obese patient, but not quite getting into the abdominal cavity. Seven centimeters deep of fatty tissue to pack with gauze. Not as bad as it sounds, but someone has to go and do it. And like that, I perceive sex workers. Someone has to go and do that, to connect with someone’s fantasy that is perceived as dark, and shameful, and bad.

And by exposing it, by bringing it into the light, we heal.

And I keep thinking about the wife. Wives. Who do not want to go there. I met this woman once and she said, she felt herself dirty. Nothing I could do would make her feel good, clean, as if sex would not be something shameful. Maybe I also felt sex was shameful, but I don’t think so. I frequently feel there’s a power struggle in it. When it should be a sort of communion. Or at least a way to enjoy ourselves.

Anyway, sorry for the long comment.
Pablo