One of the reasons I have to get myself to Venezuela has to do with my uncomfortable position within my own generation.
Specifically, I am not offended when I have to pay for something that men perform for me with cash money. Therefore, I’m going to need to get me some.
Of course I also like to do things like offer my time, a home-cooked meal, a cigar-friendly air-conditioned refuge, nutritional advice, mending, etc.; but bartering the possibility of sexual favors when there is no such possibility is anathema to me. I’m a lousy mercenary flirt. I’ve seen far too many women use the damsel in distress act for such favors and then offer little but the opportunity to kiss her ring (metaphorically).
I’m not that kind of girl.
Axel would tell me stories of creative ways that women have attempted to get him to perform complicated remodeling or construction services as if they assumed that a hardworking independent contractor was somehow oozing both money and cum, looking for a place to offload those things.
Whereas I’m always going to be more attracted to the man who turns down sexual offers. Not out of a sense of “virtue” or aestheticism but more because he’s getting it thrown at himself so often that he’s developed standards. By such standards I’ll know that he is a connoisseur…like me!
One of my favorite movies is Jackie Brown. I’ve seen it so many times. I actually made a point of watching it prior to my escape from Venezuela in order to help motivate myself to do something incredibly dangerous but necessary. I was going to have to get where I was going without being kidnapped or robbed. I did. The robbery after all had already occurred on the part of my then-husband however I did have a few resources, that is, enough to get me to the U.S. I made it to the U.S. without having any sense that there were any family members stateside cool and competent enough to rescue me or have me rescued. If they were to do such a thing, my parents would likely engage in their own brand of mercenary flirting in order to get the price down. As usual, I would have been the one to have the “savings” taken out on me. In Venezuela, such a thing could easily be either lethal or leave me even more scarred-for-life than I already am.
However, the end of the movie, Jackie Brown, haunts me a little. Spoiler alert!
If I succeed in Venezuela, will the price be that the next Max Cherry will be intimidated by me? That would be sad. I rather like Max Cherry. Unfortunately, there is no one like that around me now. Or perhaps it is ultimately quite fortunate because then there is no one around to stop me.