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My Wife Wants to Be a Whore … And She Wants Me to Be Her Pimp!




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The intimate, the harrowing, the sweet, the surprising — the human.
Because if you don’t, 20 other willing participants will.
EUGENE, SIR: My wife has just let me know that she has a whore obsession. We have three kids and have been married since she was 23 and I was 25. She is 45 now and says it had been building for a while but everything about it turns her on. She wanted to tell me because the fantasy was getting overpowering. Not so that I could stop her but because she needed to explain why she had been so bored in bed the last few years. To this end she wants me to be her “pimp.” Find men for her to have sex with. Charge them. She has suggested doing this through Craigslist or Eros Guide. If I say no, I’m afraid she’ll do it anyway. If I say yes I am concerned about the repercussions. Legal and otherwise. What should I do? – Name withheld
Standing between someone and a long-held fantasy is a tough place to be. While on the one hand it’s terrible to think of a fantasy going unrealized, on the other hand your concerns are well placed. Prostitution last year was a $186 billion industry on the backs of about 13,265,900 prostitutes. Women associated with the trade are arrested much more frequently than men, assorted studies show . Which means whether you’re getting busted for pimping or she’s getting busted for whoring, the justice system is, in all likelihood, going to be part of your future. 
But these are legal concerns and don’t get to the root of the emotional/relational aspect of what your wife has told you, something that, to my ears, doesn’t sound like it upsets you much and it probably shouldn’t. I mean the last few years of lackluster sex would be enough to open your mind to much that your mind wouldn’t have been open to before. How to handle it is what you’re asking and my suggestion is this: Go to your local swingers’ group and advertise your kink. Under the purview of play and the money not being the primary motive you might be able to avoid legal backlashes. I mean if you’re not collecting cash you’re not a pimp even if the whoring seems the same. 
Try this along with whatever seems more comfortable: You being present or you not being present. This will either improve your marriage or kill it but if it doesn’t improve it, it was going to die anyway. It’s a bold giant step into doing something different and adventurous — and it’s dangerous from any number of different viewpoints. But it seems like you’ve reached a crisis point anyway and something needs to be done, so why not this? Conceal it from the kids like you do the rest of your sex life, be super circumspect about it and hope for the best.
EUGENE, SIR: I had deep suspicions that my boyfriend (we live together) was cheating. Mostly on account of finding underwear around that wasn’t mine. I’m not proud of this but I set up a camera so I could see what was happening at our place when I’m not there. He teaches and gets home from work first. I discovered that this is his underwear. I mean it’s women’s underwear but that’s what he is wearing. Other things too. Whole outfits. He’s alone when doing this. Not so fun to watch but not something to end the relationship over. I want to know how to get this out in the open so we don’t have to have secrets. – Colleen
I think you mean you want to know how to get this out in the open without revealing the creepy presence of home surveillance, yes? Since if you reveal you’ve been secretly home taping, it opens up a whole can of worms that causes what you found out to be overshadowed by HOW you found out. And how you found out — by hiding teeny tiny cameras all over the house you shared with one other person — no matter what the motivation, is all harm and foul. 
Relationships can be a dirty business and sloppiness regarding the women’s underwear he might be wearing could also be a harbinger of other sloppiness to come. So call what you did dirty due diligence — had he not started it by leaving his flimsy underthings hither and yon, you’d have never gone down the Inspector Gadget road to begin with. 
But how to get this out in the open? Well, there are two paths you can go by: Admit to the hidden camera as how you found out or don’t admit to the camera but do admit to the finding of the panties.
The former could also be divided into telling the truth about the camera or telling a lie connected to needing it for “security” reasons or something else similarly threadbare. I’ll never advise you to lie so if you tell the truth you’ll have a lot of heavy lifting to do since it might be argued that he left the underwear around to spark a discussion, not to incur the creep factor of home surveillance, and you may lose this one.
However, if you go with the technically accurate though parsed truth — you found his underwear — this lets you broach the topic without admitting to malfeasance and the discussions can begin. And I’d guess you know that most studies show that this particular kink is not an automatic indicator of homosexuality, if you were even tempted to think that. Moreover there are great resources out there, like Transformation , where he can go as deep as you and he are interested in going.
In any case, asking about the underwear would be a necessary first step and the least loaded and possibly most successful way to go. 

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The naughty negatives, which belonged to Lieutenant William Noel Morgan, were never printed but his family, who stumbled across them seven decades later, got them turned into digital images and were stunned
HIDDEN in a biscuit tin, the naughty negatives lay undisturbed for more than seven decades.
They belonged to Lieutenant William Noel Morgan, who never had them printed and kept them a closely guarded secret.
His family only learned of their existence a few years ago when his granddaughter, Fran Gluck, stumbled across the tin and opened it.
Many were innocent pictures of army life and her grandfather with his lost love — the young French girlfriend his family discouraged him from marrying.
But dozens of others show British officers inside a French brothel during World War One.
In one, Lt Morgan leans against a mantelpiece while on the phone, in front of racy drawings on the walls.
In another, similar drawings are pinned up around a battered old piano played by a young officer.
They are said to be the only pictures ever to come to light that were taken inside a brothel reserved for British officers during the conflict.
These are the women history never speaks of — and yet for many fallen heroes they were the last people to show them love and comfort before they died during the Great War.
One corporal recalls the queue outside a brothel as being like football fans waiting to see a cup tie.
Others hoped to pick up a sexually transmitted infection (STI) with the ensuing month spent in hospital delaying the horrors of the front line.
Mindful of social divides there were even “blue lamp” brothels for officers and “red lamp” ones for lower ranks.
Now a short film, War’s Whores, sheds light on the forgotten women who — with the Army’s secret approval — provided an unconventional morale boost to soldiers on the Western Front .
When war broke out in 1914, Lord Kitchener, the Secretary of State for War, issued a leaflet to troops warning them to “keep constantly on your guard against any excesses . . . you may find temptations both in wine and women. You must entirely resist both”.
Yet his words, and the warnings of graphic posters and other literature, fell on deaf ears.
Private Frank Richards, who was called up a day after war broke out, said Kitchener’s guidance “may as well have not been issued for all the notice we took”.
Historian Dr Clare Makepeace told The Sun: “The British Army tended to accept local sexual customs of where they were stationed, so that’s why the British kept the brothels ‘in bounds’ for troops until 1918 .”
Young men, far from home and their loved ones and thrust into the living hell of war, were often desperate for human contact.
Thousands of women are believed to have been sex workers during the conflict. Some in legalised brothels, known as maisons tolérées, in towns across northern France.
Dr Makepeace said: “Regulated brothels have been around in France since the mid-19th century but during the war they flourished in number.
“For some, the brothels were an escape from the carnage of the trenches. Some wanted to lose their virginity before it was too late. It’s a heartbreaking illustration of how the war ripped these men from life when they were so young.” In his autobiography Goodbye To All That, poet and novelist Captain Robert Graves wrote: “There were no restraints in France; these boys had money to spend and knew that they stood a good chance of being killed within a few weeks anyhow. They did not want to die virgins.”
Yet the subject of “war whores” is so taboo that only a handful of men have spoken about their brothel visits.
Dr Makepeace, an Honorary Research Fellow at Birkbeck, University of London, spent years trawling through personal accounts of soldiers and officers from World War One.
Her work inspired the short film War’s Whores, by poet Hollie McNish. It was commissioned by London’s Roundhouse as part of its digital art project Cause And Effect, to mark the centenary of the end of World War One .
Dr Makepeace came across Corporal Jack Wood’s diary, which describes the “great crowd of fellows” outside one brothel that was “about 30 yards in length” and says they were “waiting just like a crowd waiting for a football Cup tie in Blighty”.
He wrote of the scene inside: “There were seven young women, I should say by appearance from 28 to 40, made up in the finest of flimsy silk dresses and then showing the daintiest of lingerie, I suppose for attraction.
“From the passage came an entrance to a flight of stairs. Here stood Madame taking a franc for admission.
“I afterwards found out you paid the lady of choice any sum you cared from a franc upwards.”
Such queues were not unusual. Before one major offensive, 300 men lined up outside one brothel. Other prostitutes would linger outside, plying their trade on the streets, as well as in cafés and bars .
One report says that around 171,000 British troops visited brothels in a single street in Le Havre in a year.
Even in war, there were strict class divides — Cpl Wood and Lt Morgan would never have visited the same brothel. There were the more upmarket “blue lamps” for officers and the cruder “red lamps” frequented by the lower ranks.
Dr Makepeace explained: “It was acceptable for British officers to visit brothels but they weren’t allowed to flaunt it.
This gives some insight into why Lt Morgan, who served with the 175th Company of the Royal Engineers, part of a tunnelling unit that burrowed beneath No Man’s Land to blow up German trenches, was keen to keep the negatives hidden.
Dr Makepeace also discovered just how far the class divide stretched.
Despite refusing to fraternise in the “red lamps”, British officers were happy to take over the Germans’ high-class brothels towards the end of the war.
She said: “It surprised me British officers were more prepared to share the same prostitutes as the German officers but they weren’t prepared to share them with their own, lower-ranking men.
“Class was dividing men more than nationality, even at a time of war.”
Brothel workers had to have regular medical inspections, but even so STIs were rife. In 1916 one in five of all hospital admissions of British and British Crown troops in France and Belgium were for treatment for an STI. Around 150,000 British troops were admitted with venereal disease while stationed in France.
Some brothels employed elderly women to check men on entering in a bid to curb the spread of STIs. But for some, catching a disease was the whole purpose of their visit.
Dr Makepeace said: “There is evidence that some infected prostitutes earned more than uninfected prostitutes because men wanted to catch STIs so they could have an escape from the trenches, which is quite an upsetting indicator of the lengths they would go to.
“This subject can be read in terms of how awful life was in the First World War for these men but these women were also doing incredibly unenviable work and suffered horrible conditions.”
Many of the female sex workers were illiterate and she has so far been unable to find anything written from their perspective.
She said: “The closest I’ve got are the photos found in a biscuit tin.
“These photos are vital because they give us an insight and a more rounded picture of what life was really like on the Western Front.”
Talking about the images his wife’s grandfather, known by his initials “WN”, kept hidden for so long, Jo Gluck concluded: “Maybe WN decided they were better not seen — partly because of the images in the brothel but also because they contained pictures of the young woman he was discouraged from marrying.
“I see no reason why they should not be published now. They show another side of the war, which should also be remembered.”
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In September 2000 my daughter was nearly 13 and had just started secondary school. She had always got on well with other children and worked hard. But after a couple of months things began to change. She started wearing lots of make-up. The school was a stone's throw away, but friends began calling for her as early as 7.30am. Next my older daughter spotted her hanging about in the local park with some lads from school who introduced the girls they befriended to older boys and men. I was very alarmed. Then she started missing certain lessons, sometimes whole days.
When she started disappearing overnight, I trawled the streets looking for her. I had no control over her. Sometimes she would say she was going to have an early night, then she'd turn on the shower and climb out the bathroom window. Once when she disappeared, I went through the park looking for her and asked a teenage boy if he'd seen her. I was horrified when he said, "Yes, all the prostitutes hang out by the bowling green."
I confronted my daughter. "That's not true," she said. "Those boys are my boyfriends."
As far as she was concerned, she was doing what she wanted to do and I was hindering her. Money didn't seem to be changing hands, but the girls were getting drink and drugs and mobile phones. The men flattered them into believing they loved them as part of a process of grooming them to have sex with lots of different men, some in their 30s and 40s. People ask me why I use the word "grooming" rather than referring to them as paedophiles, but most of these men haven't been convicted.
I felt as if my daughter was sliding away from me and I'd never be able to get her back. Every minute of every day became a nightmare. I couldn't eat, sleep or function properly, and I could see no way back. Every time she disappeared, I thought I'd never see her alive again. If a girl is over 13, she has to be the complainant in a case of sexual assault. Because this was happening outside the house, there was nothing I could do. The worst thing, as a mother, was not being able to prevent my daughter from being abused.
At the end of 2001, a year after her first disappearance, I put her into care. She didn't want to go, but I could no longer cope. My lowest point was the first time I visited her. Seeing her and having to walk away was unbearable. Everything exploded while she was in care, and I had a breakdown.
My nephew killed himself unexpectedly during this time. My daughter an
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