On the game

Talking of secrets, I've never been with a prostitute. Never ever. But a surprising number of men have been. Some research says one in ten. Clearly they're not put off by all the negative associations of what they're doing.

I once lived in a red-light district near Paddington Station in London. Every so often one of the women would ask me if I "wanted a good time" or "wanted to do some business." I always politely turned them down.

I've long been mystified by men's taste for prostitutes (I refuse to use the sanitised term sex worker). For many reasons I never shared their keenness. And not just because of a shortage of a cash.

I couldn't live with all the secrecy and lying. Not just to your girlfriend or wife but to other family members, friends, workmates, strangers - just about everyone. If it's something so shameful or disgusting you daren't tell anyone, why are you doing it at all?

I have no desire for sex with a complete stranger, and certainly not if it's been turned into a commercial transaction. And certainly not if the woman is doing it unwillingly and out of desperation. And certainly not if she's a victim of sexual trafficking, as many prostitutes now are.

I wouldn't want to go along with all the obvious falsity. The woman pretending she's delighted to see you, that you're a mighty handsome fella, that you're sexual dynamite, that it's dreadful your wife has lost interest etc. Some men must actually believe all this bullshit.

And yes, the shame. How do some men live with themselves, seeing women not as human beings worthy of respect and consideration but handy sexual receptacles when they're feeling randy?

As the old question goes, would you treat your own daughter like that?

True or false?

Anxiety comes in different shapes and forms. I have plenty of anxieties but I guess the biggest is whether I'm being true to myself or not. What you might call honesty anxiety.

When I'm talking to other people, I'm forever thinking, am I being honest? Am I telling the truth or am I faking it? Am I simply saying something because it's polite, or it's what they're expecting, or it avoids an argument, or it's an easy-to-understand cliché? Am I dodging any remark that might make the conversation too difficult, too emotional, too startling?

A lot of people seem immune to such agonising.  They gabble away, apparently unconcerned whether they're telling it like it is or making it all up. Maybe they don't even see the difference. Whatever they say is grist to the mill, is oiling the social wheels, and who cares if it's total bollocks or if it's deep-down, straight-from-the-heart, innermost-self sincerity?

I'm amazed at the number of people who spout blatant, outrageous lies and don't seem remotely bothered about what they're saying. It must be some sort of private game to tell the biggest whoppers and get away with it.

But then again, what is truth and what is falsity anyway? If I say something out of politeness, is that false because I'd rather say something a bit rude, or is it genuine because I believe politeness helps you get on with people?

If I fob someone off with a glib cliché, is that false because it misrepresents a more complex reality, or is it genuine because I don't want to embarrass them with some detailed and baffling explanation they really don't need?

Maybe I just have an exaggerated dislike of lies and dishonesty. Where others merely shrug them off, I feel truly sickened and polluted. I feel tricked and insulted. I feel like I've trodden in something nasty.