I live in a brothel...sort of

Apparently the building I live in here in Lugano was, 6 or 7 years ago, a brothel. And my little single room with a private bathroom and a kitchenette was, to put it politely, one of the "transaction" rooms. I guess that explains the built-in full-size bed. And the wonderfully (at least compared to our dorms at ERC) soundproofed walls. Though compared to our nearly uninsulated ERC dorms, anything is more soundproofed, as you could hear pretty much everything the people above and below you were doing. Especially those things you never wanted to hear them do. Sex really is only a participation sport. Being a spectator in that situation just isn't a whole lot of fun.

I have realized, though, that if I wanted to have sex with someone here, I have a fabulous room for it. I can't say I have anyone here that I would particularly want to prove that theory with, but the hypothetical situation is a nice one. In reality, this school is so small that it would be nearly impossible to do anything of the sort inconspicuously, soundproofing or not.

At the same time, I really don't like to think about what these walls have probably seen. This place once housed a combination of desperation and objectification that manages to make something that can be really, really good into something terribly exploitative. A ghastly mutation of sex that takes usually destitute women forced to choose between prostituting themselves or letting their children starve (can you truly call that a free choice?) and places them at the whims of men in search of, really, an ultra-realistic blow-up doll and those that will do anything to ensure a profit from it. It is the ultimate projection of the insidious sexual double standard: men have no self-control and women are simply passive objects. It is the ultimate manifestation of the virgin/whore dichotomy, and I know that is often how it is rationalized.

I, now, just sit here and take comfort in my new mattress and repainted walls. In the fact that I know that I am the one who defines my sexuality and its expression. In knowing that I have the right to enjoy my sexuality on my own terms, as an active being, an equal participant. I am no one's whore and no one's virgin. I also sit here on my bed and pray for all those, women and men, who have had that right taken away from them somehow and hope that someday, we can embrace a sexual ethic that uplifts and respects us all. One that allows each of us to fully enjoy our sexualities free from the double standards and dehumanization that, ultimately, harm us all.

I told you this would also be a soapbox...