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”Can’t Buy Me Love”, ”Love Don’t Cost a Thing” – you know the songs; the ones dedicated to the prospect that love is a magical thing, independent of the sordid world of pounds, dollars, euros.Of course they’re all ideological; handy ways of disguising the obvious fact that money impacts on love in the same way it impacts on the rest of our lives, or else how do you explain that spousal abuse and divorce increase in straightened economic times?Every teenager knows that if money can’t buy you love, it can at least make you more attractive to a prospective partner – and get you more nookie in the meantime. Why be sentimental about it?Look around. Does it really seem to you as if monogamous, ‘til death do us part relationships are the norm? Look at all the affairs people have, the divorce rate. Look at history. Ask yourself if it follows that just because two people love each other, they’re absolutely and unfailingly compatible in every way in a sexual sense. Is there really any reason to sentimentalize love and sex, other than for ideological reasons? I don’t think so.Actually, don’t even get me started on the way people go on about how wrong it is to buy or sell sex; as if there was something virtuous about someone wearing their body down doing menial labour for the minimum wage, as opposed to making what they can with whatever assets they’ve got. But it follows, logically, from the myth that love and sex are (or should be) inextricably intertwined. If love is to be kept separate from Mammon, then it follows that sex should not be commodified either. The only problem with this is that it ignores reality.Because we all believe in market forces these days, don’t we? Supply and demand and all that. If there’s a demand for a service, supply will follow. It always has. And I still don’t see how sex work is in any way more immoral than the way major corporations all want us to sell our souls these days; be loyal, lobotomized company people. Y’know?What’s that? Buying sex is wrong because it’s all about power and dominance? In part it’s a symptom of inequality, I’ll give you that, but it’s actually tied in to another age old law: Opposites Attract. People who can afford to buy sex in the same way they buy other services don’t actually have to; their money will act as an aphrodisiac and get them sex anyway. No, the real, dirty little secret is that when rich people buy sex, it helps them balance their lives, gives them a way to balance the Olympian heights on which they dwell through a descent into some kind of netherworld, or at least a dirtier, seedier world – like Zeus descending to frolic with mortals. The lies they traffic in can be blissfully forgotten, at least for a while; “Love Don’t Cost a Thing” – until the divorce. The loftier the life; the more the opposite attracts. Why else do nice, middle class white kids go in for gangsta rap, or adopt some simulacrum of a bohemian lifestyle – at least until they gentrify the neighbourhoods they moved to, ruining the edginess that drew them there in the first place? Think about it.Opposites attract isn’t just a theory. I’ve seen it in action. I’ve seen it with my boss.I’d worked for a certain company for a while. It had been founded by the current boss’s grandfather, way back. The current boss was thus born into a world of wealth and privilege. For all I know she even went to finishing Escort Tunalı school. Truth be told, you’d think she was a bit of a bimbo to look at, but you underestimate her at your peril. Of course, for some reason the rich never seem to think that those of us at the bottom of the pile do any kind of work that merits a decent wage, in spite of the fact that they’d be sunk without us. I’d been at the company for three years, and was still hovering just above the minimum wage. That was when The Boss approached me.Well, she demanded to see me. Naturally I thought I was about to be given the sack, or at the very least a good bollocking, though for what reason I wasn’t sure. She liked to flaunt her wealth discreetly – if that’s not a contradiction in terms. If she wasn’t laden with bling, you still knew that what little jewellery there was, and the smart outfit, had cost a bloody fortune. I stood there in my frayed and faded jeans and grubby shirt, hating that I felt inferior, even though I didn’t see any reason why I should.“I have reason to believe that you’re the kind of man who can keep things to himself,” she said. She’d been sounding someone out about me. Why, I couldn’t imagine.“Yeah, well, having a loose tongue can get you into all kinds of bother.”“You also look like you know how to handle yourself if things get hairy,” The Boss went on.“Where I come from, you don’t know how to handle yourself, you’re basically dead.”This seemed to amuse The Boss. “And as with all your kind, I’m sure that money talks.”I tried hard to ignore that patronizing ‘your kind’. “Depends,” I said. I mean, a man has his pride, right?She fixed me with a good hard stare. “Playing hard to get, are we?”I shrugged. “Depends what exactly we’re talking about.”The Boss leaned back in her chair. “There’s a vacancy,” she said. “I need a new chauffeur.”“Then advertise.” I shouldn’t have said it, but I was pissed off at these games, and The Boss’s air of superiority.To my surprise, she said, “Very good! I had a hunch you’d be just the man for the job.”“Why?”The Boss’s demeanour changed again as she leaned forward. “Never mind that. Either you want the job or you don’t.”“What does it involve? Other than the obvious.”“Very good!” The Boss said again. Then, clasping her hands together and relaxing into her more benevolent role, “It involves five times your present salary, in exchange for your absolute silence. Whatever you should chance to witness, you must never breathe a word of it to any living soul. If you do, I will crush you like a cockroach.”One thing rich people don’t get, is that when you’re at the bottom of the ladder already, threats like that are pretty fucking pointless. How much worse can it get? On the other hand, money may not buy you love, but it can definitely buy a man’s complicity. Five times what I earned was more money than I’d ever seen. I was thinking shady deals, overhearing things it would hurt The Boss if they were made public; backhanders, secret conversations with politicians, environmental chicanery, whatever. Still, a conscience is a luxury reserved for those who can afford it. “Monkey blind, deaf and mute,” I said.“So we have a deal.” It wasn’t a question.“Don’t you want me to take you for a spin first?” I said. “Make sure I’m up to snuff.”She laughed. The Boss laughed like it was the funniest ulus escort fucking thing she’d ever heard. Mind you, if you’ve been educated by nuns or whatever, maybe everything is funny by comparison.Anyway, I accepted the money and the conditions, of course I did. What do you take me for? The first couple of weeks there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. I drove The Boss to meetings and other engagements, and whatever conversations took place in the back of the car, nothing sounded remotely suspicious. I certainly wasn’t privy to any underhand dealings of any kind.But then things changed. The meetings and stuff remained, but now I got to drive The Boss to a few other locations; places you wouldn’t expect a woman in her position to go. “Wait here,” she would say, leaving me to guard the car in some part of town where you wouldn’t necessarily expect it to remain unmolested. So I waited, leaning against the gleaming paintwork as I smoked interminable cigarettes and glared at the lowlife that cast inquisitive eyes in my direction. Shabby neon advertised cheap thrills. People uninhibited from drink shrieked and threw cartons of half-eaten food on the ground for seagulls to swoop in and carry off. The Boss would return after an hour or so, never once saying where she’d been, what she’d done or who she’d seen, and I didn’t ask. She was paying me for my silence, and the less I knew, the less trouble I’d have keeping my mouth shut.My first pay check as a chauffeur convinced me that I’d made the right decision. Having lived on so little for so long, I had no idea what to spend it on, but that left me a fair bit to stash away in a savings account (something I’d never had before). Hell, at this rate I’d be able to afford the deposit on a house before I knew it, and get out of my scummy little flat overlooking an accident-prone stretch of flyover and an abandoned chemical plant.A week into my second month was when I really came to understand The Boss’s need for discretion. She ordered the car round and got in the back. This time, instead of stating a destination, she gave directions.“Yes, ma’m,” I replied to each one.Not that there were many directions to give. Through town until we got to the motorway. Then the motorway until we’d left the sprawl of the metropolis behind us. We passed junction after junction until The Boss told me, “Exit at the next junction. Follow the signs to the truck stop.”“Yes, ma’m.”This was a new one. It was dark by now, but the expanse of the truck stop basked in a sodium glow. Huge juggernauts stood lined up along one side of the parking area. There was a building with a shop and a café, but The Boss ordered me to stop round the back. “Ma’m?” I said, switching the engine off.“I’m not expecting any trouble,” The Boss said. “But I want you with me, just in case.”She may not be expecting trouble, but it sounded ominous anyway. Was this it? Where the shady deals were arranged? Brown envelope, no questions asked, that kind of thing? “Yes, ma’m,” I said.The Boss got out of the car without waiting for me to open the door for her. I followed, making sure to lock the car, which chirped happily. I still had no idea quite what this was all about, but for the first time doubts began to creep in.There was one door set in the back of the square building. The sign on the door identified yenimahalle escort bayan it as a men’s lavatory. There was no corresponding female lavatory, and it wasn’t hard to fathom that this was primarily for the benefit of truckers. So why did The Boss pull the door open and enter? I followed, feeling ill at ease.Inside, there was the smell of a day’s worth of human waste. Truth be told it smelled no worse than the lift in my tower block, but I still didn’t get what we were doing there. “What now?” I said.“We wait,” The Boss replied. “You over there.”She pointed to the wall next to the door and I complied, arms folded across my chest. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the place; three cubicles off to one side, three porcelain urinals lined up along the back wall. There was everything out of the ordinary about the scene, as The Boss walked across to the central urinal, her high heels click-clacking against the floor, before she turned, standing so far back she was actually straddling the thing.Even at this late stage, I couldn’t fathom what was going on. I had a million questions, but I’d long since decided it was best not to ask, to know. Besides, The Boss had said to wait.Not that we had long to wait. When the door opened, I tensed, every muscle prepared for the trouble The Boss said she didn’t expect. The man who entered was big and burly, clearly overweight, with dirty jeans and a stained t-shirt.He walked straight up to the central urinal, in spite of the fact that he could easily have chosen either of the others. I clenched my fists, but something about the situation was unnaturally composed, almost like a tableau. The man was standing in front of The Boss. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Am I in your way?”And to my amazement she began to hitch up her skirt, lifting it past black stocking tops. At the same time the man was unzipping without a word. Though I couldn’t see, I knew his cock was coming out.As if The Boss wasn’t there, he began to empty his bladder. I shifted slightly, seeing the curve of urine as it struck the porcelain. Then to my amazement, the jet rose, urine wetting black, satin knickers. I was ready to step in, but The Boss didn’t look as if she was keen for any interruptions, an amused, slightly cruel smile playing on her lips.Having emptied his bladder, the man gave his dick a shake. “Oops,” he said. “Looks like I pissed your panties.”“Then I’d better take them off,” The Boss said.As she did just that, the man fiddled with his cock, bringing it up to full erection. The Boss smiled, but only with her mouth, turning as her skirt dropped back down. She placed one heeled foot on the urinal, gripping the pipes that ran up the wall with a hand and thrusting her arse back. The man lifted her skirt back up with one hand, guiding his cock with the other. There was no discussion, no asking of permission, just the man stuffing his sausage into The Boss.The Boss gave a groan of depraved delight. My own cock stiffened at the sound, and it was all I could do not to unfold my arms to stuff my hand into my pocket.“Aaaah, talk dirty to me!” The Boss demanded, as she stood there, letting the fat man drive his cock back and forth.“Turn you on, does it, you little slag?” the man obliged. “Poor little rich girl, desperate for a proper shag for once.”“Think you’re God’s gift to women, do you?” The Boss replied.“Shut the fuck up and take it,” the man replied, grabbing The Boss’ pony tail and pushing her face up against the wall. “We both know all you want is a good hard fuck and a cunt load of spunk.”I was prepared to intervene, but something told me the pair had previous with each other.

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