Over at Narrative.ly, there is a crazy story about what it is like to live with a prostitute. “Must be hot,” I joked. It’s not. It sounds very weird.
And this isn’t in the sense that you or I would think: there is no pimp and there is no wall banging sex acts. The roommate does not have sex with the prostitute nor do they have any sort of any encounters: they are just roommates.
To that effect, the story is wonderful in that it isn’t necessarily about “living with a prostitute” but more of relationships, being so close to someone in proximity yet knowing nothing about them—and not caring to. Take for instance the moment when the author turns to the Internet for answers.
More than what to do, I was seeking clarity on why it bothered me. Who was I to judge if Jenny chose an unorthodox profession? Why would I care if she used her room to ply her trade? Still, I couldn’t stomach the thought, and the Internet validated my discomfort. On Yahoo Answers and in Google Groups and various other forums people wrote about similar experiences, and the consensus was: Don’t let your roommate turn tricks within your home. It’s dangerous, it’s illegal, and it can bring nothing but trouble.
The story goes to a place you likely will not expect and goes from here to infinity very fast. If you have some time, you should certainly give it a read. Give a stranger a hug today, too.