The Story of a Vietnamese Prostitute
It was one of those hot Saigonese evenings. I was sitting in one of those depraved pubs of Bui Vien Street, having some beers with two Japanese fellow travelers, while watching the motley crowd rambling up and down the road. It was then when, all of a sudden, that cheery, young local girl darted out of the throng, and by the very next instant, had taken the liberty to occupy the vacant fourth chair around our table.
As our interaction thus commenced, and despite her superficial appearance differing in nothing from that of so many a common prostitute sauntering around that area, she quickly made it clear, employing speech and manners, that she wasn’t such an ordinary one after all. What mainly impressed me about her person was her grit, frankness, and eagerness to speak openly about her situation. So, finding that situation of hers intriguing, I urged her to narrate a great deal of her peculiar life story, which I here cite…
“How did your childhood go by?”
“No differently than the one of any typical Vietnamese child. I grew up in a farmers’ family in a small rural town. Like all other kids, I went to school every day and played games in the afternoons.
“That until my sixteen… I then started to drink. I was boozing every single day throughout my teens. I became a proper alcoholic. Then I also lost my virginity, and I right away became equally addicted to sex as to alcohol. I may have slept with half the male population of my hometown.
“I quit school and stopped associating with other teenagers altogether. I was finding them tormentingly dull, speaking only about stupid Korean movies and boy bands and stuff. I began hanging out with old gay guys. I looked up to them as sages. I was fascinated by their sense of freedom and their guts to disregard public opinion.
“That was pretty much my life until I moved to Saigon after I turned eighteen.”
“How come you moved to Saigon in the first place?”
“I always wanted to leave my hometown. That place was too narrow for me, too restricting for what I dreamed for my life. Furthermore, during the last few months of my stay there, my position was incredibly unpleasant due to a problematic relationship I was in.
“I was together with that boy… He was constantly upset because I had sex with lots of other guys, especially when they were his friends. I loved him, but I could not do otherwise, as he was away most of the time. He worked as a male prostitute, gay-for-trade, and had to go to the cities to find clients. I was waiting for my chance to leave him.
“The opportunity finally arose with the aid of one of those gay friends of mine. He introduced me to that girl he knew in Saigon, a few years older than me she was, and he asked her to host me in her apartment and help me start a new life.
“So it happened. I moved to Saigon and stayed with her and her boyfriend for the first month. But the situation there was very intense for me. He was a drug dealer, that dude. They were smoking meth the whole time, screaming and fighting like animals. It was very wild. I also tried to smoke with them a time or two, but I didn’t like it. I could not stand it anymore. So I ran away and endeavored to make a living on my own.”
“And how exactly did you proceed with making a living on your own?”
“I was always charmed by white men. In my hometown, I had mostly known them from American movies. I’d rarely see one in real life, and I was utterly bewitched every time I happened to run into one. And then, in Saigon, I was suddenly surrounded by all those handsome tourists everywhere. At that time, I’d have gladly paid to have sex with them. But then, I found out that a great many of them were willing to pay me for sex instead. Those were the happiest days of my life. It felt like living in a dream.
“It wasn’t prostitution for me, the whole thing. It was fun. My primary objective for sleeping with someone was my pleasure. The money was just what came along with it, a convenient side-effect, so to say. I never slept with someone I didn’t like. And unlike what girls here normally do, I was never asking for money before the act. Nor was I asking afterwards, actually. It’s just that those men would always give me some money on their own initiative, as a sort of gift for the satisfaction I offered them.”
“You were, let’s say, a prostitute-on-donations, eh?”
“Hmm, you may say so. But I was more than a mere prostitute. Look, the clients I usually picked were guys who, despite being handsome, had some serious confidence issues. Besides sex, they needed someone to talk to. We spent some quality chatting time together, and they appreciated that. I had my steady clients, who would come to the bars looking specifically for me. I could easily clear 200-300 dollars a day, far more than the average girl earns.”
“So I guess you rather were a prostitute-psychologist-on-donations… And how come you stopped practicing the profession?”
“I only practiced it for a few months, in fact, less than a year. I stopped when I met my ex-boyfriend. He was a 66-year-old Englishman, a man of great intelligence and strong character. He taught me English. He taught me everything I know. He made me all I am.”
“And what did he do about your financing?”
“Oh, I wasn’t with him for the money. Imagine that, when we first met, he even lied to me that he doesn’t have any money to give me – so to test me. But I slept with him several times, anyway, because I liked him. Only later, when we got in a proper relationship, he divulged that he’s extremely wealthy. But I never was with him for the money. I loved him with all my heart.”
“I see… And how much money was he giving you anyway?”
“He was super rich, yes. But he wasn’t giving me much. A thousand pounds per month only.”
“That was by far less than what you used to make before, no?”
“Yes, sure. But that was just for my pocket money. I was living with him then and didn’t really need any money. He was paying for everything, and we had lots of fun: drinking, dancing, traveling… He also bought me gifts all the time. I didn’t want them, but he was insisting, you know.”
“How long were you together? And how did it end?”
“Quite a few years. We split up after I met my current husband… I fell in love with him at first sight when I saw him in a bar. That same night, we slept together, and I right away knew where my heart belongs. My ex-boyfriend, I understood then, I did not love him; I admired and revered him, but I did not love him. The very next morning, I let him know of the situation and broke up with him. He took it badly, got furious at me, but I hope he’ll understand over time.
“I then left with my new boyfriend. We traveled around Vietnam and Southeast Asia for some months, and we got married. Now he is back home in Sweden. I’m moving over to him next week.”
“I suppose you must be pretty happy about this outcome. Moving to Europe, that’s what all girls around here dream.”
“Nonono! I hate Europe! I love Vietnam! I prefer a thousand times to stay here! But I sacrifice myself for the sake of love!”
“Interesting… That power of love, eh? But what about your comfort? Your husband is a young guy. I bet he can’t afford giving you as much money as your previous boyfriend could.”
“I told you, it’s about real love. He doesn’t give me any money. Well… of course, as a man, he pays for everything. But it’s not as if he gives me money. It’s just that whatever money he has, we have it together. Plus that I have a job of my own, anyway.”
“Job? What about it?”
“I was always fond of dancing. It’s my ambition to become a famous stripper. I aspire to chase after my dream in Europe eventually. But for the moment, my husband discourages me. He understands it‘s about art, but he doesn’t feel comfortable with the idea of other men fondling me and cheering for me. He’s afraid my feelings might get hurt, you know. He is overprotective, sometimes, my sweetheart.
“However, he doesn’t mind if I dance on the Internet. It’s already quite some time I’ve signed up for a cam-girl on a relevant site. I make some good money, doing nothing but what I like: dancing. The clients pay 5 dollars per minute. I earn one, and the site gets the rest. I have my regular clientele.”
“The psychologist-camera-stripper kind of thing, may I assume?”
“Exactly, my sessions last up to more than an hour, and my clients will always come back to me.”
“So, starting a new married life in Sweden next week, how do you foresee your future?”
“I do not want to foresee it. I never plan. I go, I see. Life is a mystery.”
The story you've just read is a part of my "Real Stories of Real People" collection, wherein I narrate my encounters with various remarkable characters I've run into while traveling around the world. The entire collection is published on my blog and may be read here. But if you'd like to get them with you to the beach in your ebook reader or as a physical book, and very appreciatedly support my creative activity, go ahead and grab your copy from Amazon for the cost of a cup of coffee.
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