My Danish friend, Ejgil, was volunteering at a refugee camp in Athens, Greece. The camp was situated in a defunct hotel, out of business due to the global financial crisis a decade ago. “The City Plaza,” as it had been known, now hosts refugees from all over the world. Ejgil planned to work there over the summer, and since I was going to Europe anyway, I made a side trip to Greece to visit him.
We hung out several times, but he was extremely busy (and frankly seemed a little overwhelmed — I guess insurmountable misery can do that to you). Other times, I did the typical touristy things in Athens, visiting monuments, museums, and trying local delicacies. After three days, I was bored out of my mind. So I decided to explore the red light district in Athens (a better alternative rather than me trading a blowjob for a sandwich or falafel, refugee-style).
According to Google, Filis (“kiss” in Greek) Street is the main drag, hosting numerous single studios for young prostitutes. When you walk into a studio, the Greek “mama-san” welcomes you and introduces the girl. She runs down the girls’ names, the price and duration of the session, and emphasizes these are strictly for “normal sex.” (Basically meaning no anal, an odd rule to hear from a Greek person…) The Filis setup reminds me of Tobita Shinchi, the historic sex district in my hometown of Osaka. Tobita’s studios tend to have a young woman kneeling by the genkan (entryway) or in the living room fully open to the street, and patrons are free to negotiate with them or the elderly mama-san before making a decision. I know that some of you find prostitution distasteful, but in many cultures it’s just considered as work, i.e. sex work.
Anyhoo, I went back to Athens several more times. My daily schedule involved Greek mythology (visiting the various magical neighborhoods of Athens) during the day, followed by gynecology (hi, ladies!) at night. It was fun while it lasted.
In late 2019, I was back in Athens, waiting in my room for one of the more popular girls who was busy with other customers. The spartan room consisted of a bed, some minimal decoration, a sink and a TV. Television was so critical in appeasing impatient customers, which is done by playing non-stop porno, all the time. Unfortunately, since I used to work for a porn company, this could be a double edged predicament. While most men enjoy porn in private, it was sometimes awkward for me to be having sex and see a movie that I actually worked on. Say for example I didn’t do a very good job on that particular movie; I’d be getting a BJ, muttering to myself, “Golly, how did I let that scene go without making the proper corrections?!!” Shit like that will spoil the fun.
If my issue ended there, it would’ve just been a minor irritation. But it’s also weird to see a good friend fucking in the movie. Often they look much younger (the movies in foreign brothels are usually pretty out-of-date, not getting replaced very often). I see a popular porn star from ten years ago, and my mind begins drifting away. Wonder what she’s doing these days? Married? Kids? Back to school? Still in the sex business? Too many questions going through my head, instead of me concentrating on the girl who’s sitting on my face!
After that, the absolute worst thing to see is those of my porn colleagues who are no longer with us. Dead man fucking! Dead woman fucking! The closest I’ve gotten to watching a snuff film.
For most civilians, watching porn movies starring deceased performers wouldn’t mean anything. To them, these stars are simply fantasy. And fantasy doesn’t die, it just fades away…
The worst one for me happened the last time I was in Athens. It was due to a particularly sad and gut-wrenching incident. Six months earlier, my friend, porn star Brandon Iron, had committed suicide. (This occurred two months after my friend Brody Stevens also hung himself). So there I was, again waiting for my girl, when all of a sudden, I’m watching a scene of Brandon fucking Anita Blond. I was not emotionally prepared to see Brandon’s massive cock penetrating the Hungarian superstar. My eyes got watery. When the escort showed up and saw my face, she got confused and tried to figure out what was going on. (Through my tears, I also noticed that she was super hot.) As I explained as best I could, she responded with understanding, compassion and affection… for a little while. The moment I started regaining my faith in humanity, though, she announced our time was up. If I wanted to fuck her, I’d have to pay her again. In a husky, businesslike Russian accent: “20 more euros, baby!” was all I heard from my new comrade.
I know some of you might ask, how could anyone fuck in a situation like that? I tell you, if there’s a person who would appreciate this predicament, it’s my dearly departed pal and world traveller, Mr. Brandon Motherfucking Iron! R.I.P. my big-dicked brother! May you achieve cosmic orgasm wherever you are!
