'Tutes & the Maytals

Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, 8/2/11

All the bars we go to in Saigon are packed to the brim with prostitutes. Especially as the night progresses. I think it's a 2:1 ratio in the favor of the girls of the night. Even including the men. We can't avoid them, walking around in 7'' stilettos, corsets, and skin-tight metallic dresses that leave little to the imagination. The wear immense amounts of mascara, long straight perfectly-coiffed black hairstyles, and cold statuesque stares. Their preferred company seems to be older Western men, which is great for me since I don't even need to buy a ticket to watch this show.

While playing pool, we meet Will, a gregarious 31-year old Mississippian with a thick build and a crewcut of prematurely salt & pepper hair. He's not much older than me, yet is twice divorced, has a five-year old son, has served two tours of duty with the Air Force, and now lives in Taipei with his Taiwanese girlfriend of one year, Rikki. She takes a liking to me immediately and introduces me to several of her friends, all of whom are striking with painted-on dresses. Due to the company they're keeping, I believe they're different from the rest of the crowd until I get to know one better. After I've been flirting with Cindy for an hour or so, Rikki pulls me aside and shoves a giant stack of money in my face, furiously flipping through individual bills. As she fans the money, Rikki whispers in my ear, "my friend likes you. She likes you very much. You tell me what you want tonight, just let me know, and I'll tell you how much."

I think she sees the skepticism on my face so Will comes in for backup, putting his arm around me. He looks me dead in the eyes and in a thick Southern accent says, "listen man, you always pay for it one way or another. You go out on a date, you're paying her. You're in a relationship, you're paying her. This is the exact same... And this girl really likes you!" His misogynistic, antiquated logic isn't inherently flawed and I do pay for all my dates. But I don't wake up the next morning with the inability to urinate. Plus I haven't been married, let alone twice divorced, so I will let the jaded outlook wait.

Rikki keeps flashing bills in front of my face pressing about my desires for the evening, as Cindy inches closer and closer to my groin while flashing her toothy smile. I tell them both what I really want is to go to bed alone in my sixth floor tenement room with teddy bear sheets. Cindy is beautiful and should get an Oscar for her feigned interest, but at least this way I'll know for sure: If I have a rash tomorrow, it won't be from a petite, magenta dress-class, sexy lady of the night. It will be bed bugs.