Expat Games
Because of Ari’s recent post about his blossoming romance, I was afraid y’all would think we were going soft at BlackNotBlack. So to dissuade readers from that notion, I decided to shift the theme from love to its opposite—no, not lust—exploitation. I’m not going to tell the story associated with these photos, because it isn’t my story to tell. And I'm not sure I'd want to tell it anyway.I have to confess, I was never going to let these images see daylight. But they seemed a good juxtaposition to the last post. Also, the devil on my left shoulder has spent the last year battling the angel on my right, and today the angel tapped out after walking into a particularly vicious right cross followed by a brutal submission hold.
I guess the fact that my devil won means I'm still a work in progress. But let me state that I did not hire these women, nor would I ever do anything of the sort. But expats habitually get out of hand, and at some point all of us become the equivalent of photojournalists, recording others' antics without being involved. More than once I've been the one running around naked while others looked on in horror. Luckily, there were no cameras those times. Actually, I’d say that, over the course of my travels, there is a camera around for less than ten percent of the craziness that occurs. So just imagine what you’ve missed.
I think that’s all I’ll say about this, except for a public service warning: When hiring strippers in certain nations, understand up front that what you’ll actually get are prostitutes, that they won’t look like the beautiful one you saw earlier when you went browsing, and that their pimp will accompany them and carry a pistol just to make sure you don't want a refund. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Labels: exploitation, insane expats, strippers
posted by Egan Ehlers @ 8:02 PM
7 comments
