the perfect prostitute

Contemporary Monologue I:
Desdemona, A Play About a Handkerchief by Paula Vogel

What does honesty have to do with adultery?
Every honest man I know is an adulterer.

I remember the first time I saw my husband and I caught a glimpse of his skin and – oh I thrilled! I thought – aha – a man of different color! From another world and planet. I thought, if I marry this strange dark man , I can leave this narrow little Venice with its whispering piazzas behind – I can escape and see the world.

But underneath that exotic façade was nothing but a porcelain white Venetian.

Of course you don’t understand. But there’s something in my blood and that is a desire to know the world. I lie in the blackness of the room at the establishment…on sheets that are torn and stained by countless nights. And the men that come into that pitch-black room are men of different sizes and smells and shapes…men of smooth skin, rough skin, and scarred skin. And they spill their seed into me – a seed from a thousand lands, passed down through generations of ancestors, with genealogies that cover the surface of the globe. And I simply lie still there in the darkness, taking them all into me. I close my eyes and in the dark of my mind – oh, how I travel.

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How do I relate this to myself? Specifically?

Every time I meet a man I find interesting I get butterflies. I get so excited. I think maybe, just maybe he will know how to be with me! I think just maybe he will understand how odd I am and I can open up with him! Oh the romanticism I find in the unknown is scary.

All but once or twice or thrice has there been a shining white porcelain man in my presence and all I can do is sit and stare. If only they could understand I am not porcelain white – I am a black hole of everythingness.

Desdemona cannot let anyone know it is she who hides in the darkness of that room waiting to travel the world – only I can let other people know I have had my fun with boys. Not saying we are the same person, only that I do understand her. Whether I convey her thoughts in my monologue, I must understand WHY she feels this need. What compels a woman of royalty to prostitute her body in and out of every man.

It is not the idea of prostitution. It is the idea of anonymous fun. As taboo as that may be – let it be. I am captured by it – by the idea of society holding you in one position during the day and going insane during the night. It is a balance – maybe that is what some people need?

Anyways, I am using this blog as an acting tool – so when/if they ask me what is your objective? I’ll say – to convince and express to my maid “Emilia” why I am a whore at night. Also, so when I go in there and I a speaking these words of taboo-ness I can understand where they are coming from.

I have experienced many shapes, sizes, and smells. I have experienced rough skins, smooth skins, and scarred skins. I remember most of them. I love them for the moment – and only the moment. For, sometimes I wish there was blackness to make me only feel and not see – because it is the seeing and light, which makes a whore a whore – if there is only darkness no one would know. And no one ever admits to feeling – so Desdemona, you are the perfect prostitute