Does age make humans wiser? I’ve been pondering this question after reading about Sheila Vogel, an 82-year-old prostitute who shot to fame after being outed as the grandmother of a talent-show contestant. Her silly granddaughter claimed to be “absolutely devastated”, even though it could hardly have been news to her. She ought to have said that she was proud to have a grandmother whom men would pay for sex. There are times in life when the only honourable option is brazen defiance.
When I told the manager of the safari camp about Ms Vogel’s exploits, he nodded in solemn appreciation.
“She must have her tits screwed on,” he remarked.
For once, I had to agree with him. A sex worker of 82 who can charge her clients £250 an hour must be a shrewd old bird. Then I read something which caused me to have second thoughts. It seems that Ms Vogel has publicly stated that she’d be happy to party with Wagner, the moustachioed Brazilian singer who looks like Zorro’s ugly uncle. I make no judgements about her preferences. I’ve seen enough of life to know that one woman’s slimy slug is another woman’s gossamer-winged butterfly. What isn’t very clever is admitting to fancying the multiple-chinned minstrel before agreeing a fee with him. Her bargaining position has been irreparably damaged, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Wagner turned up on her doorstep expecting to be serviced gratis.
Ms Vogel’s behaviour reminds me of a fable told by Old Melonhead, the semi-mythical ape later copied by Aesop. It’s about a female spider who is visited by two male suitors. The first one approaches her timidly and gently taps one of her hairy legs.
“If you mate with me I’ll let you eat me afterwards,” he says.
“You loser!” cries the female. “Do you think I have to let you into my pants if I want to eat you?!”
She then pounces on the hapless male and sucks out his innards until nothing remains but an empty husk. After kicking it contemptuously into the undergrowth, she sees the second suitor swagger up to her with a cocky expression on his face.
“I’ll only mate with you if you make me a web, lie down in the middle of it, and let me tie down your legs,” he says.
“Hmm,” thinks the female. “He’s an arrogant little prick, but I can’t deny he’s got balls. I wonder what kinky stuff he’s got in mind?”
So she agrees to his terms and sets about making a web, while the male rests leisurely on a twig. When the web is finished, she lies down on her back in the middle of it, allowing the male to bind her legs. He then proceeds to probe her sexual opening with his palps, causing her to moan ecstatically until she shudders to a devastating climax.
“That was so wonderful I could feel the web shake!” gasps the female. “What are you going to do now?”
“Eat you,” replies the male. “And I’m not talking about oral sex.”
The moral of the story is not to undervalue yourself if you want to be the diner rather than the dinner. I think Ms Vogel should charge Wagner £500 an hour.
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Sheila Vogel /
Spiders /
Wagner
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