NEWSLETTER

BY JUAN PABLO AGUILAR AND GUILLERMO RIVERO
TRANSLATED BY MEGAN MCDOWELL
PHOTOS BY RAMIRO CHAVES


PAOLA
Paola has been a resident of the house since August 2007. Although advanced in years, she didn’t think it was time to go to a nursing home. She says she’s seen 80-year-old women in the sex trade, so, at 61, she doesn’t feel old. She also doesn’t like the idea of obeying orders. She’s always lived how she wanted. She is irreverent and good-humored. “I started out in a cabaret when I was 13. I had to wear fake titties and a lot of makeup. No doubt, if you start out bad, you end up bad. I didn’t like to drink in those days, but I still became an alcoholic. My bosses gave me commissions when I drank with clients. To me, that was life: the sex trade, drugs, and alcohol. I didn’t see any other options or expect anything else from life.”

In Paola’s case, it was the clients who finally disenchanted her: “I didn’t mind living like that, but the years take their toll and the clients change. Before, they were begging for it, and now I have to chase after them.

“There are some clients who come and seem nice, but in the hotel they turn mean: They tell you they want to beat you up, or they insult you, put you down. Some say, ‘All right, now, you little bitch, you’re gonna suck my dick,’ or things like that. I’ll do anything, but the way you ask is the way it’s given. I think those people are crazy. They’re angry at some woman and they come to kill the anger in the hotel, to do their bad things there, to use us as their toilet.”

But she also says she enjoys her work. When she gets bored in the nursing home she goes out looking for adventure: “Young men still seek me out, 25 or 30 years old, really sweet young things. They’re the ones that’ll give you good money. Sometimes I think I’m going to teach them something, but it’s not true, they’re the ones who give me lessons. They know how to do it better than the older guys. The other day this kid came and asked me how much I charged. I said 200, and he proposed 150 for something ‘light.’ Once we were in the room the asshole wanted to hit me, but I wasn’t going to allow it. In the end, I went all out for him. He was thin, size 28, and well endowed. Very decent guy. I think I’m what they call a masochist.”

Although she says she’s lived an uninhibited life, Paola is old school, maybe even conservative: “Once, I was under this guy and he said to me, ‘Come on, don’t be mean, stick your finger in my ass.’ It surprised me, and I didn’t want to. It would feel nasty. Even if I put a condom on it would get dirty. I don’t like that stuff.”

Then she adds, laughing, “But to each his own. There are things I don’t like about my job but it has its upside. You can’t leave this job from one day to the next.” According to Paola, drunks tend to be the most responsible clients. “Sometimes the potheads, the drunks, or the guys who do cocaine take half an hour, but they pay me double to wait for them a little while longer. They’re more considerate.” For 200 pesos Paola does it all: “French kiss, doggy style, whatever they want. A blowjob’ll cost you 20 pesos. My prices haven’t changed since I came to Mexico City 20 years ago, but before, no one haggled. Now the goddamn fags make more.” Paola indicates two folds of flesh on her abdomen, the result of her obesity, and says: “But before I didn’t have this.”

She sports a tattoo of the Santa Muerte (Saint Death, a kind of female Mexican grim reaper) and affirms that it protects her. “In the street there are all kinds of problems, but my angel takes care of me.” To Paola, the worst clients are the ones who want to screw without a condom. “They offer up to 1,000 pesos, but I won’t do it. That money’s not worth anything if you have AIDS. There’s a lot of hepatitis, AIDS, and gonorrhea in the streets. Some of the other women do it without a condom. They say they’ll do it with clients who look clean.” After 40 years in the trade, Paola visits the gynecologist regularly. Her angel keeps her healthy.

Although Paola’s children are adults, they don’t know what she does for a living. Tomorrow is Mother’s Day and Paola isn’t expecting a call. She thinks it’s better that way. She is ashamed of what she does and the things she’s done, like the homosexual stage she went through with Rosalía. “She was my girlfriend a long time ago, I don’t even remember that well. It’s an ugly story. I thought that girl was the love of my life, but it didn’t go anywhere. She went her way and I went mine. At first I got together with her because I was high, sniffing chemicals. But I loved her. She seemed defenseless, like me, like she needed affection. That relationship was really bad.” Paola has a tattoo of Rosalía’s name, close to a heart that says “Love” in English.


Twenty-four hours after chatting with the women of Xochiquetzal, they are dancing, eating, celebrating, and being celebrated—and also crying. It’s Mother’s Day. The social workers put on a tango show for the sex workers. It’s a strange environment. Not one child is present. Almost all of them are or were mothers, and their children know nothing about them. Not long ago a television reporter came to Xochiquetzal House and interviewed some women; the reporter promised their faces would be blurred out, but they weren’t. That afternoon when the program aired, one of the women interviewed was with her son. He beat her; so did her niece and daughter. They cut off her hair. Happy Mother’s Day!


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