Street walking to the sound of the bouzouki


The first time I came to San Francisco, my grandmother thought it necessary to warn me about the two evils I was facing : 1) earthquakes 2 ) prostitution.
We all know that living in SF is akin to constant denial about the imminent collapse of the place; one day a pretty city, the next day, crack, shambles, no survivors. That's how she pictured it anyway.
As to prostitution, I tried explaining that I was living in London, that it was just as dangerous a place as that tiny Californian city, and that, in spite of my rosy-cheeked naivety and wide-eyed innocence, I was yet to fall into the evil greedy clutches of pimps and drug pushers.
In fact, I think it's the guns that worried her most. She probably pictured just about everyone carrying one of those sleek metal jobs, and willing to use it at the slightest loss of temper. (We Europeans associate the US with guns quite a lot; French people think of the guns, and the death penalty, and then people wonder why America is thought of as a violent country.)
So, prostitution.
Well. I'm not so rosy-cheeked now, but I still don't charge for sex, or at least not often. I was idly perusing the SF Weekly paper earlier, marvelling at the wide selection of big-busted ladies eager to sell their services. 'Rita - 38DDD', one claims. I wondered if she gets her bras custom-made. 'Spanish beauty - 40-24-30' . She must keel over. 'Will you teach me Greek?' Pardon me? 'I speak Greek'. ' Into Greek'. 'Kim, Greek Goddess.'
Huh? Am I missing something here?
I asked my girlfriend if Greekdom was suddenly a secret code for kinky activities. She claims ignorance. I bet for anal sex. What's so wrong about the words anal and sex? And, while I'm at it, why French kissing?