Foovay's Floozies

Posted By Summer Foovay on December 23, 2009

Dixie the photographer

“All women are whores.”
The reporter blanched, her face turning white under her rosy makeup. Swallowing as politely as possible, she jotted down the photographers statement and braced herself for the explanation.

“Those women who consider themselves “good women” hate us the most because they see themselves in us. And because they can see that we are actually more independent and free than they are.” The photographer, and former whore, Dixie, paused for a moment to collect her thoughts, and to enjoy the struggle on the reporters face as she tried to hang on to impartiality.

Dixie laughed. “I know – we are completely dependent on men, but we are also completely independent of men. Few women, other than the independently wealthy, can say that. And most of those women got their money from Daddy or some other man. Well, I got your Daddy’s money, too. And I didn’t have to do his laundry, or raise his children, or put up with his snoring. I spent an hour or less with him and then got up with his cash and went and did whatever I wanted to do. While your Mom was sweating over a hot stove, or even just supervising the servants and pretending to be happy as she played hostess to even more boring men – I was off doing as I pleased, buying myself pretty nighties or the latest camera equipment.”

The reported gulped again. Her pen flew, capturing the statements verbatim, even as a chill worked it’s way down her back as the truth of Dixie’s statements came clear.

“Think about it. Your average wife, if she wants something, what does she do? Well, she cooks up her husbands favorite meal, she makes sure the house is extra immaculate, and at bedtime she dresses in her pretty nightie, the one that lets him know that he could perhaps touch her when the lights are out. And when the deed is done and the lion is sated, doesn’t the wife smile and act girlish as she begs her husband for a little money for that scrap of fabric, the dress, the new cookware or a foolish trinket?”

Dixie smiled her satisfied, cat at the crème bowl smile.

“Whereas I, I wait for him to come to me (and he will), tell him what it will cost him and give him what he wants. An hour later he goes away pleased, and I count the money. Now I can spend it on anything I want – I don’t need his approval, nor do I have to justify purchasing the latest Kodak lens to him. Better yet, if he didn’t give me quite enough, I can entertain another man, or ten, until I have the cash to do as I will. Like opening my own photography studio.”

The reporter was gasping as though she had run a mile. Truly, she had no idea what she was getting herself into when she requested an interview with this lady photographer. Yet she found herself strangely fascinated by this look into another life – one very different from her own.

The reporter, Lady Diana Twill, thought herself quite enlightened and independent. After all, she had a real job – as a reporter for the Sufferagete Digest, a small monthly paper that covered issues of importance to the enlightened and forward thinking women of 1910. She smiled, thinking that Dixie’s interview would undoubtedly be a bit too shocking even for the most ‘enlightened’ of her readers.

Perhas she could make something out of Dixie’s success in business, without mentioning her radical opinions.

“How is it that you became interested in photography?” Diana asked.

“A client, a dear little man who had been coming to see me for years, gave me a little Brownie camera as a Christmas gift. It was ever so much fun learning to use it and taking pictures of flowers and things. And then I just naturally started taking pictures of my friends.”

Diana nodded, pleased to finally be on safer ground.

“The other whores, that is. I started out taking photos of them in their finest costumery, and just giving the photos to them. They began to show them to their clients, and the men were delighted with them. They actually started to buy the photos of their favorite girls. Soon, they were asking for photos that – ‘showed a bit more’. Well, really, it was lots of fun. I started taking shots of the girls in their altogether with silly, pretty props. Katy – she is a marvelous artist, you should talk to her – painted me some beautiful backdrops on some old bedsheets. Before you knew it, I was making more money selling photos of naked girls than I was making on my back. Sometimes men would come to our house just to buy some new pictures! Then girls from other houses heard about it, and they would come and ask to have their pictures taken. The madam was very polite about it, she and I and still good friends, but the whole thing had taken on a life of it’s own and actually become a bit disruptive of the whore house business!”

“By then, of course, I had saved quite a bit of money. Every penny I got for a photograph, I stashed away. I lived just on my earnings as a whore – which were pretty good in those days. I was a little younger and prettier then!” Dixie chuckled and winked.

Lady Diana resisted the urge to compliment the former prostitute turned businesswoman on her looks. In fact, Dixie still looked quite good for her age.

“So it was then that you opened your own photography studio?”

“Yep. I rented a little storefront with an apartment over. Some of my savings I spent on the lights and camera equipment. I had some calling cards made up, and some flyers which I took around to all the bawdy houses. It really worked out for everyone. I take photos of their girls – and their clients buy them either from the house or the girls themselves. Of course, many of the clients know who I am and so they began coming by the studio to purchase photos. To my surprise, some of them brought their wives, mistresses or girlfriends for photos – mostly with their best finery on. Perhaps that was how you found out about me?”

“Yes. You photographed one of my friends and she was so pleased with the photos she was sharing them about. She was very enthusiastic about how you had your own business, and behaved so professionally. I’m sure you remember her, Lady Lansdowne?”

“Oh yes!” Dixie said, with her little ‘I’ve got a secret smile’. “You would be surprised how many “ladies” have come to me for photographs and eventually end up – letting their hair down, shall we say? Of course, those photos are private and only their husbands – or perhaps their lovers – get copies. I never sell prints without permission. My discretion is appreciated.”

“But – well, I just can’t imagine – “

“Real Ladies being photographed in the nude? Oh yes. I think part of it is that I am a woman, too. So it isn’t as if some strange man is looking at them. And there is a bit of the coquette, the tease, in every woman. What women doesn’t like to be admired?”

The reporter was rendered speechless. Quite an unusual event for her.

“What woman doesn’t like to be pretty? Of course, we all do. I show them a few of the nicest nudes and before you know it they are telling me about how their husband loves them with their hair down and this particular feathered boa – and nothing else – and there you go. The men are often so grateful and pleased that they come by later and give me a nice tip!”

“Do you ever – “ the reporter hesitated.

“Invite a man upstairs? Oh no. Not anymore. I’m a professional woman now, you know.” And at this Dixie tossed her head back and laughed her great deep full laugh – not a polite titter like a lady – but a great guffaw like a man.

Unable to resist, Lady Diana laughed with her. So many people, if you said a woman was a professional woman, automatically assumed she must be a whore. After all, what other profession was open to a woman these days?

However she might have gotten there, Dixie Jones was a professional woman, in charge of her own life, her own money, her own property – beholden to no man. Lady Diana hoped ferverently that she could find a way to write her story so that the paper could accept it.

Category: Dixie Jones Photographer
Tags: all women are whores