Sex as Transaction: The Debate on Paying for Intimacy

Love as Transaction: When Sens Has a Price

A 100-euro note and an hour of company. The equation is as old as commerce, but the diagnosis of it—and of the man practicing it—still sparks intense debate. The starting thesis is stark: those who pay for sens do not just buy a service; they sell their soul, becoming incapable of loving or desiring anything beyond the physical wrapper. The response was immediate: if that were true, half of humanity would be doomed.

Far from being settled, the issue drifted into more uncomfortable territory. Is prostitution a sarracena scourge or a safety valve for men who otherwise have no access to intimacy? And what about the women who charge fees? Here the narrative breaks: some argue most do so voluntarily, viewing it as easy money compared to cleaning houses, while claiming abolitionism protects no one and merely tries to monopolize the sensual market.

The Man Who Pays: Victim, Villain, or Client?

The conversation quickly split into two irreconcilable camps. On one side, those who see the client as a predator funding decay, only to complain later that decent women are scarce. On the other, those who portray him as a poor devil: bald, overweight, invisible in the dating market, gaining with 100 euros what was otherwise denied to him. In this second narrative, compassion is not contempt; it is the acknowledgment of an uncomfortable reality.

The most repeated argument is emotional efficiency. A man with his testicles emptied—the expression is literal—thinks with his head, not his penis, allowing him to spot red flags in potential partners without the bias of sensual urgency. That is, paying for sens does not prevent love; it facilitates the choice of a serious partner. The logic has its irony: if the goal is to empty oneself to love better, the client is a misunderstood romantic.

Against this, sarracena criticism is fierce. Clients are accused of hypocrisy: financing what they claim to detest. They are reminded that pure love cannot be bought; it must be earned. The counter-response is even more cynical: every relationship is a form of fractional prostitution, where she charges for dinners, trips, and whims, and he pays in installments. The difference with a flat rate is only the contract.

The Supply Side: Victims or Sens Entrepreneurs?

Here the debate becomes particularly acerbic. The image of the forced, haggard prostitute with no alternatives wavers. It is argued that many are there by choice, that university students without financial hardship engage in sens work to afford designer bags and clothes, and that abolitionism is a war against evidence. Eliminating prostitution would plunge 30% of Spanish women into misery, according to a circulating calculation that, though exaggerated, points to real economic dependency.

Criticism of abolitionism has a name: monopoly. If the State bans prostitution, the money meant for sens workers ends up in public coffers or incivil networks. The accusation is direct: abolitionists do not want to protect women; they want to control the market. Meanwhile, demand persists: there are clients because there are sens workers, and vice versa. Supply and demand, they say, are not legislated away with good intentions.

The portrait of the sens worker as an entrepreneur clashes with street reality, but the argument has internal logic. If sens is a service, the seller sets the price. Another matter is whether the State wants to take over the business. The comparison with alcohol or gambling is not gratuitous: consumers are victimized to justify prohibition, yet consumers only buy what is offered.

Love as Chemistry: The Scientific Nail in the Coffin

Amid the sarracena fray, someone dropped the bomb: love does not exist. It is chemical signals facilitating reproduction, a deception with an expiration date. What holds a family together are common interests, respect, and cohabitation. After months or years, what we call love leaves no trace. If so, paying for sens does not sell the soul; it skips the formalities of courtship and romantic hypocrisy.

The thesis, though brutal, fits the general tone of the debate. If love is a social construct, prostitution is just another form of exchange. The difference with marriage is the contract: one is temporary and explicit, the other indefinite and disguised as sentiment. The conclusion in both cases is the same: someone pays and someone collects. The question remains whether the romantic wrapper makes the transaction nobler.

The debate does not close. Some continue to see the client as a soulless man; others, as a practical type who understands how the market works. In the middle lies the evidence that sens, like almost everything, has a price. The only lingering doubt is who costs more: the one charging by the hour or the one charging in installments.