The book arrives by mail, sealed within two sheets of extra-rugged brown paper. It’s marked for Bins, but he’s not home and I’m curious about the packaging. Most books come in a standard carton or else a padded envelope but this one looks so odd that I open the package. The book is called Paying For It, a “comic-strip memoir about being a john” by graphic novelist Chester Brown.

The cover is in two shades of dull red, with the titles in white. The inside pages are in stark black and white, laid out in a grid of eight small rectangles per page. Rather like a stamp album. Strangely enough, this is perfect for the book’s subject matter: the true and sober story of one Canadian man’s decision to visit prostitutes to satisfy his sexual needs. It is entirely explicit but in the way of a well-made documentary, with no attempt to add frills or thrills. Barely have I glanced inside but Bins walks in the door. “That’s MY book!” he roars. “I know,” I say, “stop shouting. I didn’t know you were interested in ladies of the night?”

He tries to snatch it out of my hands, but fails. “It’s not for girls. You will not understand it,” he says, putting on his best Asterix the Gaul expression. “Oh pffff,” I say. “If you want to order naughty books in the mail, then you’ve got to wait by the door to grab them before I do.” Just then Jiggs-the-Indian-Guy-Next-Door walks in to find out what all the shouting’s about. I hold up the book. “Bins bought a picture book about prostitutes in Canada!” I exclaim. Jiggs says “Haw!” in a shocked voice and Bins snatches the book out of my hand. After which we all have tea and talk about the craziness of the American election.

But later, when both of us have read the book, I say to Bins, “So. What did you think of the author’s point of view?" The book contains some very candid discussions about the murky politics of romantic love versus the simple transaction of paid sex and the respect or lack of it between consenting adults seeking sex. The author tells us that his purpose is to share the truth of paid sex in order to puncture some of the myths and fantasies surrounding the subject. At the end of the book there are several pages of notes and comments which take these discussions further. It’s impossible to feel neutral about the material.

“He tells us there can be respect,” says Bins, “and I like it that he shows us his face and even his dangly bits — but not the ladies. He treats each woman as a person, with a story and a personality. Not just a body. Still ...” He shrugs. “I have never been to a shady lady. So maybe I can’t have an opinion.” I mention that I’ve known guys who have gone to prostitutes. “From their accounts,” I say, “it sounded to me a bit like going to a dentist, but more pleasurable.” And Bins says, with a perfectly deadpan expression: “Different cavities for different depravities.”

Manjula Padmanabhan, author and artist, writes of her life in the fictional town of Elsewhere, US, in this weekly column

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