Jaime Rascone, Professional Prostitute-Tester, Has a Better Job Than You
21 AUGUST 2009, 2:01 PM. BY CHRIS ALONZO.
Jaime Rascone is no different than the rest of us in that the erstwhile DJ needs to grab the occasional odd job to make ends meet. But the Chilean lothario has all of us beat by holding the type of fantasy job that just sounds too good to be true: Quality Control in a brothel.
Rascone, an occasional male model and DJ, first happened upon Fiorella Companions in Santiago, Chile while working on a story about the country’s sexual revolution. He was offered the gig by Madam Fiorella, who needed somebody to provide that final “interview” in her hiring process. It goes like this: girls who are interested in working as VIP escorts for Fiorella have to undergo interviews, psychological testing, and a photo session. The applicants are whittled down to a final six, who are then ****ed one after the other in a single day by Jaime. He takes diligent notes on, say, how they moved their hips and whether their groans were adequate, and makes recommendations to the madam. There is paperwork involved, which we find hysterical.
The article describing Jaime’s profession really needs to be seen to be believed, as it describes the yawning coffee-slurping Director of Quality Control starting out his day on “Mariana the stewardess” after making a phone call to a nightclub he manages. His day continues in this fashion as each candidate, all in their early 20’s, make their way into his “office” (which is equipped, of course, with a stripper pole and a suitcase full of condoms.) Each one is dutifully ****ed, evaluated, showered off, and then the Prostitute Conveyor Belt gets fired up again.
The strain of the job is actually such that he can only do it once a month, testing around seventy girls or so a year. And, in fact, the article closes with a kind of haunting image of the guy getting dressed after a hard day’s work with huge dark bags under his eyes. Of course, that comes after an intense description of a volcanic threesome that ended the day so, y’know.
We want to believe that this, like any other job, just eventually gets really boring and tedious, inevitably draining you of your soul and will to live. And, like all jobs in the sex industry, that it eventually gets drained of any sort of visceral joy after a while and burns the “lucky” recipient out. The article seems to head fake in that direction. But the adolescent parts of our brains don’t buy it. As we all said simultaneously, “Un Buen Trabajo, indeed.”