Hush-A-Buy Harlot

I’m an astute observationist of all things controversial. Not only can I spot disputation a mile away, but I actually comb the aisles for it, shove it in my bag, and pull it out whenever life’s banter becomes too sedate.

It’s my small way of splashing cold water in the faces of those polite chatterers who choose to duck from the intellectual stimulation that rides on the backs of prickly subjects. Hey, somebody’s got to do it. Besides, I can only listen to little Timmy’s game-winning homerun story so many times before I am urged to grab the first pair of defibrillation paddles I can find, and use them on myself.

The topic of cheating is always a crowd pleaser. And since Tiger’s story still has plenty of legal squish (my term, meaning legal thrust or kick) to go around, I figured we should stay here for a while, or at least until something knocks him off the bulls-eye like a well-thrown bocce ball at my Uncle Genie’s 70th birthday party.

Rachel Uchitel, Tiger’s original mistress whose illicit texts are alleged to have prompted Elin’s efforts to custom fit a 5-iron to her husband’s face, just last week, commanded a cool million – ten times over -- from Woods merely by putting a price tag on their private moments.

According to gossip-giant TMZ, “Our sources, and they are good, tell (us) Tiger was so concerned with the depth and detail of information from Alleged Mistress #1, that they folded like a cheap suit, and offered the huge $10 million sum in return for an ironclad confidentiality agreement.”

That got me to thinking. When it comes to sex, should silence be for sale?

On the one hand, there’s something about paying another to keep your secrets that grabs hold of me viscerally, and turns my stomach. Like being served a big scoop of incredulous with some sleazy on top.

On the other hand, isn’t privacy brokering an important line item in every celebrity’s budget?

When one is famous, the ordinary contact one has with those who provide (legitimate) services can, if unchecked, compromise the everyday sanctity the rest of us take for granted.

Nobody wants to buy my panties on E-Bay. But change my name to Angelina Jolie and, without confidentiality agreements to control the, um, entrepreneurial spirits of those I invite into my home, I imagine E-Bay would have to open up a separate “Celebrity Underwear” store to accommodate all the business.

Entering into confidentiality agreements with those who clean the pool, cut your hair, and scrub your toilets, are both legal and necessary. I get that. However, what Uchitel has done, is drastically different.

Rachel Uchitel was not paid for sex by Tiger Woods, presumably, because that would be Prostitution 101. Instead, she followed a “reverse mortgage” model of sorts, and is being paid to keep the sex she wasn’t paid to have, a secret.

She is, in essence, a hush-money whore.

Therein lays the rub for me. Uchitel and everybody standing in her cheap shoes should not be paid for their silence, because the very story they’re selling, should not be for sale.

Forget for a moment, that Tiger is truly a pig. And forget further, that he exercised his lust for dirty dishrags while he was married to an unsuspecting spouse because, except for the incentive to dislike him, Tiger’s infidelity is irrelevant. If he were just a guy playing the field, wouldn’t he be entitled to a reasonable expectation of privacy in his intimate relationships, despite the public’s unnatural desire to know every curve of his pubic hair?

What we do with our private parts IN private, IS private. Whether you’re famous, not famous, rich, poor, cheating or a saint.

Being paid to keep sexual secrets, secret – Uchitel’s modus operandi -- is just as despicable a business model, as what the rest of Tiger’s skank parade has done by squawking for dollars. Not only should there be no need to pay valuable consideration to ensure our pillow talk stays on the pillow, but it should be flat-out illegal to sell detailed descriptions of our “orgasm faces” to the highest bidder.

Looking on the bright side, perhaps Tiger can recoup some of his hush-money by writing his own tell-all, aptly entitled, “The Silence of the Clams”.