The Sexual Escapades Of A Highly Paid Courtesan - Washington's Congressional Dalliance

The names of the Congressmen exposed by Elon Musk and DOGE for sexual misdoings had been kept as much of a secret as the Jeffrey Epstein invitees to his lavish San Diego parties and island soirees; but the only surprise among insiders with access to the Artemis Longworth files was how few Republican notables were on the list.  The story of the public outing of 'Washington's Courtesan' and the lowdown on her exclusively Democratic clientele follows. 

 

Artemis Longworth was a direct descendant of Alice Roosevelt Longworth, daughter of President Theodore Roosevelt, feminist, writer, and socialite of some reputation.  How Artemis fell into the world's oldest profession but one which in the United States has always been practiced in camera, behind closed doors, and never the French Pigalle, La Coupole long-legged variety, was curious.  She, brought up properly, amidst wealth and culture, more conversant with Kant than Belle de Nuit, had always had both a sensually evocative side and a politically savvy one, a perfect storm for official Washington. 

Artemis' home was a simple one, and her famous legacy was but an afterthought, so many generations and intermarriages had come since Teddy and the Bull Moose party; but her parents, solid and unwavering conservatives had at least kept up appearances of American royalty. So, it was a bit of a surprise that this beautiful, enterprising, and sexually liberated woman of consistent parentage and true patriotism had become a Madam in Washington, DC; but there it was, the reason why so many socially tethered and drawn Europeans love America - freedom!

 

Artemis was never an easy sexual conquest, but realized from an early age how vulnerable and accessible men were.  Men were to be had, bilked, milked, and pastured.  They were easy pickin's; and so once she had freed herself from the New England opprobrium of her youth, headed for Washington where the hormone fueled, catch-as-catch-can ethos was fertile ground for an ambitious, sexually liberated woman like her. 

The Congressman in question came from a Western state in a gerrymandered district which had returned Democrats for decades, a sure district which required only occasional financial freshening to be satisfied.  It had increasingly allied itself with the progressive districts of nearby coastal states, and was more than pleased that their appointed and duly elected member of Congress was doing his best to promote the cause of diversity, equity, and inclusiveness. Voters who for too long had been dismissed as slow cowpokes interested only in tumbleweed and beef prices, could now walk tall among giants. 

Their man had been a soul on fire, allying himself with both the up-and-coming younger generational forces like AOC and old social justice warriors and politicos like Chuck Schumer.  He did his district, his party, and his country proud, bringing home the bacon while being a champion of the poor, the marginalized, and the disenfranchised. 

Like a fighter in the ring, the years of pounding began to take their toll, the ringing in his ears could not be ignored.  He felt ajar, as though someone had forgotten to close the door, and a cold draft had seeped in.  He began to question things that had been taken for granted. Was all that tribulation of the black man really so bad after all?  Weren't some of the permutations on the gender spectrum a bit off-putting? 

The hammering, banging, hectoring about the climate, wealth inequality, social injustice, and sexual abuse were giving him a headache, no daylight savings time resetting of the clocks to let in a little more light, just one long slog. 

Now, Artemis Longworth had enough patrician blood in her veins to act Victorian - prim, proper, a diamond brooch and a string of cultured pearls, a trace of Nantucket in her r's, and just enough Lanvin to cause interest; so when she was seen in the corridors of the Dirksen building, the more senior Congressmen nodded politely and held doors for her.  

When our Representative asked who she was, he gaped like a teenager's first look at something naked. At the same time he was intrigued.  Assignations, prostitutes, cinq-a-septs meant something smarmy and off color, while this woman was right out of Vogue, all class and sophistication. 

He probed further and was surprised and not a little interested to learn her business.  Men in Washington were far too busy to play the dating game, or to waste time and money on seduction.  Mrs. Longworth's women, on the other hand, were top of the line, experienced sophisticates who knew the ins and outs of sexual pleasure but who kept a buttoned lip.  Why didn't he try it, suggested a colleague, a second term man from Montana. 

At first he demurred, brushed off the idea like a piece of lint on a serge suit; but his mind wandered. 'Impossible...couldn't...wouldn't be proper...what would Rosemarie think...etc. etc.' until the proposition became the one and only item on his daily agenda. 

Once he dismissed the petty, niggling, moral considerations of wife, family, and Confession and was about ready to pencil her in, his political righteousness kicked in.  How could a progressive like him, a man in lockstep with women, a fighter for their cause, as defiant as they against sexual abuse, disgusted at degrading, imbecilic self-pleasuring pornography possibly hook up with a common prostitute? His canon would be violated, he could never take the podium again with upset women.  What was he thinking?

Mrs. Longworth, however, did not get to the top of her profession and a multimillionaire for nothing.  She arranged a meeting between the Representative and one of her youngest, finest, most demure yet savvy women at the Russian tea room.  The young woman was brilliant, a Sarah Bernhardt, mistress of sexual chicanery, and a genius at pulling all the strings when it came to seducing a man.  When she was through with him, he had forgotten that she was for rent, fell in love with her, and would pay any price to be with her. 

 

Prostitution at the high end is a dramatic art, an unmatched performance of subtlety, reserve, and sexual passion.  La Traviata had nothing on the sophisticated ladies of the night in Mrs. Longworth's stable.  They were all thoroughbreds, trained by the best to service the best.  In their hands the most committed, devout, and devoted politician would lose his qualms and come to them. 

It was no different for the Representative who was smitten from the first.  Of course, willing suspension of disbelief was at work here as it always was.  No man, no matter how canny the seduction, could ever forget that he was sipping tea with a courtesan; but that was part of the opera.  The john knew exactly who was sitting at the table with him and that personal subterfuge, that deliberate ignorance, was part of the game, a necessary episode in the soap opera.  Picking up a crack whore in Anacostia was one thing, arranging an assignation with a high-class call girl was another entirely. 

When Mrs. Longworth's client list was made public, Americans were outraged that their taxpayer money was being used for such infidelity, such female abuse, such outright bald, misogynistic male horniness.  They might look the other way when a dreamboat like John F Kennedy squired beautiful women both on and off the clock but to think that their progressive heroes couldn't keep it in their pants was shameful at best, and a hanging offense at worst.

Hypocrisy is the one sin the voters will get you for.  If Donald Trump' cheap Las Vegas dancing girl trysts were made known, no one would bat an eyelash.  That's who he is.  What do you expect? But a dyed-in-the-wool progressive whose whole life had been based on doing the right thing especially with women? Never. Throw the bums out. 

It was good while it lasted, and no one doubted that there would be another Artemis Longworth in Washington. Since the Congressional term is only two years, there wasn't enough time for our Representative to get down on his knees and regain the public trust, so out he went never to be seen again.  He started to scribble a memoir, but quit after two chapters.  Hookers and sleaze are part of Washington, and no one except the credulous cares about moral turpitude in general.  Their man? Of course, but in general, not worth the ink.