It’s not something you can stop halfway through. It’s like the first time you fuck a girl. You’ve wined and dined her, committed a lot of time and effort in the flirt and the hunt and when the moment comes to fuck and you’ve got her shirt off and you’re making out and your hands are in her pants rubbing that wet pussy and then her pants come off and you go down on her and – uh oh – you smell fish. fucking rotten tuna. you can’t bail! you got no choice! you’ve come this far brother you can’t just take your hat and your coat and leave! no fucking way. You owe it to the chick at this point. It’s now service work. It’s fucking but it’s service work. and That’s what I mean. Sometimes life’s pleasures and lives obligations are cleverly disguised as one another.