You will think Im mad for publishing this. And I probably am. I bounced the idea around and decided against it originally. But for some reason I think I need to, maybe as some form of confessional or just to shine some light on some of the evil in this world of ours that goes on every day without any of us doing anything about it.

Regular blog-goers will remember that a while ago I wrote about homelessness, and that we were recently in India for the weekend. No, you didnt read that wrong we really did go just for the weekend, albeit on business. It was a fantastic few days of non-stop laughter, frantic deal-making and some incredibly inspiring projects that are empowering and liberating the people of such a bustling developing country. Right now as I write this, were not sure if well get back in one piece as the combination of monsoon rain and high tide has made Bombay totally impenetrable and drowning in a flood thats metres high and invading everything on every street. We have an hour to get some sleep before we need to set off at 5am (1.30am UK time).

Our team, like always, are fired up and ready to rock at a moments notice. Sleep isnt a concern for us as we have 6 hours to get through the floods to the airport, and after that wait to hear whether our plane will take off as planned. I have to say that we’ve done some amazing things here, and there is so much business we can do that were having difficulty figuring out where on earth to start. 5 days of Indian food is starting to wear us down though. We have so many stories despite only being here for a few days. But I want to focus on just one.

The night we went to a brothel.

The businessman’s motto is usually what happens on tour stays on tour. But Im going to break it as I want to share what I learned from it.

You might be thinking that its a brave admission writing about this, but I can assure you I feel no shame, simply because I didn’t sleep with a prostitute. In fact I didn’t do anything at all. I actually did quite the opposite and Cameron’d the poor girl. But it also disturbed me greatly and I found it to be a powerful experience regardless. For me it was a test of who and what I am. And more importantly, what Im not.

It probably wont surprise you that whores and corporate entertainment go hand in hand in every country. The girls of Mayfair play host to just as many deviant businessman as their counterparts in Bombay. It’s a dark, unspoken part of business trips that those who receive guests make sure they are well taken care of in any way, including sexually. I remember meeting a very powerful man who was the soon-to-be-disgraced CEO of a global accountancy firm. His addiction to brothels spiralled out of control after providing girls at his clients request, and ending up liking it so much that he was spending £20,000 a week on high-class hookers for himself, billed directly to his company expenses. Again, it should come at no surprise that he got moved, not fired.

Asking where the girls were had become a running joke on our trip, as our guys are good-natured and a lot of fun to be with. Our evenings had been very, very business-like and spent with some very powerful politicians and media moguls. And like all kind hosts, every night the most beautiful whores in both cities we were within reach of us were rounded up for us to choose from. Sometimes they were led to our rooms or waiting in reception.  And by God, they were beautiful. Thankfully my exhaustion, dignity and sobriety kept me away from it all. Some of our guys indulged, just as the locals did. Ive always found it to be rather distasteful being the posh little shit that I am.

But tonight I was curious, as wed been deal-making for literally hours and everyone was tired. Our hosts had spent the whole day finding the most beautiful girls they possible could. First they were coming to our hotel, and then we were going there. I knew theyd arranged one for me whether I wanted it or not another running joke was to try to get me to calm down by sowing my proverbial seed. At first it was quite exhilarating. But also bear in mind that I dont have any libido whatsoever, so it doesnt come as naturally to me as some our rabid colleagues.

I was really nervous and not sure whether I should go through it. Sex for me is all about a spiritual connection and the other person having an as amazing time as you. Prostitutes aren’t there for the enjoyment, so to me its entirely forced and tantamount to rape. They might be consenting in a way, but as far as I’m concerned its not enjoyable for them whatsoever and totally about being exploited and used and the man indulging his lust and craving for power. Call me old fashioned, but that doesnt turn me on. A very dark part of me was burning away but I just couldn’t shake off my hesitation. As macho as we were all being, it was just not something I could do to another human being or write off in some way so I felt better.

Its easier to illustrate this by explaining the opposite. The most incredible girl I could imagine being with in that way in the whole world is Emma. Its about the awkward moments, the silly feeling in your stomach, the intense wanting to be inside her and the wonderful intimacy you get from having that connection. You’re bonding in a way thats extraordinary and very moving in so many different ways. Its the looking into her eyes, knowing she wants to be with you too and trying to fight off the desire that you know you’re going to have to give in to eventually as you’ll die if you don’t. Somehow, sex and money just dont go together for me at all.

So I thought about considering it as a one-off life experience, and seizing the day. But I just couldn’t do it. But I couldn’t be rude to our hosts or let the other guys down as I just wouldn’t hear the end of it. So I hatched a cunning plan to keep everyone happy. I said I was tired and only really wanted a massage. They were ok with that, so we set off in the car. I was incredibly curious more than anything. Id never been to a house of ill-repute before and was interested to see how it all worked. I knew I wasn’t go to do anything stupid as I didn’t want disease on my parts, guilt on my conscience and the knowing that I had given in to my animal instincts at the expense of someone else.

So 2 cars full of businesspeople (some very, powerful ones too, and many closely related to famous politicians) drove to this run down hotel in the middle of nowhere where people pay by the hour and change the sheets after every visit.  It wasnt horrid, but lets just say it wasn’t exactly 5 star. The whole staff contingent came out to roll out the red carpet and welcome the rich white men. We were given a drink to take with us. By this time it was getting very, very weird. I had no idea what to do. We were ushered upstairs to choose the girl we wanted. But I had my plan, so assumed Id be ok.

And so you’re thinking, why did I go along? Why didnt I just speak up? The truth is that I don’t know. It was a mixture of excitement, curiosity, the heat, me wanting to pacify the others, and just pure laziness. I wish Id listened to myself. I tried to back out of it when they first said they were going, but I got swept along with the tide.

So we headed up the stairs and the sombre quiet that had been the tone in the car had changed to schoolboy excitement. No-one wanted to go in first or stick their necks out. I don’t think Ive had an ominous feeling as strong as that for a long time. We were led to a room where the girls were waiting, beers in hand. I had no idea what to expect, but I really treaded the legendary identity parade.

And there they were. My heart absolutely broke. 3 of them, very young, sitting in a badly-decorated room looking scared, miserable and vulnerable. All of them had their heads turned like they didn’t want anyone to see them. All I felt was revulsion to the whole thing. Cattle rounded up for the carnivores. When the guys started choosing them they looked away. It was a meat parade, and the words of one of our guys were ringing in my head. Just don’t be embarrassed. I refused to choose, and said looks didn’t matter as I was only getting a massage. So 2 got picked and I ended up with the last one by default. Not a bad option as she was very pretty.

All done, everyone headed into the hallway to discuss price and pick rooms, which were hurriedly being unlocked. I couldn’t look at any of the girls and was trying to keep cool. Again I didn’t choose a room, and got the one at the end of the corridor by default. Each of us was handed a condom and wished well.  The girls were ordered into their respective rooms. God knows what they were thinking, but they looked scared. Our guests paid for us whilst we were to satisfy our natural urges.

It was then that the reality hit me very hard.

The morning before we hadn’t dinner with one of the most powerful people in the country and moved onto to spending it with the top computer scientists, one of them described as Indias Bill Gates. And now here I was, being handed a very dodgy-looking condom in a shabby downtown brothel. And it was quite likely that if we weren’t being videotaped (as the KGB did to many people), that the contents of my wallet would be separated from me at the first chance. I had got myself in way too deep, and I thought I could see the way out. I was so wrong.

So I looked at this terrified, vulnerable young girl who was too beaten down not to take my every command, even if I wasn’t giving her any. She immediately sat on the chair in the room and was very quiet. The rooms themselves weren’t lavish, but had some mod-cons, in the form of a TV, double bed, ensuite bathroom and air conditioning. The walls were a horrid lime green, but soon after looking around the room I was more concerned with how this girl thought I was going to take out my ungodly desires on her. I had no intention of doing that.

First thing I did was to say that it was OK, and that I didn’t want anything from her and tried to demonstrate it by throwing the unwrapped condom straight out of the window. She said as little as possible and couldn’t speak a lot of English. I was trying to reassure her but as is to be expected, she was very defensive. What on earth was I doing there? I decided there and then that I wasn’t even going to ask for a massage. This was one night where she could be safe for a few minutes and earn the money without selling herself or going through with something she didn’t want. And I embarked on a mission to make her smile, which she did, thankfully.

Slowly we began to talk a bit more and I found out her name was Bally, and she was 22. She sees 3 men a night and finishes work at 4am. Her father first forced her to sell herself at 13, and all her family were in league with him as it was about bringing them in money. The pimps take the cash and then give her a cut, from which she gives her father the lions share. Shed never been to school, or college, or university, like the 800,000 others in the city. She doesn’t think shell ever get married but doesn’t want to keep doing what she does. Its all shed ever known. Gradually she saw that I wasn’t some shithead like a lot of the other very fat and smelly men shed had to endure. I was a shithead though, just for being there in the first place.

We made a breakthrough when I asked her to help me mess up the bed to look genuine. The whole idea of me prancing around managed to start her off in a adorable giggling fit. We popped on the TV to watch the Indian version of Pop Idol, looked out the window at the city lights and she even let her hair down. Interestingly she offered me powder wed been talking about earlier in the evening called Goa. The idea is you take it and cant, you know, get to the end whilst you’re under its influence. I tried a bit under my tongue, whilst she emptied the whole bag into her mouth. It looked like cat litter and tasted like soap. Cue another giggling fit when I was spitting it out in horror.

Then we moved onto teaching each others language. I taught her English and she taught me Hindi, which was hysterical as we couldn’t understand a word each other were saying and it was a fascinating experience to try to communicate with someone almost non-verbally. By then she was in full mode, talking to family on her mobile, laughing at everything and texting my phone. She wanted my phone number and got very upset when it didn’t connect when she tried to call it. It was fun for a while as we were just laughing away.  But what the fuck was I doing there?

I assumed it was just one of the services but sometimes you just know when theres that little bit of chemistry there. I knew I wasn’t going to do anything so it didn’t bother me. I don’t want AIDS, and I don’t want the guilt. Neither of us had any reason to put on a front of any kind. Im not a very touchy person anyway so its usually clear to people I’m not a man to make the first move and that I am slightly cold, physically speaking.

It was then that I realised that Id done a personal first. Id just Cameron’d a prostitute.

After 20 minutes or so, the others were calling so it was eventually time to leave. We pretended to be putting our clothes back on and I went downstairs to join the others, who were a lot calmer and finishing their beers. The next batches of customers were being ushered in, along with a new batch of girls. We were asked if we wanted a second time, and a few of our guys needed 2 minutes to think about it. It was late so we got back in the car and drove back to our hotel. The atmosphere was very silent and uniquely strange. I had to blend in with the crowd so played the role I needed to.

The whole thing is a surreal blur now.

So what did I learn from all this? A lot of seemingly obvious things, but experienced by the heart for the first time. It may be the oldest profession in the world, but for me it was a step into a world that is the opposite of everything I value and hold dear. It was opposite of spirituality, hope, love or compassion. It was nothing short of evil, pure and simple.

I feel shit. Im horrified by my own callousness.

I learned the exploitation of human beings at the whim of others utterly repulses me. I felt like I could see their very souls when I look at each one of them. The trafficking and selling of people is a disgusting and nefarious thing. I learned that unlike the others who were just consuming meat, I somehow very naturally saw them for the very damaged people they are rather than turning them into objects so I could more easily abuse them.  There is no joy in exploiting people, and sleeping with prostitutes who will absolutely anything for you is as much about power as it is lust and convenience. I cannot comprehend how someone can inflict themselves on another when they know they are suffering and are distinctly unhappy about the idea, even if they’ve done it thousands of times before.

I like these people need love more than they need pity. They need to be treated as people rather than lumps of meat who are there for the indulgence or others. They are not animals but are treated the same way. Its an incredible ironic that most of the men in our little group are happily married, and look down on the whores they rent as lees than them and further down the list of the immorality scale. It wasnt only false, it was deeply depressing to see girls paraded as a commodity to be bought and sold. And I also learn that a little love and kindness goes a very well long way when you are starved of it. And I learnt that I played along with the game rather than try to stop it.

Looking back I feel sick to my stomach. I made a mistake. A massive mistake. I shouldn’t have been there. The horror of the place haunts me. The withered expression on her face haunts me. I was foolish enough to think I could walk in and for it all to mean nothing. But it could never be like that. I feel so guilty for having just been there. I had no idea what I was doing. For a night, I joined the masses and became part of the evil. I wasn’t helping, neither was something to be taken so lightly. I stood in the midst of absolute evil and did nothing. I genuinely feel very sick and ashamed. I will never, ever in my life visit a place like that in that way again. And I will never look on anyone who does, with anything other than utter contempt.

The next time I ever go near a place like that will be with a fucking bulldozer and police warrant.

And guess who organised the whole thing? The head of the Indian anti-corruption office. No, Im not joking, and no, the irony wasnt lost on any of us.

Oh yes, we also found out how Richard Branson really made his money.