A Consumer's Guide to Male Hustlers (13 page)

Bars, much more than baths, interfere with keeping normal hours. Even if you stay late at the baths, when you leave you go home to sleep and prepare for the next day. If you leave with your beloved-for-the-night after the bars close, it is the
beginning
of a very busy time.

* * *

Over the years, I have heard many models tell the "Crumpled Bills" tale. In slightly different versions, the story goes like this: A young, good-looking guy—as young and good looking as the model himself—shyly arrives for his first appointment. He is a novice. The model is turned on to this client, and they have a marvelous session. The model wonders to himself why this client would want to pay for sex since there is no doubt that he could get it for free. But, of course, the model never asks the question. At the end of the session, the client pays the model with crumpled one-dollar and five-dollar bills that he must have stashed away, one at a time, for days or weeks. I always believed this was an old models' tale. Then Jacinto told me the same story, showing me the crumpled bills!

A young, inexperienced man, who is not even sure whether he is gay, may solve the awkwardness of his first homosexual encounter by hiring and paying a professional with his hard-earned money. It is the only practical way to maintain a fair amount of control during initiation into gay sex. Once a young person starts using the services of hustlers by choice, not necessity, he will learn to appreciate them for the efficiency and the predictability they offer, as opposed to the vagaries of all other cruising venues. As a much older man, he won't feel that he must resort to hustlers because he is ugly and undesirable.

Later on, I will discuss extensively health and safety issues related to hustlers. For the moment, I want to emphasize the control the client, especially a novice, exercises in terms of what he wants or does not want done, such as be screwed in one specific position, using the condom and lubrication he provides, and, if he so desires, stopping the action in mid-scene. Inherently risky sexual behavior is also much safer with models. For instance, being tied up by a bondage aficionado, who may be carried away and not respect one's limits, is more dangerous than being tied up by a model who does it as a job and wants repeat business.
⁵

⁵
. I realize that paying for bondage—and being in control of the scene—detracts from the loss-of-control fantasy!

Prostitution (the female variety) has been regarded by its opponents as threat to the stability of the family. Exactly the opposite is true. How many men would divorce their wives in order to marry prostitutes? Rather, the prostitute serves as a safety valve to let the husband "do his thing" and stay with his wife. Whether society, especially women, approves or disapproves of this safety valve is beside the point. The institution of prostitution has been in place for many thousands of years, and has probably saved many more marriages than it destroyed.
⁶

⁶
. "In some societies prostitution was believed to insure the preservation of families."
Encarta95
CD-ROM "Prostitution" (Microsoft, 1995).

It is similar with gay couples. Again, how many cases do you know of lovers splitting because one of them decides to make a sex worker his new partner? There is a pattern in the gay community of long-term lovers
not
having sex with each other. Their extramarital activities in baths and sex clubs are much more likely to dissolve the partnership with their lovers than are regular sessions with models. My trysts with Nelson at the baths presented a more serious threat to his relationship with his lover than having sex with a paid hustler. This is why he refused to see me at my home.

If I want to be on my best behavior on a first date, I will have sex with a hustler the day before the event. Hustlers help me control my libidinal drive when I want it to be on low.

* * *

Not everybody is able to deal constantly with rejections. Such people do not run for political office or become door-to-door salesmen. But rejections and cruising go hand in hand. The rejections are completely arbitrary, depending on the unique taste and the particular mood of the person being cruised. Occasionally, even the Great Hunks get rejected without knowing why their value plummeted suddenly on the Gay Exchange.

This brings me to my pet peeve: In spite of all the time I spent at the baths, I would be hard pressed to write a brief paper on successful cruising techniques there. What worked for me yesterday might not work tomorrow, and the man with whom I had hot sex a month ago may ignore my presence on my next visit. We rarely get verbal feedback from those who reject us, and so we do not know how we can improve ourselves. (This lack of feedback may also be true in other situations. But such situations do not arise ten times in one evening as they do at the baths!) The following is an anecdote to make my point.

In the wild 1970s in San Francisco, an enterprising man opened a gay bathhouse specializing in Caucasians who like Asians, sometimes referred to, pejoratively, as "rice queens." The business closed after a few months.

I went there during its first week. Not counting the staff, there were two other patrons in the bathhouse: a good-looking, young, uncommunicative Asian, and a Caucasian man. The latter was youthful, tall, and handsome, with a chiseled body. The three of us had arrived more or less at the same time. For a while, we sat in the main room, staring at each other, without exchanging a word. The Asian's expression was unfathomable. I had no idea whom he preferred. I suspected it was the man with the chiseled body. The latter stood up for a moment, and let the towel draped around his waist slip to the ground. Both the Asian and I beheld his manhood. A very impressive sight, indeed!

As a primate, I am genetically programmed to yield to the alpha male, or to challenge him and fight to the death. This was a no-contest. My rival was a magnificent alpha specimen. Compared to him I was a ... never mind. I went to the corner of the room and cowered. I waited for the alpha to drag the Asian to his lair and mate with him there. But the impassive Asian did not react to the display of the alpha's manhood.

The tension in the main room was too much for me to bear. I went to the hall pretending to make the rounds, even though I knew there were no other patrons at the bathhouse. The Asian guy must have followed me. All of a sudden, I saw him standing quite close to me. He took my hand into his and led me to his room. His name was Tora. We had a good time with each other. I found out that he was from Japan, studying English here.

When we finished, and I had nothing to lose, I asked Tora why he preferred me to the alpha. "Oh, he is a
climinar
." It took me a while to figure out what Tora wanted to say. When I finally understood that he had meant "criminal," I was baffled. How did he know the alpha was a criminal?

It turned out that my rival had a tattoo on his upper arm. It must have been a small one, because I had not noticed it. In Japan, only members of the
yakuza
(the Japanese Mafia) have tattoos. Between a criminal alpha and a very ordinary gay man, Tora chose the latter.

By the time we finished, my chiseled-body rival had left. To this day, he must wonder why he did not win the contest. With his equipment, he was entitled to expect better. In desperation, he may even have added another tattoo to make sure that next time around Tora would not reject him.

Hustlers and models provide a welcome respite from rejection. It is the one venue in gay life where you are accepted the way you are (provided, of course, you have the wherewithal).

* * *

When I came to San Francisco and started playing for real, a set of new phenomena entered my life. I got stood up constantly by dates; many of the dates who did show up were very tardy; people I met and had good sex with gave me phony telephone numbers. These were brand new social situations that I handled poorly. I found out from friends that being stood up or given the wrong phone number by someone with whom you have had a hot sexual session was a regular occurrence. Over the years, I have discovered some coping mechanisms. But it still hurts a lot, and it still drains energy.

Many hustlers are lax about keeping appointments
⁷
—a subject I have already discussed. Models and masseurs, as a rule, are punctual, because it suits their own needs perfectly. I have noticed that when hustlers upgrade themselves to models (as distinguished from models who have never hustled) they tend to continue being flaky about appointments.

⁷
. This, of course, is a generalization. Some hustlers are extremely punctual, and are very upset when their clients are late.

On my last trip to San Juan, Puerto Rico, I was stood up twice. Once, it was by a fellow hotel guest with whom I had had a fling, and whom I had invited for dinner. It ruined my evening because I could not replace him, on the spur of the moment, with another dinner companion. The second time, I was stood up by a hustler whom I had seen a number of times on my previous visit. I liked him a lot, and was sorry that he did not show up. After thirty minutes of waiting, I went downstairs and, in front of the hotel, picked up another hustler.

* * *

Hustlers and models are a hedge against the unpredictable results of cruising. I am not suggesting closing down the bars, bathhouses, and sex clubs, and training a cadre of a hundred thousand hustlers as substitutes. Rather, I advocate experiencing the luxury, once a week, a month, a year, of having a predictable, good sexual encounter with a hustler or model of your choice; using the services of hustlers when time is more important than money, or when you want sex without the hassle of cruising.

The results of cruising are not only kaleidoscopic. They are also Kafkaesque, that is, the rules of the game change constantly, but the players are not made aware of these changes. The chiseled-body alpha might well have felt depressed for a whole month having lost out to an omega in the mating game. Cruising brings with it manic- depressive mood swings—one moment we soar with the eagles, the next we are in the pits of despair. Hustlers and models are a good remedy to control such mood swings.

Chapter 8

Merchandising Lustful Energy

One cannot buy love. It has to be earned. But one can buy lustful sexual energy. This is the subject of this chapter.

Let me start with the story of model Peter. He advertised himself as "the boy next door." This description was especially accurate in my case, since he lived just over a block away from me. In the early 1980s I saw him four or five times.

When I made my first appointment with him, he asked me a lot of detailed questions about my sexual likes and dislikes—more technical questions than I had ever been asked on the phone. Just before hanging up he said, "Sometimes I am a little wild. So don't be surprised.'"

As I walked one block downhill to his flat, I wondered what he had meant when he said that he was a bit wild. I soon found out.

When Peter opened the door, I saw before me a Chicano in his middle twenties. He had told me that he was "an average-looking guy." That was a factual description. There was nothing special or disproportionate about him. He really did look like a regular gay Hispanic guy next door. I liked the mischievous sparkle in his brown eyes, and his trim body.

I wish there had been a camera to film us in action. A jury would have been hard pressed to determine whether Peter date raped me or whether we had consensual, if somewhat violent, sex. From the moment I entered his apartment, Peter used just a little physical force to "persuade" me. He pushed me onto his bed and started removing my clothes, almost, but not quite, tearing off buttons. He staged it so well that I started resisting him, even while cooperating in the "rape."

Once we were naked, he "forced" himself on me vehemently. He acted so authentically that I rose to the occasion and whimpered, "No" while cooperating with him. Since he had found out beforehand what I liked, the scene never went beyond my own limits. Peter expended so much energy that he was sweating heavily a few minutes into the scene even though it was one of San Francisco's foggy and cool summer afternoons. He climaxed just a few seconds before me. After I came, I could feel the beat of his heart. It was frighteningly fast. We hardly talked to each other. For Peter I was nothing but a sex object. The illusion that I was there solely for
his
pleasure faded away only when I paid him for the session.

What Peter did was to interpret the role of a model the way an actor interprets his assigned character. Peter's interpretation was unusual (he probably learned it from porno video) and was much more dramatic and effective the first time around than on subsequent visits.

Not only was Peter's interpretation unusual, he also expended more energy than most models. His excitement was real: his orgasm was not phony, and his rapid heartbeat was not fake. What I bought from Peter was lustful energy, which he delivered in great abundance.

But how could Peter turn on this energy at will? What happened when a client turned Peter off? For all I know, I might have turned him off. I had known the answer to this question for a long time from conversations with many hustlers but, still, I wanted to find out for myself.

Since I was too old to hustle on the street, I decided to do a simulation of this experience. I experimented half a dozen times, but will report here on the most successful event.

I used the Berkeley bathhouse as my lab, trying to duplicate the experience hustlers have when they are picked up by men for whom they may not care sexually, or who may even repulse them. Since the bathhouse in Berkeley presently accommodates patrons that used to be taken care of in many now-closed baths, the clientele there consists of a wide variety of people in terms of age, ethnic group, and body type.
¹
It mirrors, more or less accurately, a random group of clients that a hustler on the street would encounter.