A Consumer's Guide to Male Hustlers (25 page)

* * *

I planned on taking a two-week vacation at a small Mexican resort in August 1997. Before I left, I made a date with Michael for the day after my return from Mexico. I had no way of knowing how my sex life would play out there. For me, the greatest luxury was that I could assure myself of good sex immediately upon my return. Yes, it may have been better and more meaningful if I had a lover I could take along on my trip, or if upon my return my lover would wait for me at the gate to welcome me. Without a lover, seeing Michael was the next best thing.

Many gay men travel abroad for sexual odysseys. I have made such trips to Mexico, Japan, and the Philippines. The grass appeared greener there. (At one time or another I toyed with the idea of moving to these countries. I have studied Spanish, Japanese, and Tagalog.) I have friends who make annual sex pilgrimages to Asia, Central America, and Europe. Their entire sex life and discretionary budget are focused on these brief trips.

I have come to believe that by hook or by crook the center of one's sexual activities ought to be where one lives permanently. An adventure-filled fourteen-day vacation does not make up for fifty sexless and bleak weeks. In gay publications there are always ads from models of different nationalities and of all ethnic groups. Through models, one can bring a sexual utopia into one's own backyard.

* * *

My destination in Mexico proved to be a fishing "village" called Playa del Carmen, on the Yucatan peninsula, an hour's drive south of Cancun. By now it is really a town with many hotels. All I wanted was to be in a warm place—summers in San Francisco are cool and foggy—and swim in the ocean.

I spent three nights in Cancun. The second night I went to a gay bar. All over the world, and especially in Mexico, gay bars are more suitable for vampires than for people who need to go to work (or the beach) the next day. When I arrived at the bar, at 10 p.m., it was not even open. Among the few patrons waiting for the bar to open was Javier. We were not each other's type, but while we waited we passed the time chatting. He steered me to a gay hotel in Playa del Carmen.

At 10:30 the bar finally opened. I ordered drinks for Javier and myself, and then made feeble attempts to cruise the few suitable partners. (At that "early" hour the bar was far from full.) The music was so loud that I had to shout in order to converse. By midnight, I tired of the bar and returned to the hotel. I wanted to swim the next day, not to spend it sleeping either alone or with a pickup in my hotel room.

Playa del Carmen turned out to be exactly what I had in mind. The beaches were beautiful, the snorkeling superb, and the weather very warm. I stayed at the gay hotel Javier had recommended. My room was made to resemble a tree house, and was very spacious and comfortable. The hotel was owned by an unfriendly German, who had absolutely no interest in talking to me, let alone telling me about gay life in Playa del Carmen. He did not need to go out of his way to cultivate his guests. The next day, there were no vacancies in town.

Playa del Carmen is a playground for European tourists who fly by the planeload from Germany and Holland nonstop to Cancun. The scene was mostly straight. The beaches were full of bare-breasted European women. The only gay bar had closed a few months earlier due to a fire. If I wanted to do more in the evenings than watch television, I would have to cruise. In Mexico, invariably, the cruising takes place at the
zócalo
, the main plaza, where people promenade until late at night.

Twice I had made my home in Mexico. I have also visited the country dozens of times. I can recall only two occasions when I had sex at my partner's home. This situation is somewhat unique to Mexico because it affects the poor as well as the rich. I have written about this topic at length.
³
Unless I met a fellow tourist—unlikely, because Europeans usually don't turn me on—we would have to have our session in my hotel.

³
.
De Onda: A Gay Guide to Mexico and Its People
, Joseph Itiel (San Francisco: International Wavelength, 1991), p. 86.

I prepared myself and the room with the precautions described in the previous chapter. I was not particularly worried about an untoward experience with a pickup (Playa del Carmen, unlike Cancun, is too small for really bad stuff to happen), but it was routine. After dinner, I walked to the plaza. It was a Saturday night, and the plaza was full of people. Children playing, teenagers hanging out, adults talking to each other, vendors selling food.

Going back to my first time in Mexico in 1957,1 have paid for sex, either outright or as a "loan," about 80 percent of the time. I did not assume that on this particular night I would get it for free.

It would be highly unlikely that a Mexican hustler, in a small place like Playa del Carmen, would be brazen enough to name his price for sexual favors. I had to decide beforehand what I would be willing to pay in order to make a reasonable offer.

When traveling, you need to develop a feel for what is a just remuneration for a hustler in the country you are visiting. You cannot

go by what you pay for your hotel room, because this is related not only to the quality of your accommodations and the general cost of living in the country, but also to how popular the country is among tourists, and how expensive it is to run a decent hotel in the place you are visiting.

But there are other ways to calculate a hustler's fee. For instance, if you take a local bus and compare the fare with what you would pay in your own city for the same service, you'll have a better insight into the local cost of living. (Provided public transportation is not subsidized the government.)

In Cancun, where the cost of living is very high compared to most of Mexico, the bus fare is one peso per ride. (About eight cents, as of this writing.) In San Francisco, a bus ride costs one dollar. I calculated that $30 (about 240 pesos) would be a very generous remuneration for a hustler. Had I lived in a rented room without air conditioning (as did my snorkeling instructor, a young Dutch woman), I would be somewhat less generous. But I stayed at a middle-range, air-conditioned hotel, and I felt that it behooved me to be more magnanimous with a hustler. Since dollars circulate freely at Playa del Carmen I preferred to pay this way. (Only two bills to tuck in my money belt.)

With hundreds of people at the
zócalo
, how do cruiser and hustler connect? Maybe
gaydar
—gay radar—does exist. It took less than fifteen minutes for me to connect with Armando. I do not even remember who found whom.

We chatted for a while. Armando was from the state of Vera Cruz. (Cancun is in the state of Quintana Roo.) I kept running into people from Vera Cruz, where unemployment is very high, who found jobs in and around Cancun. Natives of Vera Cruz tend to be darker than most other Mexicans. I have always been attracted to them. By my standards, Armando was quite handsome. He was a journalism student in his early twenties. Because of the economic crisis in Mexico, he came to Playa del Carmen to make some money. "Next week I will start working in a new
gay
hotel," he told me. He used the English word "gay," even though we conversed in Spanish.

"This is important for me to know. I am a gay writer," I said. This statement was meant to assure Armando that I, too, was gay.

Now that Armando knew about me, he said, "I have a lover. He's Canadian. He lives in Vancouver and comes to visit me a few times a year."

We talked about Vancouver for a while. Since we were out to each other, we could now start discussing the matter at hand. Armando, who lodged with a friend, had a convoluted tale about needing a place to stay on that particular night. I could have offered to let him stay with me, but that was not why he had told me the story.

"You know, Armando, I am sort of lonely tonight. When I was in Cancun I went to the gay bar there. I did not meet anyone I liked. So, tonight, I would like to spend some intimate time with someone I am attracted to, like you, and... I would not mind paying for it."

"But I have never done this before for money."

"Well, I mentioned this because it would allow you to rent a room tonight."

"Yes, this would help a lot."

"1 can help you with $30. This is money I brought from home and have not yet changed into pesos."

"What will you want me to do?"

I assured Armando that I would not screw him. That could be done—in fact, it is done all the time even among "straight" Mexicans—but not without a liberal amount of alcohol. Since we were both admittedly gay, Armando could not have played the role of a
mayate
,
⁴
which allows a straight man to screw a queer for money without sullying the former's reputation.

⁴
. The
mayate
(from "dung beetle") is a "straight" man providing stud service—usually, in exchange for money.

"Won't I be taking advantage of you?"

I pretended to give the matter some thought. Then I said, "At my age, I should really know whether I am being taken for a ride."

"I suppose you're right. You seem to know what you're doing."

I took Armando to my hotel. I had become friendly with the night-duty clerk, a straight guy, also from Vera Cruz. There were no problems bringing Armando into my room. The room was equipped with a small refrigerator. I offered Armando a soft drink.

After some chit-chat Armando said once again, "You know, I have never done this for money before."

"Well, Armando, if this is a problem, we could do it for free. 1 won't mind in the least, and you won't have to deal with the money issue."

Armando started laughing. "You're funny, aren't you?"

"I try to be."

Armando took a shower and we got it on. It was clear to me that I was not Armando's type. It might not have been his first time to hustle, but he certainly was not professional. However, just as it had been between Jack and me, the first time was a challenge for Armando. He tried to do the best he could under the circumstances, and at least was affectionate. He was a pleasant enough person and, all things considered, it was an OK session.

"Tomorrow is my birthday," Armando told me. I have always been very lucky in Mexico in this respect. I keep meeting guys who have their birthdays while I am there. Some of them I have gotten to know well enough to ascertain that they were telling me the truth.

"How old will you be?"

"Twenty-four."

"Will you let me take you out for dinner tomorrow, in honor of your birthday?"

"My friends are taking me out for drinks. How about the day after tomorrow?"

We had sex twice more. Armando's performance deteriorated as the challenge wore off. He did not have a vocation for hustling. In my remaining days at Playa del Carmen, I did not meet any other partners at the
zócalo
.

I have written at great length about the trip and about Armando, only a so-so sex partner, for two reasons. Traveling to desirable places and having abundant sex experiences do not necessarily go hand in hand. Take Mexico. Abundant sex can be guaranteed in Mexico City, which is very polluted, unhealthy, and lately crime-ridden; also in Acapulco, an expensive resort with a polluted ocean. I he more peaceful and healthier places, like scenic Morelia, Guanajuato, and Zacatecas in the mountains, or La Paz, a beach resort in Baja California, are completely unpredictable as to the abundance and quality of sex.

For me, Playa del Carmen is an ideal vacation spot. I like swimming and beachcombing. I feel at home in Mexico. However, there is very little for a single tourist, gay or straight, to do at night there. Having sex with an attractive partner to round out a day of swimming is more fun than watching violent B-movies in a hotel room.

A tourist, like a soldier, has to live off the land. For me, Armando was the only game in town. There were two ways I could have gotten it on with him—the way I described, by promising to pay him for his services, or by getting him drunk out of his mind and having a poor sex session with him for free. In the second scenario, when he woke up in the morning, he would be mad at me for having seduced him. I would be obliged to offer him some money to make up for his humiliation. Or he would want to "borrow" a large sum of money which, after having made love to him, I would not be in a position to refuse.

I prefer the first approach, which is more honest and results in much better sex. Financial well-being comes into the picture because I use my economic resources to make my vacation as pleasurable as circumstances permit.

* * *

I had a flight from hell back to San Francisco, arriving home at 3 a.m. By the time I went to bed, it was after four in the morning. When I woke up, at 9 a.m., I beeped Michael at work. A few minutes later he called me back. We confirmed our meeting after he got off work.

I spent the day unpacking and going through my mail. I was tired and cold. After my stay at tropical Playa del Carmen, the San Francisco weather was getting to me. What I needed to cheer me up was an exciting sex session followed by a good night's rest.

Michael arrived punctually at 5:30 p.m., and the pizza I had ordered for our supper arrived a few minutes later. When Michael sat down at the kitchen table, looking as cute as always, I felt a sense of great well-being. I knew ahead of time the good things that would happen between us. While we ate, I would tell Michael about my trip. He would talk to me about his doings while I was away. I would give him the little gift I bought for him in Mexico. An hour later, we would have an unhurried sex session. Michael would be as affectionate as always—probably more so because we had not seen each other for a while. After the leisurely and satisfying session, I would give Michael his $50 fee. Then I would drive him to the Castro and, by 9 p.m., I would be in bed fast asleep.