Money’s on the Dresser: Escorting, Porn and Promiscuity in Las Vegas (22 page)

Within the past decade, I had gone from questioning my sexuality to spending a few years on cruise ships where I slept around and had a few relationships. Eventually I met Patrick, and even though I barely knew him, I essentially got married to him within a few months. Before he had come along, I basically had been in the closet and hadn’t had much experience dating anyone. After our relationship crumbled, I took a few months off and then jumped into a new relationship with Spencer, and when that ended, I took another few months off before picking up my dysfunctional patterns with Jason. I didn’t want to pay attention to the fact that Jason was eight years younger than I was, had little to no ambition in his own personal life, spent every day smoking weed, and would generally drink half a bottle of tequila and get sloppy drunk before we would go out. At the time, none of it mattered because all I could see was his physical and sexual beauty. I was attracted to him, and I had an overwhelming need to be loved. Deep down he was a good guy and always tried his best to make our relationship work, but I had eight years on him and knew that I wanted something more than what I had with him.

When it became clear that neither one of us could handle all the different, dysfunctional aspects of the relationship; I knew it was time to end it. We spent nearly an entire year and a half after the initial breakup fighting, getting back together, breaking up again, making up, breaking up, having random drunken hookups at 4 a.m., and making an occasional late-night phone call in which we would spend an hour or so screaming at and telling each other how one was ruining the other’s life and we never wanted to speak to each other again. It was all very dramatic (to say the least), but for some reason our relationship had a strong hold on us both and neither one of us had an easy time breaking it off with the other.

I realize now it was necessary to go through all of this so I could finally be totally and completely okay with being alone and on my own, which is something I continue to work on. I was tired of trying to find approval and acceptance from the men I was dating, and I finally came to a place where I realized I might never be with someone else, especially while I was pursuing porn and living the life of an escort. Rather than be upset with that thought, I took comfort in it because I knew it was time for the healing to begin and to be okay with being on my own. This is all very basic, of course, and when I was finally able to come to terms with it, there was a part of me that thought,
Well, obviously, Christopher
. It may seem simple, but this life lesson was teaching me that it was time to start taking responsibility for myself. I still struggle with this because there is a huge part of me that craves daily companionship and intimacy with someone else. I had always felt little connection to my family and I would consider only a small group of people to be close friends, so I had been trying to get those needs met in a partner, and it was not happening, perhaps because I had yet to learn to be happy on my own.

Even knowing this about myself, I still find myself falling for the wrong guys simply because they are making themselves available to me and I figure it’s worth a try. and maybe I can make love happen. It’s amazing the things we try to convince ourselves to do or think, but I believe many of us do this on some level. I am trying to at least recognize this when I find myself doing it and end it before I get too invested and its becomes harder and harder to get out.

Chapter Twelve

Even Escorts Get the Blues

The week after Jason and I broke up—for the first time—I went to Long Beach for four days. We had planned the trip a few months earlier, seeing it as a time to get away from the city, turn off our phones, and not see clients. After the break-up, I decided to make use of the trip, seeing as I couldn’t get a refund from the hotel. I figured I might as well enjoy a few days in Long Beach with a hotel room overlooking the ocean and the
Queen Mary
parked next to me. I welcomed the time on my own and figured it would be good to relax, maybe see a few clients, and have some downtime to think.

The evening I arrived, I was able to settle into my room, but I had to shower and get changed quickly because I had a client coming over around 11 p.m. The man’s name was Jesse, and although he was nervous, he was very nice and we had a relaxed time together for a little over an hour.

After he left, I jumped in the shower to rinse off. I wanted to head out to the gay area of Long Beach, where all the bars and nightclubs were, to have a drink. It was only a Thursday night, but I figured something would be going on at one of the bars. I drove down and began to look for parking but was unsuccessful. I literally drove around the area with all the gay bars for almost an hour but was out of luck. I could not believe it, as it was a weeknight and the clubs looked only somewhat busy, yet there was not a single parking spot in site. How do people live in Long Beach deal with this parking nightmare?

I finally said screw it and began looking for another gay bar that was out of this area. The only one I could find was called Pistons, and it was about eleven miles away. I drove down there and saw there were very few cars around the bar, but at least there was parking. At this point I didn’t care and I just needed a drink. After I parked next to the building, I walked into an empty bar with a bartender who looked to be about seventy years old. I asked for a beer, and he gave me a plastic cup of about eight ounces of beer for six dollars. Kind of a rip–off, but I said thank you and figured I might as well relax for a few minutes before heading back to the hotel. The bartender didn’t really seem like he wanted to make conversation, so I sat in silence and looked around. It was one of the dingiest bars I had ever been to. I love going to hole-in-the-wall types of bars, but this place was just depressing. I wanted to finish my overpriced beer and get back to my hotel to go to bed.

When I finally got back to my room, I brushed my teeth, took off my clothes, and climbed into bed, listening to the ocean outside my window. I was tired from the drive down and was still feeling emotionally drained from my breakup with Jason. I was dealing with the heartache, even though I knew it was for the better that we were apart. But I also missed him, and a big part of me wanted him there next to me in bed listening to waves’ crash outside the window. I don’t know what it was about him or our relationship, but I thought about him constantly, and there was a sadness in my heart I couldn’t shake. I fell asleep feeling sad that night and woke up still missing him. Even though I knew it was time for us to move on, it was still nearly impossible not to think of him every other minute of the day.

I spent the following day shopping and driving around Long Beach. I drove back to the local gayborhood and miraculously found a parking spot. I visited the various shops and found the local leather and fetish store, where I bought some new lambskin leather pants. Although they were more than I wanted to spend, I couldn’t help it because they were fitted, soft, and felt amazing. I wasn’t sure if I could justify spending the money because who actually wears leather pants in the desert where it’s scorching hot for a majority of the year. Who cares? I was still feeling heartbroken and needed to do some retail therapy.

I was scheduled to meet a guy named Greg who had contacted me by e-mail a few days ago. We were scheduled to meet at his West Hollywood condo later that afternoon. After I was finished shopping, I packed up my car and began my drive into the city, where I knew I would be fighting rush-hour traffic.

On my way to Greg’s, I got a phone call from an L.A. area code.

“Hello.”

“Hi, is this Christopher?”

“Yes, this is. Who’s this?”

“Hi, my name is Dale, and I’m located here in the Hills, and I was wondering if you had any time to meet today?”

“Sure, I could meet you tonight. How about 8 p.m.?”

“Yeah, that works. It would be for my boyfriend and me. I’m in my late forties, good-looking, and my boyfriend is in his early twenties. We were both wondering if you have facial hair right now.”

“I don’t have a beard. Is that what you were looking for?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I like the beard, but he doesn’t, but it’s no problem. How much for your time for two guys?”

I was driving and trying to focus on the road, and without thinking about my actual rate I blurted out, “Four hundred dollars,” when it was actually five hundred. Oh well... too late now. I guess four hundred would be the rate this time.

“Okay, great. Also, will you be able to top as well as bottom?”

I am versatile, but I generally only bottom when I’m with a client just in case I can’t get hard. For some reason, I felt pressured to take this client because I needed the money, so I said, “Yes, I’m versatile.”

“Okay, great. I’ll text you my address.”

“Okay, perfect. See you soon, Dale.”

“See you soon,” and he hung up.

Three clients in less than three hours? I was not looking forward to this. I could generally do two clients within a few hours of each other, but three within a few hours of each other was going to be pushing it.

I got to Greg’s at around 6 p.m. He lived in a beautiful townhouse right in the middle of West Hollywood. The place was newly renovated, and I could tell this guy obviously had money. He was young and pretty cute. He seemed a little nerdish but in an endearing kind of way.

I had taken half a Viagra before I met him, but it hadn’t kicked in yet. In fact, I had been pretty much soft for the last few clients I had met that week, but I remained hopeful that it was just a phase and hoped for the best that day. I didn’t quite know what the problem was, but I had a pretty good idea it was a psychological problem, not a physical one. After a breakup, I would completely lose my appetite for a few weeks and have to force myself to eat, and I would have little to no sex drive, so getting erect generally was not an option. My heart, mind, and body were all connected, and I couldn’t get hard to save my life. I would depend on the erectile dysfunction drugs but knew they weren’t always a guarantee. Even though I usually only bottomed with clients, I knew a lot of them liked to see that I was turned on with an erection. Regardless of whether or not I was turned on, I could generally act like I was, and the magical little blue pills always helped convey that illusion.

Thankfully, Greg and I had some chemistry and the pill started kicking in, so I was able to stay hard for most of our time together. I bottomed for him, so it wasn’t crucial I remained erect the entire time, and he seemed to enjoy it and was able to get off.

I left his place around 7 p.m. and figured I would need about an hour to find the next place and fight traffic. After wandering the Hollywood Hills for what felt like hours, I finally found Dale’s place. I parked my enormous Challenger in his tiny hilled driveway and made my way up to the front door. Dale was waiting by the window of his beautiful home to greet me. He was taller, in his forties, and pretty good-looking. He welcomed me inside, and I stepped into a large foyer with a high ceiling. The foyer had pennies glued to the wall, and it looked really cool. I mentioned how much I liked the pennies idea, and he told me about the tedious process it took to glue them all on one at a time.

He led me into the kitchen and living room, where he was watching a basketball game on TV. I saw two large dogs in the backyard looking inside the house and wishing they could come in.

We made some small-talk while we waited for the boyfriend to come downstairs, and he told me a little bit about the line of work he did and about how long he and his boyfriend had been together.

After a few minutes, a younger guy in his twenties came downstairs and immediately I recognized what kind of relationship they had. Now, don’t get me wrong; I don’t know either of them, but right away something in my brain screamed out, “SUGAR DADDY” and “mismatch.”

“Christopher, this is Roberto. Roberto this is Christopher.”

We shook hands, he gave me a half smile, and said hello, but he already looked bored with everything. He had his BlackBerry in his other hand and immediately began looking at it and frantically sending off texts to someone. My assumptions could have been way off, but he reminded me of every other gay guy in West Hollywood I see running around Santa Monica Boulevard who thinks they are far more important than they really are. Clearly, this setup between the two clients was not based on love but on convenience. Dale was older and got to have this younger cute boy to be his lover, and Roberto got to have someone take care of him. Right away, I felt uncomfortable. The small-talk was strained. Roberto acted like he was annoyed with everything that came out of Dale’s mouth, like a teenager pissed off with his parent for embarrassing him in front of his friends. Dale asked Roberto if he was okay, and Roberto went off about some drama happening with work and how he was trying to deal with it all, sounding like a hero throughout the entire story. Sometimes West Hollywood gays make me uncomfortable, and I have no idea what to say to them. When I meet them, I generally want to smack them, but I refrain, and I just smile, nod, and try to find someone else to talk to. I find West Hollywood breeds a certain kind of uptight gay who is always on the go, thinks he’s famous, lives beyond his means, and wears far too much self-tanner. Roberto looked like he was one their resident ringleaders.

After a few minutes of forced conversation, we made our way upstairs into the large master bedroom. I noticed there was a huge screen on the wall facing the bed, and Dale asked if I minded if they played some porn. I said sure, and he put in a porn I was very familiar with called
Fucking Crazy
from Treasure Island Media.

“Oh, cool. I like this one,” I said.

“Yeah, it’s pretty hot. We love Treasure Island,” Dale said.

I got undressed and positioned myself in the middle of the bed. I figured I was the guest star in the bedroom that night, so I might as well make myself ready for them both. They then began arguing like an old married couple about the lights, the volume of the porn, and other things I found irrelevant to the evening. I felt like I was on a camping trip with my family and listening to my parents argue about meaningless shit after driving in the car all day together. I had taken another half a Viagra and was praying for it to kick in as Dale and Roberto got undressed and settled into the bed next to me.