Money’s on the Dresser: Escorting, Porn and Promiscuity in Las Vegas (23 page)

I looked at Roberto’s body, and noticed that he was in good shape. He was wearing a jockstrap, which told me he was ready to get his ass used and abused by us both. Right away, self-doubt began to creep in and something inside me said there was no chance I would be able to get hard for this. I knew from experience that once a tiny bit of self-doubt creeps in, I’m basically fucked. My erections—like most men’s—were primarily psychological, and with the combination of my depression from my recent breakup and the bitching going back and forth between Dale and Roberto, I knew this meeting was not going to be what they hoped for. Part of me wanted to just grab my clothes, apologize, and leave, but I felt like things weren’t even that bad, so why would I leave? It’s not like they were asking me to do things I didn’t want to do. But something inside me said this was clearly not going to work, and I might be screwing myself over if I stay.

As I started making out with Dale and caressing his body, Roberto began touching me while begrudgingly kissing Dale just to appease him. I caressed Roberto’s body and saw that he has shaved off all of his body and pubic hair. He was covered in a bad case of razor burn and bumps all over his body and especially above his dick area. I prefer body hair on a man, or completely no hair. One of my biggest turn-offs is when a man is hairy but obviously shaves his body and he is left with nothing but red bumps and stubble that hurts when it rubs against my skin. Roberto’s razor burn looked uncomfortable and painful, and I was afraid to go near it.

I could tell Roberto is ready and raring to get fucked by me, so I tried to forget about everything going on around me—the uncomfortable arguing, the bumps from his itchy razor burn that’s chafing my skin—and I tried desperately to clear my mind of any image or thought of Jason. My head was starting to feel congested from all the Viagra, but it wasn’t really enough to sustain a rock-hard erection to fuck Roberto’s ass. I zero into the porn where I see a hot guy wearing a jockstrap getting fucked raw by a group of sexually charged aggressive men. The porn was a complete fantasy; I imagined how hot it would be to be able to fuck like the men on the screen with no consequences. To just let as many guys fuck me raw or me fuck an eager blindfolded bottom as he begs for more from the group of men. I tried to create this fantasy in my head to help me get hard, and to my surprise, my dick started to get a little hard after a minute or two. I knew it was either now or never, so I grabbed a condom, greased up my dick, and shoved it into Roberto’s ass. Add a condom to an only semi-hard dick, and it wasn’t long before my erection was totally dead. I was able to fuck him for a few minutes, but it was definitely not the ass pounding he was begging for. Immediately, I felt like a failure and I continued to tell myself to just leave and forget about it. Who cared if I didn’t make any money? Something inside me was telling me to get the fuck out because this was not worth it!

I took my limp dick out of his ass and apologized. I climbed back on the bed and tried to pay attention to Dale so that nobody felt left out. I remember a time when the idea of a three-way would make my head nearly explode with excitement, but after working in the porn and escorting industries and having more three-ways than I could count, I can honestly say I don’t like them. Being with more than one person felt like some kind of sport where you were constantly going back and forth between partners, sucking dicks, getting fucked by one guy to be passed off to another, to have the one guy who was just fucking you go around to your mouth, and force you to choke on his dick while the other guy is fucking you from behind. There were limbs everywhere, someone usually always ended up feeling left out, and it completely destroyed any idea of intimacy for me. Occasionally I would still take part in a three-way and have fun, but for the most part it wasn’t something I sought out or loved doing. Jerking off to porn with three or more guys was enjoyable, but once I started escorting and having sex on camera, my tastes changed. Sometimes sex wasn’t so interesting, and I began to think of it as work, and sometimes my tastes were pretty “vanilla.” But I knew I wasn’t spending my time at Dale and Roberto’s for my own enjoyment, so it was back to work and focusing on them.

Dale and I began to get into it, and he decided he wanted to fuck me, so he grabbed a condom and I grabbed the lube. After I had greased up my hole, he slid his dick in. We went at it for a while, and I tried to suck Roberto’s dick as I was getting fucked, but it was hard to stomach his cock when I was looking at a giant patch of razor burn right in front of my eyes. Behind me, Dale was going at it, and I could feel sweat drip down and trickle onto me. He seemed to be getting in a workout, and I could tell he was getting tired.

“Fuck, I need to stop. It’s so hot in here. What temperature did you turn the air conditioner to, Roberto?”

“What?” Roberto snapped.

“What is the temperature in here? It’s so fucking hot!”

“I don’t know. What did you turn it to, Dale?”

“Let me check.”

Dale seemed exasperated with Roberto, and Roberto was obviously annoyed with Dale. I sat there in silence, trying to sneak peeks at the clock whenever possible, praying the time would be up so I could leave this mansion of awkwardness and go back to my hotel.

Roberto turned to me and said, “Listen, I’m just going to try to make him cum as quickly as possible so we can do our own thing. Okay?”

“Sure, yeah... that’s fine.” I paused for a second and thought to myself, “Did he really just say that?” It was like being out with friends and having that one couple there who absolutely despises each other, and every time they get into a “discussion” an awkward silence falls on the group and you couldn’t even cut the tension with a machete.

Dale came back into the room and Roberto—who I now began to see as being bipolar—said to him in the sweetest tone possible, “Hey, babe, I really want you to fuck me. Will you?”

“Uh, sure. Yeah.”

Dale lubed up his dick and stuck it into Roberto’s ass doggy-style. Roberto was facing me in between my legs, and he began to moan and act like he really enjoyed getting fucked by his lover. Dale started to fuck him faster, and Roberto was bouncing on his dick, moaning as he continued his Oscar-winning performance as a young man who doesn’t hate his older boyfriend. Roberto looked up at me, smiled, rolled his eyes, and gave me a look as if to say,
Jesus, Dale … hurry up, old man, and cum already.
This was all very bizarre to me as I watched this crazy dysfunctional dynamic unfold in front of me.

Dale eventually came, and Roberto rolled his eyes and gave me a look that said,
FINALLY.
He told Dale how great that was and how good it felt. Dale was pleased with his performance and collapsed onto the bed.

Roberto was ready for me to pound him, but I know after everything I saw and the internal dialogue going through my head, there is no way it’s going to happen. I made an attempt for the next few minutes to get hard but finally give up. If it’s not going to happen, it’s not going to happen, and I apologized to them. I felt like a failure, and I was hoping at least Roberto could cum and that might make up for my inability to get it up.

He told me he can’t cum because he was hoping to do so as I was fucking him, but he said it was fine. He didn’t seem pissed off or anything, just a little annoyed. At this point, I didn’t care how he felt. I needed to get the hell out of there, and be on my own.

Dale showed me the bathroom and set up a hot shower for me. I scrubbed myself clean and applied an extra lather of soap all over my body to rid me of the dysfunctional energy I had felt during the past hour. I toweled myself dry and went back to the bedroom to get dressed.

Roberto was waiting for me, and I smiled at him as entered the room. I wasn’t sure if I should address what had just happened, but the awkwardness and tension I had felt during the past hour was bothering me, so I decided to ask him about it.

“So is everything okay, or did I walk into something going on between you two?”

“Not really, no... well, we’ve been fighting for the past few months, and this was kind of our make-up sex
.
”

You’ve been fighting for the past few months, so you decide to hire an escort to make up? Not only that, but the entire time during your “make-up sex,” you bicker, argue, and bitch at each other?
Maybe I was not seeing the whole picture here, but this situation spelled all kinds of dysfunction I couldn’t begin to wrap my head around. I didn’t question him about it further; instead, I apologized for my inability to perform, though he didn’t seem bothered by it at all.

“How much do we owe you?” Roberto asked.

“It’s five hundred,” I said, forgetting the price I had already told Dale earlier.

“Dale said you told him four hundred.”

“Shit, sorry... I did. I’m sorry, I forgot. I usually do five hundred dollars for two people for one hour, but I made a mistake and said four hundred earlier.”

“No problem,” he said and handed me the money.

“So what do you do out here?” I asked.

“I basically hire out all the dancers for some clubs here in L.A. and some in Long Beach. I’m in charge of the go-go boys.”

It all made sense now. I generally found people who worked in the club scene really did think they were big deals and elevated themselves to celebrity status. I totally understood now why this kid walked around like his shit didn’t stink, and it answered some other questions in my mind as to why it appeared he treated his boyfriend like shit.

“Oh, that’s cool,” I said.

He asked me about my porn career, though at that time I had only done three scenes. I told him where he could find them, and he said he would look for them later when he jerked off. Roberto was beginning to confuse me, because while he had at first come across as snarky and bitchy, he seemed genuinely interested in my work and seemed to like me. I didn’t know how to make sense of it but ultimately I didn’t care. I collected my stuff, said my good-byes, and headed back to Long Beach, exhausted.

Later that evening, Roberto sent me some texts asking me about my porn and where he could find me. This was definitely sending me mixed signals. Was he forgiving me for my poor performance? Did he not care? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was I had no interest in seeing him again in the future.

A few weeks later, a review on a popular escorting website was posted about me by Roberto. He said he had been disappointed in my ability to get it up, that I had tried to cheat him out of a hundred dollars, and that I should have offered a discount because I could not perform what I had come there to do. I was left feeling speechless and hurt. Could I get it up? Barely. Did I try to rip him off of a hundred dollars? I have never tried to rip off anyone. In fact, I will generally go out of my way to be accommodating to people and their financial situations—within reason—and that comment made me feel like he was accusing me of being dishonest and underhanded. Should I have offered him a discount because I couldn’t do what I had come there to do? No. We weren’t haggling over knock-off handbags, and he was clearly not the one paying for the time the three of us had spent together, so why was it his concern? I’m not sure. But I guess when you give a West Hollywood queen a little bit of power, they’ll think they run the town.

I was more disappointed in myself, because regardless of what I’m doing, I aim to do my best. I struggled for a few weeks after the post was written as to whether or not to respond to the review, because a couple clients and fellow escorts started asking me about the experience and what happened. I kind of wanted to clear my name but decided to let it go. What’s done is done. To my surprise, Roberto texted me two months later to tell me he was in Las Vegas, alone this time, and wanted to see me again. Part of me wanted to call him up and scream at him for giving me the negative review, but I figured there was no point. I decided to change my ad and just list myself as a bottom to avoid showing up and disappointing anyone else. This experience also forced me to listen to my inner voice when dealing with clients. If something doesn’t feel right, then get the hell out. Times may be tough, but I don’t need money so bad that I have to deal with people and situations I’m not one hundred percent comfortable with.

Chapter Thirteen

Conclusion

I have no shame in doing what I do, yet it is difficult to formulate into a sentence what I do for a living when people ask me what I do for work. I have no clue whether or not I should say escort, hooker, or porn star, when in reality my job title is more along the lines of secretary, event planning, therapist, good listener, friend, and dinner date.

I’m not going to lie and say my job is solely to meet clients, go on dinner dates, be arm candy, and leave at the end of the night with an extra five hundred to a thousand dollars in my pocket. Things like that have happened, but they were few and far between. Someone asked me the other day if meeting a client meant I had to sleep with him, and I gave him a puzzled and confused look because I couldn’t tell if he was serious. I laughed a bit and told him there was always some kind of expectation of sexual activity. Yes, the client is paying for our time, but there is an expectation, and it is our job to listen to the client’s needs and fulfill them as best as possible.

There are many misconceptions about what we as escorts do and the kind of people we are, which is why I wanted to write this book. I believe you attract what you put out there, and I can honestly say I have met a great number of people in my life doing what I am doing now, although there are a lot of people in this industry who I wouldn’t trust.

As an escort, I don’t spend my nights on the street corner, I don’t haggle with Johns about what I will and won’t do for money, I don’t use meth, crack, or heroin, and I’m not under the control of a pimp. Believe it or not, escorts are businessmen—and -women—and we are out there providing a service that desperately needs to be offered to countless individuals.

Sometimes I question the fact that I am sleeping with married men and I’m helping fulfill sexual fantasies some would label as immoral, disturbing, and wrong, but then I think, Who are we to judge? Sex and sexuality is not black and white, and through escorting and doing porn, I have had to let go of the ideas of what sex is. These values have all been imposed on me by society, my family, the church I grew up with, and the upbringing I had.