Emmanuel

There'd be times when I would have to eat an unethical amount of cheerios to make up for how much money I made, and what I did in return to the economy. Typically I would become immobile. It was one of those food comas you get when you surpass the extent of your physical stomach and end up eating into your emotional stomach. I would then recite a monologue I made up when I was in elementary school about a nun and a bear, which I got an award for. The title: The Special People Award.

There'd also be times when I'd see a picture of a client and I'd smell something in my room, like ketchup, and immediately that person would be forever affiliated with ketchup, therefore discontinuing my relationship with ketchup. Like Emmanuel. Emmanuel ruined soy sauce. I can't even look at soy sauce without involuntarily expressing a face of disgust and intrigue. but mainly disgust.

Emmanuel was in the mood for a man. I was in the mood for lasagna. I never got my lasagna but Emmanuel got his man (it almost felt pro bono). I don't really like referring to myself as 'man' or 'boy' and especially 'sugar daddy.' Mind you, I've never been called 'sugar daddy', but still I would never ever ever want to be a 'sugar daddy' and will most likely attempt to kill myself if someone were to call me their 'sugar daddy'.

I could sense his cock getting bigger before I even arrived. I could see it before I saw it and could taste it before I could--would--will--did taste it. As I sat down on his couch, he pulled the "let's start with a movie and see where it takes us" card. shocker. What he really was pulling was the "let's start with a movie and see where I take you" card. again. shocker. Suddenly, as he was hastefully undressing himself as well as myself, I felt a sudden rush of immortality. Maybe I felt this way because I finally realized I was the man on top (mentally). I was not the one being explioted here, oh no. It's the men who use their hard earned cash for a connection with another human being. I felt invincible. No matter what he could do I knew I could survive like a cockroach in the middle of a nuclear war. I could take any punch, any kick, any bullet, any sexual demand (except golden showers. Ew.). I let out a smile which confused him. Poor Emmanuel. Poor, mortal Emmanuel.

Barry

No.

What's wrong?

It was just better the other way.

Ok. Want to try again?

Yeah.

...

...

...

Shit.

What now?

Are you doing it wrong?

How do you know it's my fault?

Because I can't feel anything.

Exactly. You can't feel anything.

What?

Nevermind.

Let's give it another try.

Your money.

...

...

fuck.

was that a good 'fuck' or a bad 'fuck'?

just shut the fuck up and suck me off.

I hate awkward sex.

Billy

I've never thought about it until now but I've realized that escorting reduces my libido, like soy milk, except that escorting doesn't serve as a healthy milk supplement for the lactose intolerant.

I was very much reminded of the size of Billy's cock but it didn't interest me, just as well as how peanut butter is made. (which saved me 22 minutes from watching How It's Made on the Discovery channel, which has yet to serve a purpose as a channel on my television set for I've discovered nothing but disappointment) I'm actually nervous to find out what would happen if I had accidentally shown a real face to one of my customers. Usually this face would look like someone had just kicked me in the stomach.

If I had a nickel for every (beautiful) man that thought he was an original by "taking it slow and starting things off with a movie," I would have exactly 24 and a half nickels. A half because I was watching a movie with a client once and his fiance barged in. Actually, I've changed my mind. Nickels don't have halves, which means nickels will never find love. I would have 12 dimes.
...
...
just forget I mentioned it.

Basically, I gave him a blow job after watching Shark Attack 3 and the lonely paper clip in my pocket made new friends.

Nick

Sometimes I would see signs on my way to a client. Like, for instance, I'd see a billboard that would say "Looking to buy a house? Let us help you!" Since I wasn't looking to buy a house, this obviously meant one thing; I'm going the wrong way and should ask the employee at the nearest liquor store for directions.

I finally realized what allows me such success in this type of work. I have that "still has a chance" glimmer, or so they say. I definitely do not like to brag (not that being an object of desire for older closeted married men is a point of pride or should be) but I have to admit--the attention I can get is releiving. Although I choose not to mingle with people my own age (because escorting pretty much ruins it for my libido) it's just releiving to feel approval from others, even if they're not looking past your looks.

These thoughts moved my feet closer to his house.

No matter how many times I've done this, I can't shake the feeling of uncertainty in my mind. It was always a block away. Whenever I was a block away, I would have to close my eyes and tell myself that everything will be okay. (even if he turns out to be a serial killer who collects escorts?) yes.

Nick wasn't serial killer. As I approach his apartment complex, I noticed something was missing. I didn't know what apartment number it was. In a way, it calmed me. It's not like I really wanted to be there, or know where these people live, anyways. Luckily and unluckily for me, he came out of the furthemost apartment and approached me. He noticed I was missing that 'something' as well and anticipated my arrival.

I was a bit confused. He was actually a pretty attractive man. In his 20s, socially inept, a hard worker...

I noticed a half-filled luggage on his bed which he awkwardly pushed into his closet. He was planning to move to Maui. I nodded. We agreed on paying for the hour first, and then deciding afterwards if there would be an extra fee.

I walk home and see another billboard. It's of a lost dog with a nametag that reads "Steve". There's a speech bubble connected to the dog's mouth. It reads "Call your local pound and bring home lost dogs like me!"

Way ahead of you, Steve, way ahead of you.

Cameron

I hate meeting clients in public places. Especially coffee shops. Whenever I would get ready to leave the house, I could hear my heart racing, pumping blood through my body faster than putting clothes on requires. It's like someone knocking on your door in the morning, telling you to get up and do something, when really you don't want to.

I always imagine all of the possible outcomes and plan my actions ahead (which sometimes leads to heightened anxiety) so that I'll know what to do. In the process I would even practice the hand gestures (not the sexual ones) and I would mouth the words I would say when I meet him. This is usually a bad idea because then I start to think even more like "what will I say if he speaks German?" and "what if he's an undercover cop? do I feign feigning a previous arrangement?"
I left the house with a translator just in case.

Cameron was to meet me at a Pete's coffee at 10 on a Saturday morning. Once there, I look around nonchalantly to see if I can spot him. He didn't send a picture but he had mine, so he should be looking for me as well. Nothing happens. I sit down behind a man wearing a white jacket. I realized I sat down in an empty table at a coffee shop without getting coffee or a newspaper. I should have brought my laptop so I could be one of those laptop people--no. He'll never notice me if I have a laptop. I was about to buy coffee until I realized my breath will smell. I purchased iced tea and sat back down at my empty table. A man comes in and looks around. He approaches the woman sitting next to me and embraces her with a hug. I wonder if they met online as well. Or maybe they haven't met at all, but they shared a moment of love at first sight and just had to approach each other. I grab a newspaper from the front. It was the daily news. I read my horoscope. It read

"Taurus (Apr 20 - May 20)
As the day progresses, you might become weary
of your worldly responsibilities and long for some peace and quiet away from
others. Although you truly desire solitude, you are not particularly lazy
now. Others may not be able to see how much energy you are actually
expending, for you may limit your activity to the realms of imagination
and fantasy. This is not a waste of your time; what you dream about
today may happen tomorrow.".

I didn't see the connection. 30 minutes pass. I get tiresome. The people who previously embraced leave the store together, but then walk in separate directions once out of the store. a few more people leave, while a few more enter. It becomes 10:45. My tea is done, and I've read the parts of the newspaper that interest me. I begin the countdown. Whenever I meet a client somewhere and they don't show up I start a countdown to when I get up and leave. Ten minutes. The man with the white jacket takes his paper and leaves. Nine minutes. Another man with a dog comes in. Eight minutes. My iPod dies. Seven minutes. A bunch of little girls with soccer outfits come in with an older woman and orders hot chocolate. One of them burns their tongue. Four minutes. I stare at my watch, which makes it go even slower. Three and a half. I throw away my cup and fold the newspaper gracefully. A few more people leave. Someone honks outside. The girls are gone. I tie my shoes. Shit. I'm late. Its 11:01.

So it turns out the man really did show up. He replied "I saw you. You were really cute. Almost too cute. I didn't approach you because I got embarrassed. I was the guy in the white jacket."

Thomas

"Looking for a hot, young, CLEAN guy who can handle my tool."

The funny thing about meeting Thomas was that he was a lot more attractive in person (rare). Most people would send a picture of the top of their cock (not so rare), as if it were the only cock in the world, and only they've seen it. I honestly don't care. All I need to know is whether or not I can bring myself to sleep with them. Honestly. What's worse is those who would send pictures of their receding hair line and their signature creeper catch phrase like "I'll see you soon hot stuff" that lingers over you like a floating brick, destined to fall on your head for gravity tells it so.

Luckily for me, Thomas was a catch. A bit tall, making it somewhat awkward, but a nice guy. Right when he came over, without introduction, he practically launched himself onto me. Not even a "hello" or a "so do you read non-fiction?"

The whole thing took about 45 mintues of my time. Which was 45 minutes of my life. I guess it could have been spent in better ways, but this was how I spent it. He walked out with $70 less than when he came in.

Michael

Michael was the kind of guy who didn't know what he wanted in life. I bet when he was a child, he was the kid who wouldn't jump from the high board at the local pool, but could only dream of doing so. I bet he still dreams.

Now you'd think someone who had the time and money to pay a stranger to accompany them for an hour would be a bit more daring. He didn't pay because there was never an appropriate conclusion to our meeting. I had plans in about an hour, so I made a "sex-only" arrangement. It was over faster than I expected. It was probably over even sooner for him. In the middle of our session Michael had a sudden change of heart when he realized he wasn't interested in men. ... ... ... He was the kind of guy who didn't know what he wanted in life.

I went upstairs and took a shower.