A Consumer's Guide to Male Hustlers (22 page)

I was both right and wrong that Étienne would resent becoming my employee. The sex did not bother him at all. Once, after a fight with his boyfriend, he idly speculated whether he should be monogamous with me. Our lovemaking was just as satisfying to him as it was to me. It was his inability to deny me sex on a whim that disturbed him. With his on-and-off boyfriend and sundry other admirers he would routinely refuse sex even when he shared the same bed with them.

I was again in the strange position where I knew much more about Étienne than his boyfriend. I had run into the latter many times, while picking Étienne up from his home, and was presented as The Hypnotist. He was a good-looking young guy who eventually had a nervous breakdown. I suspect Étienne "helped" him into this state. Although the boyfriend knew next to nothing about the real relationship between Étienne and myself, I knew all about the boyfriend, as well as about Étienne's other mini-affairs.

We did have sex more than ten times a month. Some months have thirty-one days and required an additional session. At other times, we had "emergency" sessions when I felt that I needed to see him more often than every third day. Curiously, Étienne preferred the extra sessions—they were optional under the terms of our contract. He never refused them, because he needed the money and, I believe, he enjoyed them as much as I did.

Étienne understood perfectly that the encounter every third day could not be postponed to accommodate his schedule. He did not object to the frequency. But we would adjust the hours to work within his erratic schedule. We would plan on having sex at 9 a.m. on a Tuesday and at 7 p.m. on a Friday. In practice, the morning session started at noon because he overslept, and the evening meeting would be postponed by two hours because he missed the bus from San Rafael.

As I had predicted, Étienne harbored the grudges employees have against their employers. If he could but tell me on one of the obligatory third days, while in my home, "Today we won't have sex. Maybe in three days from now, we will do it," he would not have been so angry with me over trivialities.

This resentment expressed itself in many ways. He was always very affectionate and cuddly when we had sex. But if I tried to give him a good-bye hug in the garage before I drove him to school he would push me away. It was his way of stating that he did not want to work overtime.

No client is a hero to his permanent hustler. Frustrated with our arrangement, Étienne would pick on me, criticizing the way I drew the curtains or folded my clothes. This would often lead to bickering, ending in a verbal fight, with Étienne muttering what I took to be a Creole voodoo imprecation. Then, angrily, we would proceed to have sex. Like clockwork, the more we bickered and fought before our sexual session, the better and more tender it became.

Étienne told me once that his mother had sex with her many lovers while screaming at them and, sometimes, beating them up. Maybe Étienne was repeating this pattern. Such sessions did not resemble an encounter between a hustler and his john. They were like lovers making up.

The relationship between us was extremely complicated. I was more than infatuated with Étienne. I may even have loved him. I felt an obligation to rescue him from falling off the precipice on the edge of which he blithely danced. Sometimes I thought that Étienne, in his own way, loved me too, but I was crowding him, and he could not control me fully.

We did have a lot of good times. One evening when I picked him up, he was all smiles and goodwill. For the first and only time he fondled me in the car. When we were in bed he said, "Please take my buns today." I obliged, wondering what brought this about. That evening, I had the ideal Étienne. The next time around, he told me that he had taken an Ecstasy pill the previous time. He did this twice more. I am convinced that he would not have taken Ecstasy before having sex with me unless he had some sincere feeling toward me.

More than anything else, I appreciated his support of my care-giving for my former housemate, Jacinto. During my time with Étienne, Jacinto was slowly, very slowly, dying of AIDS. He was frequently in and out of the hospital. Some days I would visit him there twice. When Étienne had the time, he would go with me and try to cheer up Jacinto. These two liked each other. Étienne, though HIV negative, identified with Jacinto, who had similar legal problems. When Jacinto passed away, Étienne was very comforting, suspending his bickering for a few weeks.

I found many occasions to give Étiennne little presents. Not in a sugar daddy manner, but like a lover or a boyfriend. For instance, when he went on a vitamin-supplement kick (which lasted all of a month), I gave him a gift certificate to a health food store. Unlike other hustlers, sometimes he even gave me gifts. Étienne was not an educated person, and, except for kissing and sex techniques, he had little to teach me. Yet I wanted to be with him sexually and even socially as often as possible.

I do not know how bisexual Étienne really was. But he had many women friends of all ethnic groups. He often rented a room in one of their homes. He kept moving from one place to another. Usually, he lived in good neighborhoods. Then he moved to Eddy Street in the Tenderloin district, a pretty bad neighborhood. Eddy Street was a dangerous place to wait for Étienne while parked in a fire hydrant zone reading a newspaper. We had so many fights over his tardiness that at the end of the month we decided not to renew our contract.

Our separation lasted all of three weeks. I took up with Gabriel's understudies, who were happy to see me again. I felt disappointed with each session. In the meantime, Étienne's roommate threatened him with eviction for not paying his rent. Étienne and I renewed our arrangement. I raised him to $350 per month, with the understanding that, henceforth, he would be more punctual.

Eventually, stressed out completely by his tardiness, I raised him to $400. In return, he would arrive at my home by public transportation; at the end of the session, I would drive him home or to school. Half the time, Étienne took taxis to my place, canceling out both raises. Even with taxis he was late. But at least I was waiting for him in the comfort of my home.

Then, within a period of ten days, three calamities descended upon Étienne. His
raison d'être
in this city was his dance school. One day he was told that his work-study job would not be renewed. A few days later, his employer at the boutique received a letter from the Social Security Administration asking him to correct Étienne Patel's number. His boss had known about Étienne's problem, but, upon receiving the letter, got cold feet and told Étienne that he could not work at the boutique after the end of the month.

The third blow was the worst. Étienne, like so many other young men and women I know, went to Rave parties once or twice a month. Étienne was a moderate consumer of recreational drugs, but would go all out at these Raves.

After being told that he would be laid off, he started interviewing for another position. He carried his ID and phony Social Security card with him to the Rave. There he did heavy-duty drugs. He must have fallen asleep at some point. When he woke up his beeper and wallet were gone.

Étienne was so devastated by these experiences that he decided to return to Miami. There his aunt ran a rooming house of sorts, and Étienne could always stay with her and help with the chores.

I had to will myself
not
to invite Étienne to become my roommate. That would have taken care of his rent. The $400 I paid him monthly would cover his tuition and leave him with some spending money. And, like so many other undocumented aliens, Étienne could, perhaps, find a job where papers were not required.

"You are not Étienne's lover for better or for worse," I kept repeating to myself. "He has always been your hustler and you have fulfilled all your obligations toward him." Having Étienne as a roommate
and
hustler would have been much more than I could have handled. Like his lover, I would have had a mental breakdown.

At the end of July I drove Étienne to the bus station. I never heard from him again. I still miss him!

* * *

I learned a number of lessons from my arrangement with Étienne. First, that, given the right hustler, I would prefer having sex for money only with him. Second, that while I can have a de facto arrangement, it must not be contractual. (I know this sounds confusing, but I will explain this fully in the last chapter, when describing my present arrangement.) Third, that I should never again play chauffeur to hustlers.

The most important lesson I had known long before meeting Étienne. Clients should not fall in love with their hustlers, but it happens!

In retrospect, I view the Étienne Patel affair as a successful, though sad, hustler liaison. There was much more than sex between Étienne and myself. There was passion!

Chapter 12

Health and Safety

Casual sex at clubs or baths, or picking up men at random in parks and bars, exposes you to more health risks than having safe sex with hustlers.

Gay author Michelangelo Signorile has repeated the same story in numerous TV and radio interviews.
¹
On a trip to Hawaii, he met a hunk. When the time came, he did not insist on safe sex because he was afraid that the hunk would walk out on him. He rationalized his behavior in many ways—the hunk was in the military and therefore must be HIV negative.

¹
.
Life Outside: The Signorile Report on Gay Men: Sex, Drugs, Muscles, and the Passages of Life
, Michelangelo Signorile (New York: Harper Collins, 1997).

A hustler will not walk out on you because you insist on safe sex! Moreover, if the hustler himself is HIV negative, and not drunk or on drugs, he will insist that you practice safe sex. If he is positive and does not care, or if he is negative but you offer him more money, you may succeed in having unprotected sex. However, it will be your doing.

I have complained many times already that male hustlers are tarred with the same brush as female prostitutes. Historically, female prostitutes contributed to the spread of venereal diseases, and also do so presently with AIDS.
²
In the gay community, AIDS has spread primarily through free, promiscuous sex. In the line of duty, hustlers certainly are not exposed in one day to as many different men as a patron in a gay sex club.

²
. I have listened to a number of Public Radio programs on truck drivers in India. When they take a break at truck stops they will have sex with the female prostitutes plying their trade there. This is how AIDS in India spreads from cities to the countryside. Logistically, hustlers cannot have as much sex as a prostitute at a truck stop. In gay whorehouses, however, male prostitutes face the same situation as their female counterparts.

I have been told by many hustlers that some clients, seeking unprotected sex, give them drugs or get them drunk. I have yet to hear from a client that a hustler insisted that they have unsafe sex.

Because of their economic situation most hustlers get inferior medical care compared to their clients, but in the case of venereal diseases, the opposite is true. In most metropolitan areas in the United Sates, and in many other countries, hustlers who need treatment can go to public VD clinics. The doctors there are much more knowledgeable about these diseases than many of their colleagues in private practice. They are also smarter about patients' compliance—taking their medications as prescribed.

To sum up: You do not need to worry about additional health risks when seeing hustlers (compared to non-paid, promiscuous partners) as long
as you have protected sex
.

* * *

Things are not so simple when it comes to personal safety. Having sex with hustlers is not necessarily dangerous, but having sex with strangers can be. Men who are out to harm you are going to assure you that they are
not
hustlers. For example, in some Central American countries a guy you pick up in a bar will slip a mickey in your drink. Then, often after having sex with you, when you are fast asleep, he'll clean you out. When you met him, he assured you that he was not a hustler, so you would not reject him out of hand for this reason. As a matter of fact, all my bad experiences were with people who assured me that they were not hustlers. I'll write more about this subject later.

It is the act of cruising, and bringing strangers home, that is dangerous. However, it is also part of the excitement of gay life. The purpose of this chapter is to try to minimize the risks inherent in the game of meeting hustlers and models.

You may find that certain precautions I mention are not practical for you. For example, if your thing is to spend the night with a sex partner, my advice not to let strangers sleep with you is useless. Within what is comfortable for you, try to follow my safety tips.

LISTEN TO YOUR INTUITION

Your intuition is faster than your intellect in recognizing danger. Unfortunately, your intuition communicates obscurely. If you meet a stranger and plan on taking him home, it may tell you something like, "No, he is not OK because he seems out of place." If the guy in question happens to be the hottest man you have ever met, your intellect demands more of an explanation. However, this peremptory communication can save your ass, even your life.

It works the other way, too. Sometimes you meet a hustler who appears sullen and morose. Even though you like him, you feel endangered by his attitude. Your intuition may tell you that he is OK, in spite of his seeming unfriendliness. This has happened to me many times with hustlers who, eventually, turned out to be shy rather than morose.
³