I Had to Say Something (2 page)

So far so good
, I thought. He didn't ask if I was a hooker or
a hustler, or if I'd take it up the ass. I'd always hang up on guys who asked that. It's an issue of respect. If they can't respect me, I have no business doing business with them. “What day would you like?”

“How about Tuesday at two o'clock?”

I took a quick look at my pocket calendar. I used a small paper calendar where I'd scribble down appointments for massage or weight training. I'd never write down any of my escorting appointments. When someone asked for a specific day and time, I'd check the calendar only to make sure I had not booked something else. I always remembered when and where my escort appointments were.

“Tuesday at two will be fine,” I confirmed. I gave him my address and explained how to get there. With new clients, I also state my rate: “It starts at two hundred dollars.”

Art from Kansas City confirmed that he was fine with everything. Like in any business, if you don't discuss price from the beginning, the situation can snowball later. That was one of my many business practices that kept my losses to a minimum.

Prior to Art arriving, I got the massage room ready. When he first came to see me, I was living on Sherman Street near downtown Denver. I rented a studio unit next door to my condo, and that's where I entertained both escorting and massage clients. The massage table, which stood just three feet off the ground, was right in the middle of the minimally furnished room. I put black construction paper on the windows so no light could come in. For those who wanted even more privacy, I had blinds and drapes I could shut. There was a small dresser where I kept fresh towels and other supplies, like massage lotion. I had a futon and television just in case a client wanted to watch some porn.

When I greeted clients, I usually wore just a pair of gym shorts and nothing else, and that's what I wore for Art.

He buzzed my unit at two o'clock on the nose. “It's Art from Kansas City.”

“C'mon in.” I buzzed him in and stood in the hallway so he could see me when he got off the elevator.

Art stepped from the elevator wearing a pair of jeans and a polo shirt. I got the sense that he wanted to make a good first impression. He smiled wide, but as he approached my massage room his smile turned down a bit. His eyes avoided mine.

“Nice to meet you, Art.” Since he was a new client, I needed to get a sense of what he wanted. I wanted to encourage trust between us, so I started by asking him some fairly innocuous questions like “How are you?” and “Enjoying your visit?”

Art wasn't dismissive, but it was obvious he did not want to talk. His eyes kept looking at everything but my face. He was nervous, but something told me that he'd been to an escort before. After years in the business, I was very good at reading faces, especially right before a sexual encounter. My sense was that Art was dealing with a lot of shame or guilt.

“Can I use the bathroom?” he asked.

I gestured to the bathroom door, which was right next to the front door. “Use whatever you want in there,” I offered. On the counter, I kept many basic men's grooming items, like deodorant, hair gel, hair spray, lotion, combs, and cologne.

Art came out of the bathroom still fully clothed. “Can you make the room any darker?” he asked. I knew he was nervous, so I wasn't offended by anything he said.

I went to the window and shut the drapes. Five candles were placed throughout the room, so I went over to a candle by the window and blew it out. He did not say anything, so I
went to another candle and blew it out as well. He was still quiet, so I went across the room to another candle and blew that one out.

“Darker, please,” he asked when just two candles shone. I went to another candle in a corner of the room and blew it out, then took the last remaining candle out of its holder to dull its brightness a bit. I placed it on the stand by itself.

“Perfect!” The place was dark, but there was enough light to move about. It was darkness that Art needed before he could disrobe. Many of my clients got naked right away and didn't care much about lighting, especially since I was on the third floor and no one could look in. At first, I thought maybe Art wanted it so dark because he had a deformity that he didn't want me to see.

I stood behind the kitchen curtain to give him some privacy. I watched as he hung up his shirt and jeans and put the rest of his clothes on a chair, then climbed on the massage table and lay face down. I did not tell him to do that, so that, too, told me he had done this before. Men who hire escorts often start a session with some type of massage, which somehow makes everything they are doing legitimate.

Walking over to the table with supplies, I put heated massage lotion on my hands. I then stood at the head of the massage table and reached over Art to massage his lower back, putting my crotch right into his head. His face, nestled in the cradle, did not move, even after I started pushing my groin into his skull.

“That feels good,” he said. A moment later, he brought his arms forward to play with my ass. “You've got a nice ass,” he told me.

Depending on the client, I may or may not respond. With Art, I sensed he needed to make a connection, so I whispered,
“Thank you.” I continued to rub him down for another ten or so minutes. His hands were fondling me all over, though he never got comfortable enough to put his face into my crotch.

It was so dark in the room that I couldn't tell if Art had any distinguishing features. Just by touching him, I could tell he wasn't flabby, muscular, overly hairy, or smooth skinned. He seemed to have a nondescript kind of body, and from my end of the transaction that was preferable.

When I told him to turn over, he did.

As I stood beside him, he began rubbing my chest. “I really like how you trim yourself,” he said of my trimmed chest hair. “I like that a lot.”

Art didn't ask me any questions of a sexual nature that first day. He was enjoying the experience as best he could.

“Do you want release?” I asked him.

He said yes, so I spent a few minutes stroking him. I could tell it had been awhile since he had done that. It was over and done with in less than two minutes.

Once we were done, though, I could almost see the shame come over him. I placed a dry hand towel on his groin, and he snatched it up quickly. Some guys lie there for awhile and enjoy the afterglow, but not Art. He got up quickly, as though his mother had caught him naked with another boy.

“You can take a shower if you like.”

“No, thank you,” he said dully.

I slipped on my gym shorts and tidied the room while I waited for him to come out of the bathroom.

Stepping out dressed and ready to go, he handed me two hundred dollars in twenties, saying just “Thank you.” Before I could say anything, he opened the front door and let himself out. It was as though he had just done something that he'd rather forget.

Perhaps what stood out most about Art was that nothing about him stood out. He wasn't pushy or obnoxious. He didn't draw attention to himself. Most importantly, he paid me what he owed me and didn't try to jack with me on price. He was just a nice, quiet guy who treated me with respect.

For all those reasons, I was hoping I would see him again. It was clear that he was dealing with a lot of issues. Perhaps we could deal with them in the future.

 

Escorting is a thankless job.

You are providing a service that has value only in the moment. It's an important service, no doubt, but your clients rarely praise you the way they might praise a doctor, a waitress, or even a plumber. The only way you know for sure that you are doing a good job is when your clients keep coming back.

When I would first meet a client like Art, I never tried to guess whether or not they would come back. Sometimes they didn't come back because you truly were not what they wanted, and I understood that. Often, the cost of my services put me out of the reach of most men, but I would never offer a free visit or discount. There was never any need to do that. I also would not give referrals to other escorts. I did not know any other escort well enough, and even if I did, why would I want to give business away?

About a month after his first visit, I received another blocked call. “Hi, Mike, it's Art from Kansas City,” he said.

“How are you, Art?”

“Would you have an appointment available around three this afternoon?”

I looked at my calendar and saw nothing booked, so I said sure. Generally, I charged more than two hundred dollars if
clients called on such short notice, but if I had nothing planned and was available—and especially if I needed the money—I would see someone on the spot for no extra charge, unless it was late at night.

Being an escort is like being a bartender. I may not always remember someone's name, but I always remember what they like. After just one visit, I remembered what Art liked and how he liked it. The beauty of his tastes was that they were so simple.

“Hi, Mike, it's Art from Kansas City.” I swear, he said that every time.

I buzzed him in and waited in the hallway, just in case he forgot where to go. Walking in, he seemed impressed that I had the room set up exactly the same way as last time, with the curtains drawn and just one tea candle outside its holder on a small table. “You remembered,” he said with clenched joy. And then off he scurried into the bathroom.

I got naked and waited out of view. As quickly as he could, Art got undressed, hung up his clothes, and lay face down on the massage table. I emerged from the kitchen, squirted some freshly heated massage lotion onto my hands, and began rubbing down his back as I stood with my crotch in his face. As I rubbed his back, Art began playing with my ass more aggressively than before.

If it's all starting to sound routine, you've discovered the key to making a man happy. Most men don't deal well with change. They want things to be a certain way and see no need to change it unless they are forced to. By first figuring out the script, sticking to it, and offering it again time after time, I ensured that my clients kept coming back.

I felt Art might like to try some light role-playing. “You like my tight ass?” I said in a guttural, sexy tone. I was trying to see how he responded to dirty talk.

“Oh, yeah!” he exclaimed.

So far so good. I let him play with my ass while I spoke dirty to him. What I said wasn't too nasty, just a bit more suggestive than normal. “Do you like my rock-hard body and my big balls?” I asked aggressively.

“It's hot!”

Within minutes, he flipped himself over and was clearly aroused. In fact, he was close to releasing, so I played with him until he climaxed. Like most men, he was done within a matter of minutes.

And once again, after he was done, he barely paused to regain his breath before he sat up, hopped off the massage table, grabbed his clothes, and scurried to the bathroom. Seeing this pattern emerge, I felt bad for him. I could see he had issues but had no clue as to what they were. The upside for me was that I didn't have to work very hard for him. His needs were minimal, and I met them simply by being in his presence. Whatever was going on in his life would not let him enjoy himself.

Art never called me on weekends and only once called for a night appointment. During the three years I saw him, he scheduled appointments between one and four in the afternoon on weekdays. Many clients who were clergymen would schedule afternoon appointments. One used to come see me after he was done visiting the sick in hospitals or nursing homes. Men of the cloth almost never saw me on weekends because they were usually working.

Fall was approaching, and the leaves on Colorado's aspen trees were turning golden. Within thirty days of our last session, Art from Kansas City called me again from an untraceable number. He again requested a weekday afternoon slot, and again, it was the same routine: one tea candle,
undressing in the dark, putting his hands on my butt and his face in my crotch. He'd flip over, and I'd help him release. And once he was finished, he'd scurry to the bathroom, put his clothes back on, and leave as quietly as possible.

In my job—and trust me, it's a job—I had to be part entertainer and part psychologist. My customers often unloaded on me because they had nowhere else to turn. I listened and did the best I could for them. Art never unloaded on me, at least not during the first year, but I could tell that he wanted to talk. It was almost as if he wanted to be my buddy. He enjoyed being touched and the sex, to be sure, but he wanted more of a bond.

As the months progressed, he started to lighten up a bit. He started asking me questions, all tame, and I would share my knowledge of gay sex or whatever the topic happened to be.

One time he wanted some grooming advice.

“Do you use clippers or a razor blade?”

I told him I used a razor blade on my groin and clippers on the rest of my body. Then I put my hands on his pubic area to show him where and how to trim himself. He enjoyed the manual stimulation, and I'm sure he appreciated the grooming advice, too.

After about five months, he tried performing oral sex on me. He was very timid about it, so I let him take as long as he needed. When it comes to sex with another man, there is always an element of surprise, no matter how slow you take it or how timid you are.

More often than not, nothing much happens physically between two guys other than the fact that they are both naked and one or both reaches climax. What often does happen, however, is intimacy, and that scares a lot of people. It's one thing for guys to have a sex drive, but when men start sharing
feelings, that creates all kinds of discomfort for a lot of people. I understand, because that's how society is, but intimacy was usually at the core of what I did as an escort.