I Had to Say Something (12 page)

After two years, I often felt as though Art and I were still on a first date, and it was a blind date to boot. I knew very little about him, and that was a bit unusual. After a few years, I usually know my clients pretty well. They learn they can trust me and that they don't need to be as careful as they were when they first met me. This enables them to open up.

Art played his cards pretty close to the vest. I knew he was married and that he rode a motorcycle, but that's about all I knew for sure. I had figured out that he lived in Colorado Springs and that he probably worked for a church there. And I knew he really liked sex toys and methamphetamine. Other than that, he was a mystery.

But keep in mind, Art was a client, first and foremost. He was entitled to a lot of privacy. That was part of our unspoken agreement. I didn't ask and he didn't tell. As long as I got paid, things were fine.

The next time he came, he was ready to burst. “I am so ready to go!” Art told me, rushing into the massage room. Within seconds, he was undressed and called for me to come in right away. Maybe he had to be somewhere shortly.

“Jack me off now!” he said. Standing completely naked, he was very hard and very excited. I placed him on his back on the massage table and started stroking him. His body was so stimulated that I feared he would go into convulsions. Within minutes, the magic was over. “Wow,” I said before he could. “That was quick.”

His panting was heavy as he lay there in an intense afterglow. Five minutes later he was reaching for my crotch and fondling it madly. A few more minutes of intense rubbing, and he was hard again. I grabbed his dick and soon he ejaculated again.

“You stud!” I told him, slapping his butt. I put a hand towel on his groin, but this time, rather than scurry off to the bathroom, he lay there for a few minutes. I stood by his side as he rubbed my torso and midsection.

“You know, Mike,” he said softly, “I really like coming to see you.” He kept rubbing my body, wearing a smile that showed how good he felt.

“Thank you.”

When he was ready, he sat up and cupped the towel over his groin. I stood back to give him some room, but to my surprise, he pulled me in closer. He did not want to hug me, but rather to touch me some more. After about a minute of that, he gathered his clothes and went to the bathroom.

 

“Let's watch some more porn.”

“What would you like to see?”

“How about something raunchy?”

I put a XXX movie called
Intensity
into the DVD player. Art sat on the couch, fully clothed as usual, watching every movement of the action on the television screen. The men in the video were hairy and muscular with short, cropped hair. Art seemed to respond well to these performers, who were in
their thirties or forties and called each other “Daddy.” He would get hard, but he would never take off his jeans or unzip them. When he got to a certain point mentally, he would go into the massage room and take off his clothes.

Once we were done, he lay there blissfully. “You know, Mike,” he said, “I always look forward to seeing you. You really make me feel good.” That may not sound like much, but coming from Art, it spoke volumes. After two years, he was beginning to feel a lot more comfortable being intimate with me. Maybe it was the meth or maybe it was the length of time he had known me.

“Thank you,” I said as I combed his hair back with my fingers.

We spent several sessions just sitting and watching porn. He was no longer interested in vanilla porn, where the actors get naked, touch each other, giggle, and then jack each other off. He wanted the sleazy, butt slapping, butt fucking, down and dirty, “lick my boots” kind of man sex—but only as an observer. I arranged another show for him featuring Matt and me playing with each other. He loved it and again paid extra. I was starting to feel like I was charging him too much just for sitting there and playing with himself.

Each time, he had a new toy or accessory in his little canvas bag. He'd pull it out, try to play with it, screw it up, and then I'd have to instruct him on its proper use. Since he was so green, I took my time with him. With someone like Art, you had to explain everything.

Before I entered the massage room, I'd hear the sounds of items being scattered about. I'd walk in, and there would be Art, naked among the new toys he just bought. Sometimes he'd have them sprawled on the massage table, and sometimes they would be on the floor.

“Show me how this works,” he asked, pulling out a device known as a penis pump.

I showed him how to put lube around the open end of the cylinder so that when he slipped it over his penis, it created suction against his skin.

“Oh, that feels good,” he exclaimed. I put my hand on the cylinder while he pumped it up. His eyes were open with excitement over this new adventure.

Once he tired of the toy, he hopped onto the massage table and stretched out on his back, waiting for me to perform my magic. Within minutes, it was all over. He didn't scurry off anymore and would sometimes stare into my eyes with a look of deep affection.

I became increasingly concerned about the infatuation I saw in his eyes. Was he falling in love? I tried not to think about it. I had had to tell clients I couldn't see them anymore because they had crossed an emotional line that I did not feel comfortable with. Art was too good a client to lose through such unfortunate circumstances.

“Mike, have you ever ridden a motorcycle?” he once asked.

“Your motorcycle is important to you,” I commented.

“Yes, it is,” he replied, still feeling me up and down.

“I have ridden one a couple of times but just in a parking lot. I've never taken one out on the road.”

“I remember you said you had some friends die in motorcycle accidents.” Art smiled as his mind wandered. “You shouldn't let that scare you. I can teach you how to ride safely.”

“Sure,” I said, even though I would have been surprised had he been willing to go out with me in public.

Without saying anything more, he got up, grabbed his clothes, and went to the bathroom.

I always imagined guys who rode hogs as being Hells
Angels types who were large, unkempt, wore leather or Levi's, and were totally unconcerned about the world around them. Art wasn't anything like that. In fact, he was just the opposite. Motorcycles are hugely popular among the forty and over crowd, so Art was probably merely reflecting that trend.

One day he came out of the bathroom, ready for a chat.

“Do you ever get tired of being an escort?” he asked casually.

“Yes. It can be very unpredictable.”

“What do you mean?”

I tried to come up with a brief explanation. “Most of my clients don't book in advance, only when they are ready. I can't just go to dinner or a movie, especially at night because that's when most men call. And it's tough to go on vacation, because if I don't work, I don't get paid.”

For some reason, Art didn't respond. He gave me my money and showed himself out the door. Maybe I had given him more information than he wanted.

 

I knew Art would ask about anal sex at some point, and sure enough, he wanted to try it during our next session. I agreed. When the day arrived, I could tell Art was nervous, so I tried to reassure him.

“You don't have to do this,” I told him.

“No, I want to,” he told me, and I believe he did want to try it, but he was clearly unnerved by the thought.

I again explained how we would do it.

I then slipped on a condom and lay on the massage table on my back. Art touched me, rubbing me all over, before he climbed on top of me. He was very tense, so I massaged his chest and legs as he tried to sit on top of me. The first few attempts did not go well. He just wasn't relaxing enough.

“Let me know when you want to stop,” I told him, bracing him with my hands.

Art kept trying, but he just too tense. I lay there, letting him have full control of the situation.

“How are you doing?” I asked.

“It hurts.”

“Do you want to keep trying?”

“Oh, yeah. I really want to do this.” Without pushing, I guided Art down toward the table again. Once I was in place, I instructed him to breathe with deep breaths, almost as though he were panting. That would make it a lot easier to take.

“How are you doing?”

Art opened his eyes, took a breath, and then seemed to relax a bit. As he got more comfortable, he tried to take a little bit more but couldn't.

“We can stay just like this,” I told him, my hands on his thighs.

Art wanted to go further but was frustrated. “I've always wanted to try this. I'm sorry, Mike.”

“Trust is the key,” I told him. We stayed as we were for a few minutes more, me lying on my back while he sat over me. His legs were tingling, so he got up, and we continued our session as usual.

As he left, those big sad eyes were peering deep inside my soul. “I feel like we made a connection,” he told me.

“As long as you liked it, that's all that matters,” I said.

He gave me my two hundred dollars, hugged me, and walked away, motorcycle helmet in hand. He seemed more ashamed than usual, much like he did when he first came to see me. For many men, being penetrated is the ultimate sign that you are a homosexual. Perhaps a dick up his ass was more than he could handle.

“Do you have any brothers, Mike?”

Just as straight guys fantasize about having sex with a roomful of sisters, gay guys sometimes fantasize about doing a roomful of brothers.

“I have two, one older and one younger.”

“Are they as good looking as you?” Art asked.

“In their own way,” I replied.

“Are they hung like you?”

I laughed. “I really wouldn't know. We're not that close.” I put some more lotion on a dry spot I noticed on his thigh.

Then he asked me, “Do you have any kids?”

“No.” I knew he had children, but I did not want to go there with him, so I didn't say anything.

“Have you ever wanted to have kids?”

I sighed, thinking of my mother and her three children. “Not really. I don't have a problem with children, but I can't say I ever wanted to be a father.”

Art's breathing picked up a bit. “Kids are great.”

“Wow,” I commented. “I'll bet you're a terrific father.”

He looked me in the eyes. “You mean that, don't you?”

I nodded. “You're a kind, gentle man. Your family is lucky to have you.”

Art really lit up on that comment. What struck me as curious was that he was in a happy mood. Rather than enjoy a moment of intimacy with another man and then be brought down by the reality of family life, it was almost as if he were seeing it all work together wonderfully. Now that was something I was curious about.

“I'm a very lucky man,” he said.

“Congratulations,” I replied. “You deserve it.”

When my mother got sick, I racked up a ton of debt flying back and forth to see her. Sometimes I bought the ticket on the day of the flight at a high price. Like I told Art, if I wasn't working, I wasn't getting paid, so when I would be gone for a week or longer, there was no money coming in. I was living paycheck to paycheck, or client to client, during 2005 and working extra hard when I was home.

The beauty of being an escort is that with just a smile and the right touch in the right place, you can be as distracted as you like and still do your job. Art was enjoying our session, but my mind was still in Las Vegas with my mom. All I could think about was that she was lying in bed in pain.

“Have you ever thought about doing anything else with your life?” Art asked as he lay there after his release.
Why is he asking me this? Is he trying to save me?
I had to stop and bring my mind back to Colorado. I asked him to repeat his question, which he did. Without thinking, I gave him an honest answer.

“I'm sorry, Art, I'm not really focused on this right now.” I hated saying that because he might want to know more so he could comfort me and show me how much he cared about me. “My mother is very ill. As you can imagine, I'm a bit distracted.”

Art rubbed my arm. “I'm sorry, Mike,” he offered. Yet rather than pry any further, he got up, grabbed his clothes, and went to the bathroom.

I was grateful he didn't inquire further. Perhaps he didn't want to know about my personal life or my feelings. Maybe it's true that intimacy among most men can only go so far. If true, that's sad, but in the escorting business, it can be a plus. No one gets too involved, which means no one has to stray too far from his comfort zone. I wanted to stay snuggly within mine, as did Art. It was the deal we made more than two years earlier.

A woman called to ask me if I would do massages at a bachelorette party. I said I would need to think about it. I'm not a prude, and women clients had made use of my services before. It's just that I wasn't sure I needed the money badly enough to do an entire bachelorette party.

The next day, I called her back and told her that for a total of four hours the price would be two thousand dollars plus expenses. I pulled that price out of the air in hopes of discouraging her. To my surprise, she said fine and nailed down the date, time, and place. I admit I was a little nervous, but with two grand I could pay a lot of bills. And it was for only four hours of work. I figured any man on the planet would have jumped at the opportunity.

I arrived at the Westin Hotel and went to the suite number she gave me carrying my massage table and other assorted accessories. She had me set up my table in one suite and don my costume in another. At first I thought she wanted me to dance a little for everyone. I had my shorts, shirt, and music all set to go. Then at the last minute she told me to go into the massage room to receive the girls one at a time. That was no problem for me. I kept hoping that she wouldn't try to haggle with me on price.