Money’s on the Dresser: Escorting, Porn and Promiscuity in Las Vegas (8 page)

What the fuck was going on? Talk about what?
I just looked at him as he ripped the condom off and threw it in the garbage bin.

He sat down next to me and I stared at him as he laughed and said, “This is probably the weirdest escorting situation you have ever been in, right?”

“To be honest, it probably is.”

“I’ve been following your work for a while and I planned this trip to meet you.”

“OK. You’ve been following my work and planned a trip just to meet me?” I repeated, to make sure I had understood him correctly.

“Well, I came to the West Coast for business, but one of the reasons I came to Vegas was to meet you.”

“I see...” How do you even begin to react to something like that?

“I organize meetings for a gay couple who loves escorts. My job is to find them and refer them to my clients. If they approve, then we will fly you to New York City, or wherever they are staying, to meet for a three-hour period and you will be paid three thousand dollars.”

“For only three hours?”

“Yes,” he said. “We will fly you out the day before, and the following afternoon, you will spend an afternoon with them and a few other escorts. It’ll be fun. I promise my clients are very low-maintenance. The next day we will fly you back home. Does this sound like something you would be interested in?”

“Sure,” I said. Was he serious? Three hours, three thousand dollars, and a trip to New York?

A couple times a month, I will get a phone call from somebody who offers me something that sounds too good to be true. And it usually is. I’ve been offered flights around the world, cruises, trips to see clients who will pay ten thousand dollars (or more) for a weekend together, people asking me for my address so they can send clothes, cologne, and underwear. I’ve been contacted by Saudi Arabian royalty (or so they claimed) and people who work for some of the most famous actors in Hollywood. Unfortunately, when it comes time for these guys to follow through, none of them do. In this business, the majority of the people were lying and I just stopped counting on anything anyone promises.

“You think I’m full of shit, don’t you?” he asked.

“To be honest,” I replied, “I think everyone is full of shit until the money is in my hands or at least a plane ticket has been purchased in my name.”

“OK, I’ll submit your pictures and let you know. You will probably need to take Viagra when you meet the guys. You seemed a little soft during our meeting and they like the guys to have hard-ons.” I wanted to tell him I couldn’t get fully erect because I was too focused on the hole in his face, but I just smiled and nodded. “Also, be sure not to act effeminate. Butch it up a bit. The client doesn’t like feminine guys.” I wanted to smack the patch right off his face for saying that, but again I just smiled and agreed. I knew I wasn’t the most masculine guy but I didn’t think I was a limp-wristed queen.

We showered together and continued talking as I got dressed. Every time I asked him questions about who he worked for, he smiled and was very vague in his responses. There were a lot of unanswered questions about this arrangement, but to be honest, I didn’t care. I refused to get my hopes anymore, even though the idea of three thousand dollars for a three-hour appointment sounded amazing. He said he would be in touch, and I collected my money and left.

The next day, he asked by text if I would be interested in going to Paris that weekend. I said sure but, again, refused to believe it was going to happen until I had a plane ticket with my name on it. He asked for my full name and address, and after just three hours, he sent me a tentative itinerary for a flight to Paris and told me I would receive three thousand dollars the next day along with three hundred euros for cab and food money while I was there. This man sounded more and more serious, but it wasn’t until FedEx showed up the next morning with an envelope stuffed with cash that I knew he was not full of shit.

Three days later, I boarded a plane and went to Paris to meet these mystery clients Tim had told me about. He followed through on everything he had mentioned. Even though I spent more time traveling than in Paris, the trip went well. Plus, I was pleased to learn there were still a few people left in the world who kept their word and followed through with their promises.

Chapter Six

The Non-Typical Virgin

I received an e-mail from a guy named Craig. He was coming to Las Vegas the first week of 2011 and would be staying at the Luxor Hotel. He was interested in setting up an appointment with me for three hours. When he asked how much it would cost, I told him I would charge him only two hundred dollars per hour, a discount for the multiple hours. We exchanged some e-mails back and forth, and as we continued to correspond, he told me that he suffered from multiple sclerosis. He said he had no mobility of his body below his neck and would be coming to Las Vegas with a caregiver to help him out. He wanted to know if I would be comfortable with this. At first, I didn’t know how to respond. In the back of my mind, I knew one day I would get an offer from someone with major physical restrictions and I would have to decide if I was comfortable with it or not. At that time, I was dating another escort, Jason Michaels. We had been seeing each other almost daily for a few months, and our time together was causing us both to neglect clients and lose out on money we were used to making. It was putting a strain on our relationship. Making six hundred dollars, especially after the holidays and a week after I had just bought a new car, would help things out for me financially. I looked at meeting someone with severe physical restrictions as a challenge and told myself it would be, if nothing else, a new experience. It was as if I was embarking on something many escorts eventually have to do at one time or another, and my time had come.

I told Craig his physical condition would not be a problem and I was excited to meet him. To be honest, I had no clue if his physical condition would be a problem, but I guess we would figure it out when I got there. The last thing I wanted to do was make him feel self-conscious especially since he told me our visit would be the highlight of his trip. To think that I could bring joy to someone who couldn’t even get out of bed, eat, or urinate on his own, made me feel incredibly humble and small.

The day of the meeting, my roommate Brigitte from France informed me she was unhappy with the living situation and didn’t want to stay in my house anymore. She said she didn’t like Jason or his dogs and she was going to find her own apartment. I had no clue what to say to her when she told me this. She had always seemed uptight about Jason staying in the house and had made it clear she didn’t like his dogs. Numerous times, I had gone out of my way to accommodate her and her financial situation, but I guess it still wasn’t working for her. She said she would be out of the house within a few weeks, and that was that. She told me this as I was tying my shoes and on my way out the door. I was speechless and completely caught off guard but didn’t have the time or energy to discuss it with her, so I picked up my bag and left. I had always thought we were friends, and I was left feeling hurt and angry.Hearing bad news or having conflict before a meeting with a client is awful, and I needed to focus on my client and his three-hour session.

I drove to the Luxor Hotel and parked my brand-new 2010 Dodge Challenger. I felt like such a rock star in my car, but I found it odd on that particular day that I was going to make my first car payment using money I made by spending time with a man who was practically paralyzed.
If people only knew...
I climbed out of the car and packed my bag full of everything I would need: lube, condoms, body lotion, water bottle, poppers, and a change of clothes for the gym later—typical escorting supplies.

I wandered around the Luxor until I found his room, which was hidden away in a separate area of the hotel with large handicapped-equipped suites.

I knocked on the door, and a good-looking younger guy smoking a cigarette answered. I had no clue who he was, but he smiled and shook my hand. He introduced himself as Craig’s nurse, and then led me to meet Craig. I was hoping he was going to stay behind and that maybe Craig only wanted to see us play together. This was something that didn’t happen too often, but every once in a while a client will hire me and another escort—or sometimes two, three, four, or even five—and just watch us play together as he got off. Having sex with other escorts and hot porn stars kind of felt like you hit the jackpot and would make me think You’re going to pay me to do what?” I walked into the room and finally met Craig, and I’m not sure anything could have prepared me for the severity of his condition. I had never met anyone with multiple sclerosis, except the wife of a pastor at the church I went to growing up. She was always in good spirits and could walk and seemed in relatively good health. I knew there were different types of multiple sclerosis, but I didn’t realize there was one that left you bedridden, paralyzed, and attached to tubes and machines. Craig’s nurse put out his cigarette, gathered his laptop, smiled, and excused himself. I wanted to say to him,
Please don’t leave. I have no clue how to handle any of this stuff, let alone try to be sexy, calm, and have sex with a man who can’t move.

The door closed behind him and we were alone. I smiled at Craig and he offered me a seat.

“How’s it going?” I asked, trying to sound relaxed, in control, and completely okay with the situation, even though I was completely freaked out by the machines everywhere.

“Really good. Thanks for coming,” he said.

“Of course. I am glad I was able to make it.”

“So, I sort of told you a little bit about my condition.”

“Right, you have multiple sclerosis?”

“Yes.”

“When did this happen? Were you born with it?”

“I have a disease called primary progressive multiple sclerosis. I was diagnosed with it at the age of twenty and went from a ‘normal’ twenty-year-old to a quadriplegic in a little under seven years. My condition is related to multiple sclerosis, which a lot of people are familiar with, but mine is a bit different. While both the standard MS and the primary progressive versions share the same disease process of one’s own immune system, attacking the thin layer of fat insulating nerves allowing them to properly transmit their signals called the myelin sheath.” It sounded like he was reciting a textbook, and I’m sure he was. He must have gone through explaining his condition to a lot of people over the years, but most likely I was the first escort he was explaining it to.

“I hope I’m not boring you,” he said.

“Not at all. I don’t really understand a lot of what you are saying, but it’s all very interesting.”

He laughed, smiled, and continued explaining. “Primary progressive attacks are much quicker, whereas standard relapsing, or remitting, as it is properly called, can take literally decades to cause the kind of damage I experienced in a few short years. But I still have many blessings in my life, such as the disease essentially stopping its progression for close to ten years now after turning me into a quadriplegic, which means my brain is unaffected and I still have many other pretty much unimpeded functions... and I guess sex is one of them, which is why I called you.”

“So your condition hasn’t affected your ability to have an orgasm or feel things?”

“Exactly... and I didn’t actually come out of the closet until I was twenty-three. By then, I had lost all mobility of my lower body and couldn’t move. You remind me of this guy I knew in high school, which is why I contacted you. He was so gorgeous and I used to fantasize about him and jerk off to him all the time. I’ve never actually been with a guy before, so this will be my first experience.”

“You’ve never been with a guy ever?”

“Nope, never,” he laughed.

“So you mean you’ve never kissed a guy, blew a friend, or jerked off with another guy as a teenager?”

“Nope, sorry,” he laughed.

I thought I was a late bloomer sexually, especially compared to most gay men I knew. By the time I was sixteen, I had at least kissed a guy, made out with another, sucked a guy off, and given at least half a dozen hand-jobs at random sleepovers or drunken parties in high school. It was hard for me to comprehend how a guy could know he was gay his whole life but never act on it once.

“Funny story, though: I used to be a phone sex operator.”

“After you couldn’t move anymore?”

“Yup,” he laughed.

Wow, this meeting was definitely not what I was expecting.

“So what are you wanting to do today? What can you do?” I asked. I still had no idea how I was going to pull this off and try to give him at least some mild sexual satisfaction.

“Well, I wanted to kiss you, have you touch me and suck my dick, and I want to fuck you. I don’t think I’ll be able to get fucked...” When he said that, I thought,
I’m not even sure how we’re going to do the majority of what you just mentioned, let alone me fucking you.
I guess it was going to be trial and error until he shot a load or at least until the clock said 4 p.m.

“Would it be okay if we started with a light massage?” he asked.

“Sure, that works,” I replied.

“So what do you do back in Illinois?” I asked as I began to undress and get the body lotion out of my bag.

“I’m actually studying to be a lawyer”

“Wow, that’s impressive!” I couldn’t believe someone that had so many things going against him had the will and drive to become a lawyer. If I have a day where my face breaks out or my body dimorphism creeps up on me, and I feel hideous, I can barely get out of bed or leave my house without a hat on.

Craig asked to be covered by the sheets on at least his upper body, and so he lied there as I spread some lotion on his legs and messaged them underneath the blankets. He closed his eyes and I could tell he already loved every minute of it. I couldn’t understand as a gay man, how you could go your entire life without sharing an intimate experience with another man, yet still know you were gay. As an escort, there were so many days where I felt oversexed and physically exhausted, and sometimes the thought of someone touching me or getting fucked, yet again felt like a bad hangover and literally made me want to throw up. Despite everything Craig had going against him, I could tell he didn’t want my pity, but my heart sank as I touched his lifeless legs. I couldn’t understand how he seemed pretty happy and content in his life despite not being able to do much of anything on his own.