HOOK: E-zine By, For, and About Men in the Sex Industry

"Just a sec!" I holler out the open bathroom window to the stranger at the door. Then 'Pop!'…in goes the lens with a sharp bite. I'd labored all of 3 seconds to clean it off after finishing up the last client the night before. A few blinks and there was a single figure staring back at me in the bathroom mirror. A quick last-minute check. Hmmm. Those push-ups were paying off, I thought, and hurried to the door to greet the 10 a.m. client, the first of four scheduled for the day.

God, don't let him be a total loser, I think as I pull open the door. He's the only newbie of the day. The other 3 are repeats: one married guy who likes to get spanked; one total stud-boy in a loveless marriage with a husband who does everything so long as it doesn't involve intimacy, and a very sweet 60 year old who loves to give me a backrub and blowjob.

"Hi there. You're Jack, right? Come on in!" I greet him with with equal parts acting and left over Southern manners. "Of course, no problem. Bathroom's right there." They always want the bathroom, I muse. Why don't they just piss before they show up? Or want to piss on me? No, wait, that's Todd - every other Wednesday at 8.

Actually this guy's not so bad looking. My butt twitches and I think: maybe I'll sit on him for free. Just then the voice of my sex-business mentor, Woody, echoes in my head: "Get the money in advance and never give it up for free, Sugar." Woody used to tell me that years ago when I was getting a start in the "massage" business. We met at a jack-off club and were natural and instant allies. We both were from the South (me from Georgia, he from Alabama), our dicks were practically identical, and we both had post-graduate degrees which we'd abandoned practically upon graduation. Woody claimed that he had put himself through college and grad school ‘turning tricks for tuition’. He kept the diplomas from Berkley and UCLA hanging on his wall to prove that he had at least been through that.

I started in the sex-for-money business about 4 years ago when a broken ankle from a motorcycle accident had sidelined me from a day job at a local publishing house, though I had wanted to do it for a lot longer than that. I'm forty-something, but heeded Woody's advice about age: "Tell 'em you're 37, Sugar. Nobody buys a forty-year-old hustler unless he's got pictures in Honcho, a film from Hot House, or a dick as big as yours and mine laid end-to-end. And besides, Sugar, it's all about getting the business to walk through your front door. Once they're there, they'll only he thinkin' about getting their rocks off one way or another, not about whether you're 37 or not."

"Hey, guy, you have some interesting pictures on your wall in there," my reverie was broken by the voice of the stranger.

"Oh, ya," I replied automatically, "just me and some friends." The bathroom wall is a mosaic of snapshots of my PA'd dick hooked together in 2's and 3's with the pierced dicks of half a dozen buddies from New York and San Francisco.

"Wow, man! Is that your dick with the knitting needle through it?" the stranger continued.

"Ya, that's me, I was stretching my PA hole to get up to a 4 gauge." I flipped into stewardess-mode. "So, do you want to get started? I need you naked on that table face down with your head up at this end," gesturing to the draped massage table in the small bedroom in the condo. "I'm gonna go piss and wash my hands and heat the oil."

I retreat to the bathroom and to save time, pissed in the sink while I wash my hands. He's not so bad –looking, I think. Maybe I'd better get prepped just in case. I open a Reality female condom and slipped it into my butt. I liked those new condoms for just that reason: you can pre-insert them before you get started and then when it comes time to get poked, you just lube the guy up and sit on the guy's rod. No stopping to try to rip open a latex condom or put it on the top's dick, only to have to work to get him hard again.

I return to the massage room with the hot oils. The guy on the table looked to be about 35 or so. A "real" 35, I chuckle to myself. Pretty smooth body and fairly in-shape. Trim, but not a hard-muscled body-builder. Those boys are work. Hard, unstretched muscles. This guy's about 6 feet tall, buzzed hair, which, judging from the fuzz on his butt, was probably sandy blonde.

"Ever had a massage before?" I asked. Not that it mattered. I forgot everything I learned in massage school arid re-arranged the standard way of doing a Swedish massage, again thanks to Woody's tutelage. "Start with their legs," Woody had counseled, "that way, you can tease their butt crack sooner. You can feel if they are getting hard before you flip 'em over." I oil the guy's right leg and begin to stroke up the calf and firm thigh. In one smooth movement, I reverse my stance half-way up the leg so I could pull my hands up the guy's thigh arid slide one hand deep into the guy's fleshy butt-crack, looking for a sign of a hard-on in the guy's perineum. Sexual right from the first stroke.

Bet he's uncut, I think. I love uncut. I had an uncut lover a few years ago who loved to dock my dick in his foreskin. And the smell...yummm. If he's uncut, I'm definitely gonna sit on it.

A few more strokes on the thighs, and it's time to move in for "butt-work-part-one," my favorite part: at least of the face-down half of the massage. A bit more oil and a healthy gob of grease and I'm ready to take the guy for a sensual and sexual odyssey. I figure that most guys never get their butts worked enough. Straight guys are too afraid to ask their wives/girlfriends to play with their holes. Tops, too image-conscious. And bottoms or total switches like me are too piggish ever to get enough. I figure that it's my civic duty to work the guy's butt at least as much as I work his dick.

"I love rubbing a guy's butt," I tell the guy, "it's my second-favorite 'muscle' to rub." And I slide my hand off his butt and onto his balls and cock-root in the perineum, foreshadowing the dick-play that's yet to come.

God, that sounds so cheesy, I think to myself, but they love hearing that. Makes 'em relax because that way they know I'm gonna rub their dick for sure when I flip ‘em over. Seattle massage is so strange because most massage guys rub cold oil on your back for 5 minutes, flip you over, and jack you off. They never let you touch them and the whole thing rarely lasts more than 35 or 40 minutes. Plus, they don't know fuck about massage. Or you'll get the guy who does know how to give a great massage, but he never plays with your cock arid never takes his own pants off, either. After the first year, I had the routine down to where I can work the guy's legs and thighs with one hand and slip off my own T-shirt and shorts with the other, so when I flip the guy, I'm standing there naked.

"Oh, that feels great, man," the guy on the table said.

"Let me rub you some more, man," I counter, moving around the table and positioning myself so my balls were pressed above the guy's forehead and my dick draped down the backside of his head. I begin massaging his shoulders. It's the perfect position: the guy can grab at your butt but can't really grab much else and you can easily move to one side of the table to keep him from getting too far too fast.

'One, two, thr...,' I count silently, and before I can get to three, like clockwork, the guy's hands are on my butt. I remember Woody's rule for running the scene: "You stay in charge, honey, that's what they're paying you for... sure they're gonna get their hands on you, too, but tease 'em at least 3 times before you give it to 'em."

So as the guy's hands come up to my butt-cheeks, I move to one side and work on stretching the muscles along the guy's backbone. Then it was on down to the guy's butt for Part Two: Long, deep strokes through the guy's buttcrack like before, but this time, with more intensity and overt sexuality. I always imagine that I'm about to fist the guy at this point. With oil and Grease slathered all over my hand and forearm, I slide in long, slow strokes down the guy's butt and separate the buttcheeks and feel the warm, smooth flesh of the guy's hole against my smooth arm. I pull my arm back and flick each finger in turn across the guy's hole. If his hole yields, I'll glove-up and finger him, too. Back and forth, gradually increasing in tempo. After about 5 minutes of this, the guy is moaning and if I'd wanted to, I could easily climb onto the table and poke him. But, today, I'm determined that it's my butt that's gonna get poked today, and by now I was ready to see if the guy really is uncut.