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

I've been fortunate. I have had many great clients and I have a number of regulars with whom I truly enjoy spending time and I find myself genuinely excited to take them to bed as well as accompany them out and about.

I've learned a lot about life from my clients. I've gotten lessons in investing, had engaging conversations on the topics of art, drama, politics and cooking. From the older ones, I've gotten an education in what it was like to grow up pre-Stonewall. From the small handful (and they can be a handful) of clients younger than me, I've learned what has changed even since I came out a number of years ago, and what has not changed. One or two of them have even introduced me to sexual thrills I knew nothing about, and given the perversity of my imagination, that was quite a feat.

Unfortunately, I've also learned there is no shortage of the other sort of people: unpleasant and possibly even dangerous types with enough unscrupulousness and duplicity for a prime-time soap opera.

Any escort who works online, as I primarily do, knows about those individuals we call "pic-collectors." People who talk you up long enough to get a photo out of you but have no real intention of actually employing your services. These are people whose boredom, mean-spiritedness or need for whacking material has apparently reached a critical mass. I could prattle on about them, but maybe another time.

I could also mention people who give bogus addresses and phone numbers or guys who, when you get to their place, have a friend who "happened to drop by, so why don't we make it a party?"

I returned a page and it was a guy in a hotel room looking for a little fun in the big city. It was later than I would go normally out for an hour long call, but he said he wanted at least 3 hours and possibly all night. So, I thought, "what the hell, I slept last week." Besides, I needed a new VCR since my old one gave into temptation and ate that Kurt Stefano video (I can't be sure, but I think, after I left the room, it lit up a Lucky Strike).

I digress. I got the man's address and room number and headed out into the drizzly night with my backpack full of lube, assortment of condoms, porn, and mouthwash.

He was staying at one of the nicer hotels in town, and it would turn out that his room was the size of my apartment with its own kitchen and walk in closet. First, however, I went to the desk and announced myself.

My guy was expecting me, but the concierge, who's awareness that I was not there to welcome this fellow to the city on behalf of the Catholic League was painfully obvious. Initially, I didn't want to go up as the client had given me a false first name. This is never a good idea at a hotel or a doorman building.

I've seen enough episodes of "COPS" to have a healthy skepticism about hotel rooms, but upon answering the door, my client offered a kiss and started feeling me up and asked none of the red-flag questions cops supposedly ask. Also, I am doubtful the NYPD will splurge on a room this pricey. It's those HoJo calls you have to steer away from.

I asked him if I was what he expected and he said yes, and that he was glad I was there. Did I want a drink? No. Could he see me with my shirt off? Sure. So off comes my jacket, shirt and tank top.

Not one for wasting time, he begins to make out with me. I pull his shirt out of his pants and off as he unbuckles my belt and opens my pants just enough for a little fuzz to poke out.

Then everything changes. Going to a suitcase by his sofa, he retrieves and tosses on the bed a number of leather and steel restraints and some nasty looking whips, etc. It was nothing I hadn't played with before, but I'll do things with boyfriends and buddies that I'd pass on doing with a client.

He tells me he wants to chain me to the bed and spank me a while before we fuck. "I won't hit you anywhere but your ass unless you misbehave," he said thoughtfully. I gently (but firmly) told him he had made no mention of doing an S/M scene at anytime when we were setting up the appointment. I would be willing to top him for a little leather play, but I would not bottom in the scene. Even so, a roleplaying scene is generally an extra charge (I suspect he knew this). After trying to get him to agree to the more vanilla night we had talked about, he told me this is what he wanted and I was there to do as he said.

So he's standing there with a set of shackles and a pissed off look, and all I could think about was that Brian Dennehy movie about John Wayne Gacy. He was immediately upset. So quickly did his temper flare that he had to have been anticipating this moment all along, perhaps even, this is what turns him on. He accused me of changing the price on him after I got him all worked up. I replied that he never mentioned that he wanted this sort of scene even though I asked him what he got into and any reasonable person would see that being allowed to hit me would alter the terms of our bargain somewhat anyway.

At this point, I began to close up shop (i.e. my pants), and reach for my shirt being careful to keep at least one large piece of furniture between him and me until I was ready to grab my coat and leave - which I did, post-haste.

Deciding the subway at 3 AM would do nothing to sooth my nerves, I treated myself to a twenty dollar cab ride home and ended up talking to the driver about marinades for pork chops and how the traffic on the bridge had gotten better since he started his shift. Looking back once at the hotel, I wondered if Mr. Discipline was calling another escort yet or if he had had enough for one night.

At home again, I took a long hot shower, and climbed into bed, chalking up one for experience and masturbating to the new Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue until I fell asleep relaxed and suddenly needing a new ball cap, a cotton pullover, and a pair of khaki pants.