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

I don’t quite remember how I got mixed up in the underworld of exotic dancing. By my junior year at NYU, I was dancing three nights a week in a gay club and giving private dances and a little more to anyone who would pay. Most of my interactions with customers had an underlining assumption that I am/was gay. Of course, the ironic part was that I am not gay. Oh! Where did my good parents go wrong? Actually, I remember now:

When I first moved to New York City three years ago, I had no friends. I was a bit shy and hadn’t been with a girl in over a year. I was lonely and being a bit short, I was very insecure when it came to meeting girls. They all just ignored me. I remember going through a short bout with the “Napoleon Complex” accompanied by severe depression. Luckily, I found that I was not alone. In my dorm’s Resident Assistant (RA), I found a big brother, a compassionate heart, and most important, a friend. I don’t know why I didn’t see it at first, but I soon discovered that he was gay. He really took me under his wing. His gay friends became my friends and I began to willingly adopt parts of his ‘urban’ humor. He took me to a gay club we’ll call, “The Lair.” My first night there, I was in ecstasy. Everyone wanted to meet the new boy—ME. They all told me how beautiful, cute, and attractive I was and I loved it. They were all men, but it was ok because I had opened up a lot after moving to Greenwich Village.

I had found a great new world and it was all thanks to my RA. With such an emotional bond growing between my RA and myself, I—quite naturally—began to question my sexual orientation. I never really experimented; I just eventually figured that I was straight, basically because I AM NOT ATTRACTED TO DICK. I just preferred the masculine independence of a male to the winy dependence of a female.

When my friend graduated, I was working at a fitness gym in lower Manhattan and I had begun a relationship with a cute Asian girl. During my sophomore year, I basically spent all my time with my girlfriend and seldom saw my friend. My relationship was getting very serious and I began to support us financially.

The summer after my sophomore year, I realized that my job at the gym was not going to be enough. In thee beginning of my junior year, I called my old RA and asked him whom I needed to speak to in order to become a dancer at “The Lair” since he used to go go dance their as well. I began dancing that week after my audition. At first, I didn’t really like it, but little by little I began to enjoy entertaining others sexually with my body and getting paid for it. I liked being touched and seeing the submission in their eyes when they did so. I got a lot of pleasure from their trance-like gaze.

It wasn’t like the movies though. Unlike Hollywood, we are not there to fall in love. We are here for one reason—to make money. No! To make your money. Some guys thought that if they were sweet to me for long enough that I would eventually fall in love with them. Fuck that! I knew that they wanted what every else wanted—TO BLOW ME. In reality, I had a lot more fun with the guys without manners. At least they paid. The nice guys bored me. They just talk and talk. If I must be there dancing all night, I want to at least have some fun. Sad to say, but nice guys actually finished dead last.

It seemed pretty strange to me, being a straight dancer in a gay club. As I got to know many of the other dancers, I learned that I was not the only one ‘gay for pay.’ Many of the other dancers I met were straight, especially the muscular ones. The only reason that many of the big & beautiful dancers were working at a gay club was that women are cheap as hell. I turned to the more experienced dancers with advice on how to make the most money. They suggested that I do private dances. I was nervous, I didn’t know what would happen away from the safety of the club. For months, I continued to dance only in the club. After a while, the money began to get really bad. I guess after the customers realize that they will never actually get to fuck you, they stop giving you love. So I began private dancing.

I danced privately twice and both were for the same man. He was so in love with me. WHAT A SUCKER! Think about it: If I have it inside me to be an exotic dancer, do you actually think that I am as nice as I seem. The first private dance I did for him, I got nearly a thousand dollars out of him in just a few hours. He was playing the shy game too. He was too much of a gentleman to jerk off or even touch me. The night turned out to be just a little touching-no penetration, contact to my body with his tongue, and he couldn’t even jerk me off. He spent the first hour just explaining what great shape he was once in and made excuses for his present condition. Easiest money I ever made. I could tell that he was really pissed off by the end of the night. He thought that I would see his money and fall in love, awe…POOR THING. I gave him another private show a few weeks later. Even these proposals begin to thin after a while. Desperate for money, I let him blow me. I had no problem with it; I did what I needed to survive.

I quit dancing soon after that second private night; I just needed something steadier, something that I eventually found. I have no regrets for anything I did. Like I said, I needed to survive and I did. What an exciting chapter in my life, the year I got paid for it.