A Consumer's Guide to Male Hustlers (11 page)

Don Leo was not a rich person. He could afford to be so generous because he held two full-time supervisory jobs at brokerage houses. One of them probably paid for his massage expenses. I have often tried to figure out what went on in Don Leo's mind. Did he think he was fat and ugly and try to make up for it by doubling the masseurs' fees? Did he feel sorry for the younger masseurs who had to knead his flabby flesh? Did he feel inadequate because he needed to pay for being jerked off? Did he want the masseurs to like him more than their other clients? Did he want to dazzle masseurs with his nonexistent wealth? Finally, did he want to impress the masseurs with his generosity so they would become his lovers?

Since I never discussed these issues with Don Leo—I was not going to ruin things for Jacinto—I do not know the answers. I suspect that all of the above speculations played some role. In the end, Don Leo got the same massage that all other clients received. Once, by way of thanking Don Leo for the outrageously expensive Christmas gifts (plural) that he had given Jacinto, they changed roles. Leo gave Jacinto a massage, and, on that occasion, blew him for a few minutes.

Most, though not all, other clients gave Jacinto tips. Usually, the tips far exceeded the customary 15 percent. In spite of all the generous tips, Jacinto did not make a lot of money from his massage business. Typically, very busy weeks were followed by dry spells. On top of it, Jacinto was unwilling to sit by the phone and wait for clients to call him at odd hours. But when he did make money it was, at times, impressive. One Saturday night he made $325 in four hours. Pretty soon he thought that "releasing" a client, even if performed somewhat ineptly,
ought
to command a large monetary reward.

Had I been able to speak frankly to Don Leo, I would have told him, "Don Leo, don't feel sorry for Jacinto. When he gives you a massage he always listens to tapes of his favorite music. You are kind to him, and there are no supervisors to push him around. Had he worked as an orderly in a hospital, one of the few types of menial jobs he may have been able to secure, he would also have very close physical contact with men—most of them very sick. He would work without the music, the kindness, and the $100 bills. He would be harassed by all kinds of supervisors and argue with co-workers. It would take him two eight-hour shifts to make what you give him for an hour's worth of work!

"Also, Don Leo, you are not the only gay person without a lover. Other gay men go to public restrooms to get the same sex you obtain from Jacinto. Your way is safer, more personal, sanitary, and elegant. But, you say, "I have to pay for it; they get it for free!' Yes, that is true. But consider the fact that the person bringing you to a climax is personable, cheerful, and cute. You got to choose him! In the restroom the guy who jerks you off may well be dirty and ugly. So forget the money and count your blessings!

"Now, then, Don Leo. If you insist on tipping Jacinto and other masseurs, add another $10. This represents a generous 20 percent tip. Get a life, Don Leo. You don't need to work two jobs so that you can overwhelm masseurs and models with your generosity. And, Don Leo, if you want to find a lover, advertise in the personals of a gay publication. Sex workers are professionals. They are not supposed to become lovers!"

With no disrespect whatsoever, I compare the hiring of a hustler or model to the buying of a used car. In the used car business, each deal is unique. You can get a good deal to suit your budget, but you need to look hard for it!

* * *

Before I close this chapter, I would like to discuss how hustlers and models are chosen by their clients.

Anywhere in the world, if you go to places where street hustlers congregate, you will see very few good-looking guys, a lot of ordinary-looking hustlers, and quite a number of homely dudes, sometimes including "physically challenged" ones. Mind you, I am not speaking about hustlers who look like punks or plain bad-ass guys. This image is deliberately cultivated by some hustlers because it is prized by their clients.

At any given time, only a limited number of hustlers are in the street or the bar. Out of that limited number, only three may interest a client. One may be disqualified because he is not sexually compatible, and the other because he charges too much. This leaves only one candidate. He has a few attractive features, appears to be a friendly guy, the price is right, and there definitely is sexual compatibility. But, unfortunately, he is far from handsome.

The client has three choices: pick him up, hang out for another hour and wait for more options, or call it quits for the evening. More often than not, the far-from-handsome guy will be picked up by the client.

My experience, which I am sure is shared by many other clients, has been that I do better with hustlers who are not Adonises. For one, perfect hunks and beautiful queens are sometimes conceited and difficult. For another, we tend to overlook the bad qualities and make excuses for the shortcomings of partners who are exactly our type.
There is absolutely no relationship between good looks and sexual performance
. Most clients find this out sooner or later and go with what is available in the street, even if the packaging is less than perfect.

The model scene presents a set of different problems. Almost always, clients are happily or unhappily surprised by the real models compared to the way they imagined them during the phone interview.

What usually happens when a client is not particularly impressed with the model (but also not entirely disappointed) is that he goes with the flow. The model is already at the client's home, or the latter has already spent time driving and parking on an in call. The client might as well go on with it! Again, given a chance, the frog may turn out to be a prince of a model. Only rarely do models abort the mission. They do not want to lose their time investment. Street hustlers get rid of clients they do not like much more often—provided, of course, that they are not desperate.

It is ironic that hustlers and models who would be ignored in bars and shunned in sex clubs can charge for what they cannot give away for free!

Chapter 7

Taking Control of Your Sex Life

Attempting to control hustlers or models is as practical as trying to use mercury for sculpting. Hustlers and models are all about
not
being controlled by anyone—all too often, not even by themselves. If you must control another person, a lover is a much better prospect. When you hire hustlers, you pay for their services, not for running their lives. Their services will help you control your
own
sexual life!

Hiring hustlers has never been considered an acceptable alternative to endless and frequently futile cruising. I think there are two reasons for this. First, to our great detriment, we gays draw comparisons between our sexual relationships and those of heterosexuals. We compare hustlers to female prostitutes. I have already written enough about this subject. Second, hiring hustlers destroys the romantic illusion we indulge in when cruising.

I have gone to gay bathhouses a thousand times or more. Half my experiences there were dismal. Either I did not score at all, or got it on with men I did not care for (who did not care for me either) just so I could finally escape from the baths and get on with my real life. Some forty-five percent of my baths forays have ranged from mediocre to somewhat adequate. The remaining five percent have been incredibly fulfilling experiences on many levels!

Examples of the five percent: I met my first lover at the baths. Some thirty years ago, at a San Francisco bathhouse, I got it on with a guy from Mexico City, and we are still close friends. The most lucrative summer job I have ever held I obtained through a man I met at the baths. The best sex I have ever had in my entire life was at a gay bathhouse in Vancouver, British Columbia, with a visitor from Seattle. It is, of course, for these five percent that I went (still go, sometimes) to the baths.

I gave all of these examples, because even though I think that bathhouses are hostile cruising grounds, and that they drain time, energy, and money, it is possible to have romantic and social encounters there. The same generalizations hold true for bars. In contrast, using the services of hustlers, by definition, negates a romantic relationship. Every time we go cruising most of us hope and pray that we would find more than casual sex—even though we know that this is unlikely. Every time we make a date with a hustler we affirm to ourselves our lustfulness. We know, beforehand, that he would not become a boyfriend or a lover.

But will the hustler just assuage our desire for raw sex or also our yearning for affection? Already in 1976, C.A. Tripp, in his pioneering work,
The Homosexual Matrix
, observed that promiscuity—as in cruising—and affection can and do go hand in hand, at least for a large group of cruisers.
¹
If you seek affection from your sex partner (not everybody does) a good hustler will do as well, or even better, than a casual pickup. Even more important, the hustler option will be more efficient than the casual pickup. Only the romantic illusion won't be there.

¹
. "Besides turning up in the most unexpected places, affection is promiscuity's main motive and its salient result" for a large segment of the promiscuous cruisers.
The Homosexual Matrix
, C.A. Tripp (New York: New American Library, 1976), p. 142.I have no insights at all to offer about gay cruisers who want anonymous sex without affection.

If we start out with the premise (which we have inherited from heterosexuals) that in order to be a fulfilled gay human being one must have a committed sexual relationship with only one other gay man, then, of course, consorting with hustlers is a problem, not a solution. If, on the other hand, we honor our lustfulness (which exists regardless of whether we honor or dishonor it), then hustlers are a viable solution for some gay men.

* * *

I ought to write a bit more about lust and affection, because the whole point of this book is that good hustlers can provide affection to clients who want it. First, we need to be honest with ourselves. Much gay sex takes place
by choice
to satisfy raw lust. A recent issue of the
San Francisco Frontiers News Magazine
features some 400 personal ads. These ads come under three headings:
Relationships, Cruising
, and
Raunch
. Only one-quarter of the ads are listed under
Relationships
. The rest of the advertisers chose to place their ads under
Cruising
and
Raunch
.
²
These advertisers must know from experience that casual sex—as opposed to dating, going steady, and culminating with tying the knot—can be a very satisfying experience.

²
.
San Francisco Frontiers News Magazine
, May 22, 1997, pp. 43-53.

Were I a poet, I would compose an "Ode to Lust." Lacking the skill, I will recount a personal anecdote.

LUST CONQUERS ALL

My first trip to Japan took place in the summer of 1967. I had read a lot about the country but had not yet studied Japanese. I relied on the (very erroneous) information that everybody in Japan spoke some English.

I arrived in Tokyo early in the morning local time. By dinner time I was tired and irritable due to jet lag. At 9 p.m., I took a taxi to a gay bar. Before entering, I stood outside to clear my head for a while. The cutest Japanese guy, apparently also on his way to the bar, stopped right in front of me. He did not display a broad, friendly smile, which would have run counter to Japanese etiquette. But I interpreted his stare as a "can we get it on" look, and I, not bound by strict etiquette, grinned broadly.

"My name is Joseph," I said, bowing more or less properly.

He replied, "My name is Watanabe," and bowed at the proper angle.

I extended my right hand and said profoundly: "Watanabe
san
!"

He extended his hand. As we shook hands he tried, unsuccessfully, to repeat my name, adding san to it.

We stood there for a while shaking each other's hands. When we finally disengaged our hands, I came up with something even more profound to say. "My first day in Japan."

"I... no English speak," said Watanabe san, pointing at his nose. (This is the emphatic form in Japanese for "I.")

"I do not speak Japanese," said I.

From there on, the quality of our conversation deteriorated. I grew panicky. I was afraid that he would tire of me and disappear into the bar. I was really too tired to follow him and try to cruise him there. I needed to say something that would be understood readily, and convey my intention. I stayed at the Dai Ichi Hotel. I remembered that the Japanese word for hotel was hoteru. I looked straight into his soulful eyes and said, "Dai Ichi Hoteru. We go!"

Right on cue, a taxi drove by. I hailed it, and holding onto Watanabe's elbow guided him into it. During the long, silent ride, I kept worrying about the prominent sign at the Dai Ichi's lobby, right by the elevators, in English and Japanese: "No visitors past this point." I was willing to ignore it; but would Watanabe
san
?

We stepped boldly into the elevator. I do not know whether Watanabe
san
had seen the sign, and, like me, chose to ignore it.

My hotel room was tiny, with only one spartan chair. Without talking, we took off our clothes and hopped into bed.

I had read a lot about how different the Japanese way of thinking was from the Western world's; how difficult it was to communicate with them; how complex their customs were. Watanabe and I spoke eloquently and lovingly, using body language, and we intuited each other's desires. Our agenda was to pleasure ourselves by pleasing each other.