Money’s on the Dresser: Escorting, Porn and Promiscuity in Las Vegas (13 page)

There was silence in the room, and after a few moments, I offered to get him a towel. He said sure and thanked me. I walked to the bathroom and grabbed a small hand towel and ran it under warm water. I brought it to him, and he began to clean up and then put on some loose gym shorts. We made small-talk, and he told me of his travel plans. He asked me if I had any travel plans, and I told him I was headed to New York next week. He asked me if I knew a guy named Javier out there who hosts these nights at various bars in New York City where he hires strippers. He told me Javier has helped him numerous times with hiring escorts when he travels, and he was a great contact to have in New York City. I told him I would love to talk to him and see if he has any work for me while I am in the city the following week, and he agreed to call Javier and give him my contact info.

I got cleaned up, dressed and began packing up my clothes. The room was a mess with T-shirts, jeans, and ball caps lying everywhere, but I somehow managed to find everything I came in with. After I gave Jimmy an awkward hug, he slipped me seven hundred dollars and thanked me for taking the time to see him. I left the meeting feeling worn out and headed home to take a nap before the Halloween weekend festivities began.

Chapter Nine

One Week in New York

Part One

I went to New York City, and this is what basically happened during my seven-day visit. I got hired as a stripper; I stole an iPad from my first customer; I almost got arrested; a cab driver showed me his dick; I got kicked out of the apartment where I was staying; I saw a man get peed on in a urinal by numerous patrons of a bar; I saw nude go-go boys get blown by nearly everyone in the bar (sleazy sex is still alive and well in NYC); I woke up to news that a local bartender in Vegas was shot in the back, neck, and head thirty times by a jilted lover; and I saw a psychic who told me I had been an unwanted pregnancy.

I got to New York on a Tuesday. Three months before I arrived, I had asked my friend Joe if I could stay with him and his roommates in Astoria, and he said of course. I asked numerous times if had cleared it with his two roommates, and each time he said he had. One week was a long time to stay with someone, especially in a city like New York, where people are already basically living on top of each other.

After I got to New York, I took a cab to his place and saw that his room was a complete disaster. Apparently, I was later told by his friends and roommates, he had spent hours cleaning for me, and yet there was dirty and clean laundry everywhere, all sorts of shit pouring out of his closet and from underneath his bed, and the items on the bookshelf were covered in a thick layer of dust. It looked as if there were clothes in between the wall and the bed and he was sleeping on T-shirts, socks, and pajama pants. I had no clue where I was supposed to sleep and was confused as to what his definition of “cleaning” was.

Okay, Christopher... calm down and breathe. He very graciously offered me his place and you are trying to save money, not spend money while you are here. Suck it up, deal with it, and be grateful.
I told myself and I did. I am a bit of a snob when it comes to being neat and organized, and I knew Joe and his roommates had graciously opened their home to me, so I had to just get over whatever it was I feeling and make the best of the situation.

Later that night Joe and I decided to go to the gym and work out. Afterward we walked home and grabbed a bite to eat at a falafel place down the street from his apartment. The food was decent and cheap, and it was nice to catch up with Joe after not seeing each other for five months. During our meal, I received a phone call from a client asking if I was free that night, and I said sure. I hated doing last-minute appointments, but sometimes you had to take what you get, and not every client was going to book something with you weeks in advance. Joe and I finished our food and went back to his place, where I showered, douched, and got ready. It was getting pretty late, and I wasn’t at all familiar with the New York City subway system, so I decided to call a car service. The car came within ten minutes and I hopped in and was on my way to the Upper East Side.

As we drove into Manhattan I felt like everything on the route we were taking looked vaguely familiar. I had been to New York the year before and I wasn’t sure if I had been to this area then or if it just looked familiar. I had no sense of direction in this city, so I just figured it looked similar to somewhere I had been before or had seen on
Sex and the City
. The car stopped in front of a building that looked even more familiar. I approached the doorman and he greeted me and let me in. I went to the man at the front desk to give him my name, so he could call up to the client’s apartment. Again, even the doorman and front desk attendant looked and sounded familiar.
Have I been here before?
As I went up in the elevator, I realized I had to have been here before, but I couldn’t figure out who I was about to see or if it was the same apartment number as last time. I got off on the thirty-second floor and walked down the long hallway toward the end of the hall. I knocked on the door and a man who looked completely coked out answered. He was twitching, anxious, sweaty, and clearly fucked up. Immediately I knew exactly where I was and remembered I had seen him the year before. The man lived in one of the penthouses in the building, but it surprisingly looked like a shitty apartment. It hadn’t been decorated since the 1990s and looked pretty drab and depressing. The place was fairly clean, but it all seemed so dated and not what you would expect from a New York City penthouse. The furniture was old and the “white” sofa was stained. I said hi and asked if he remembered me. He looked me up and down a few times but had no idea who I was.

“I was here a year ago. We met last fall,” I said, expecting to see a look of familiarity in his eyes, but he was clueless.

“Really?” he asked, still clearly confused and clearly fucked up. He didn’t remember who I was, but I guess it really didn’t matter. I remembered the guy was nice enough, but just like last year, he was sweaty, sniffling, and shaky. He wasn’t bad-looking, but his fucked -up demeanor left me feeling a little on edge. I was never sure if clients who were cracked out, partying, or stoned were going to flip out on me, pass out, or have a heart attack. I had visions of being the naked hooker with a sheet draped around my body as the paramedics arrived after his heart stopped beating. I imagined they would start asking me who I was and would have to inevitably say I am an escort, and they would look at me with disgust and disdain and think I was the one who gave him the drugs and killed him with my out-of-this-world sexual techniques. This was all highly unlikely, but it’s what my imagination would create as I sat there with a cracked-out client. I generally attract a “vanilla” type of clientele, but every so often I would get someone who was on something, and I would spend the entire time during our session on edge and unsure of whether or not they would trip out.

He asked me if I minded him doing a few lines of coke and offered me some too. I politely declined and told him to go ahead and do whatever he wanted. I didn’t mind if the client was doing coke or smoked a joint, but I would usually draw the line at meth and crack and ask they didn’t smoke it in front of me. He went to the kitchen table and snorted a few lines and took a moment to let it work. He started taking off his clothes, so I did the same and folded them neatly on the stained sofa that was directly underneath a large mirror hanging on the wall. He walked over to me wearing only a Star of David necklace and saggy black dress socks. He turned me around and pressed his body against my backside and started moaning like he was in pure ecstasy. I didn’t really do anything, but I don’t think he cared. He was just grinding his soft, shriveled-up coke dick on my ass cheeks and moaned like he was experiencing the best feeling ever.

Suddenly he stopped and asked, “Hey, do you know Adam Killian?”

Adam was a very well known porn star I had worked with in the past, so I said “Yes, I do”.

“Wow... that’s so cool. He’s so hot. He’s going to be in New York next week, and I’m going to hire him. I really wish he was here with us right now.”

I wasn’t sure how to take this, so I just said “Yeah, he’s really hot. That could be a lot of fun.”

“Oh my God, that would be so hot,” he replied as he grinded his hips into me harder and harder.

“Look in the mirror,” he told me, and I did so.

I smiled and said, “That’s really fucking hot,” and I made eye contact with him as he grinded himself deeper into my ass cheeks.

“Oh my God, that’s so hot. Okay... let’s go to my room,” he directed me, and I followed him to the next room. He lay on the bed and asked me to straddle his legs but face away from him. I did as I was told and sat directly beneath his balls and popped my ass out. He just felt it lightly and jerked himself off and kept saying, “Oh my God,” over and over again. I just sat there wondering if I should be doing anything or saying anything to make this more enjoyable for him, but it felt like I was doing enough and he was perfectly happy just jerking his dick and lightly touching the soft blond hairs on my ass.

“Yeah, that’s it. Pop that ass out,” he said, and I popped it out even more.

A minute or two went by and there was silence. Finally I said, “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, totally... thanks,” he responded. “That was hot.”

“Did you cum already?” I asked.

“Oh yeah, a few minutes ago. Thanks, that was just what I needed.”

I felt a little silly sitting there popping my ass out not knowing what was going on behind me, but I guess he was satisfied, so I climbed off and headed to the bathroom to grab him a towel. After he cleaned the cum off his belly, he got up and handed me a clean towel from the bathroom and I jumped in the shower to rinse off. When I got out of the bathroom there was no small-talk so we just said our good-byes, I collected my money, and was on my way. I looked at my watch and saw that I was in his place for no more than twenty minutes.

Wow... that was easy money,
I thought. I was still surprised he had no clue who I was, but I guessed he must hire guys a lot and he probably gets them confused or forgets who they are. Either way, I was fine with it. I said good night to the doorman on my way out and caught a cab to head back to Astoria.

It had been a long day of traveling and I was happy to crawl into bed with Joe, even though the sheets were dirty and there were piles of dirty and clean clothes surrounding us. Joe and I were both about six-feet-tall grown men in a twin bed, but I didn’t care. It was cramped and a little uncomfortable, but we snuggled up close to each other, and I passed out.

The following day I went to the gym with Joe again, did a few errands around Astoria with him, and packed my stuff up to head to Manhattan for the night. I had a seven o’clock appointment with a man named Joshua in Midtown before heading to a club to dance that night. I arrived at Joshua’s around seven and he greeted me with a handshake at the door. He was incredibly handsome yet very short (at least compared to me). He must have been no more than five foot five, and I felt like I was towering over him.

“Damn... you really are a big boy, aren’t you” he laughed.

I smiled and said, “I guess so.”

He invited me in, and we took a seat on a large sectional sofa in his massive two-bedroom penthouse overlooking the city. His place was quite the opposite of Joe’s place in Astoria and the shit-box penthouse I was in the night before. He sipped something that looked like a scotch on the rocks and told me about himself. He was in his forties, good-looking, a lawyer, and probably had more money than I will ever see. It was odd to think this man was paying me for sex when I would have gladly let him fuck me for free. New York City was odd in that a majority of the men who called me were incredibly good-looking and rich. Sometimes they were much younger than the men I usually saw, who were generally in their fifties, sixties, and seventies. This left me questioning why this was the case here in New York City but not in Las Vegas. Why couldn’t I find a husband like these clients back home? Was this the universe’s way of telling me to move to New York City, or were these men still single for a reason? Who knows...? I was scheduled to be there with him for an hour and it was nice to enjoy myself with someone I might have even possibly paid to sleep with. He wanted me to stay longer than an hour, but I told him I had a dancing gig at eight-thirty that evening. He said okay and thought it would be best if we got started.

He walked over to one of the counters in the kitchen and took out a small bag of cocaine.
Again?
I thought. Were all New York gay men huge coke heads? He asked if I minded or if I wanted any, but again I politely declined.

After he snorted a few lines, he walked over to me and grabbed my hips and brought me in close for a kiss. We started to make out and I had to hunch over to reach his lips. I was wearing my large black combat boots, which added another two inches to my six-foot-one frame, so I had to accommodate his size by leaning over to make this work. We made out and it felt great. I could taste the cocaine in his saliva, and it was weird to be tasting it when you were not actually snorting lines yourself. He started removing my clothes and I assisted him by undoing the straps on my boots and my belt. He caressed my chest and started licking my nipples, which were at a perfect for height, considering my nipples were just below his eye level. I removed his shirt and pressed his chest in closer to me. He was warm, and I could feel his heart beating through his chest. It was going pretty fast and I wasn’t sure if it was because of the excitement of the sexual experience, the cocaine, or both.

He pulled down my pants and started rubbing my dick through my underwear. My dick was already hard and the head was poking out the top of my Calvin Klein briefs. He finally grabbed my dick and started stroking it and then bent over to suck it. His mouth was small, so it kind of hurt as I felt the head of my dick being scraped by his teeth. I tried to bear it for as long as possible until I pulled him up to kiss him and move on to something else.