When you invite the hooker to dinner.
When you invite the hooker to dinner - an awkward tale of awkwardness.
When I turned 21, I went on an once-in-a-lifetime trip to Amsterdam with my (then) best friend, his (then) husband, their boozy queen of a friend and a straight man (whom I nicknamed Straight Sam). Despite being pickpocketed the first night, I still had an amazing time. I found out they put the hash in milkshakes, so I wouldn’t have to smoke it (yay) – that lead to a nearly three hour hysterical laughing fit back at the hotel to the comic wonder that is Dutch television. I skipped the sad, guilt ridden Anne Frank house for a more lively tour of the Sex Museum. I saw a live sex show sans donkey. I was stalked by a guy who wanted to sell me drugs, I got lost once and was accosted by a very rude homeless man, I ran screaming from a sex shop in the red light district when I picked up a porn with two cute guys on the cover petting a dog – I turned it over and saw they were doing more with that dog than just petting! There are some things even the internet cannot prepare you for. The funniest (well it’s funny now), most awkward moment was when we went to very small club, whose name I do not remember. The club was low key, no loud music and no frenetic dance floor. It oozed a kind of subtle sophistication, so I was instantly uncomfortable. That isn’t my kind of place, I like loud, trashy and where someone is getting sucked off in the bathroom stall. Little did I know that the place was essentially a brothel, selling very attractive men for an evening or for just an hour. There was even a book on the bar; very similar to the kind you see when your local bar is doing karaoke. Inside were all the “available” boys and if the one you wanted wasn’t at the bar they would call him and see if he could come down to service you. Gives new meaning to be “on-call” huh? So after a few drinks my friends approached me to inform me they had procured me one of these gentlemen as a birthday gift. Now I was raised to never turn down a free meal, a free drink or in this case a gift.
Listen, I am not one to look a gift horse in the mouth (even though I have no clue the meaning of that phrase) BUT if you are going to essentially, and let’s not mince words here, pay for the act of sex. I feel it should be with a person who fulfills some kind of fantasy you could not otherwise have. In my case if you come to me and tell me you have bought me a boy I should turn to see He-Man himself standing there. I want muscles; I want smoldering good looks, dammit! I want romance novel cover boy hotness standing in front of me. I want the personification of every fantasy I’ve had, and since it’s being paid for I do not think that’s too much to ask. What I do not want, is some super skinny, only medium cute guy whom I could easily score without paying, taking my hand and leading me into the “love room”. Now I have had some hot sex, and I have some awkward sex – but this was beyond awkward. I was not attracted to the guy in any way. Perhaps that should not matter when someone is paying for sex, but I was not paying in this instance, so an attraction to the other person is fundamentally required. I was less thrilled when he pulled down his pants. When I am packing more than the guy paid to service me – I want a fucking refund. I want there to be something in those pants that says “this is worth your money!” There was some touching, and he undid my pants and, you know. I wasn’t really feeling it, maybe it was the sleazy room (which normally wouldn’t have bothered me) or maybe it was the heart shaped Jacuzzi that we got into that failed to raise the temperature of our tryst. Then came the defining moment back on the bed, the good fellow doing his best to earn his coin began to position me for coitus, as the receiver!!! I quickly had to spin around and set some things straight, mainly it being I am no catcher. I am the pitcher and the only way I do the other is you give me all of three F’s – fuck, finance and feed. And while he was doing his best to attempt the first, he wasn’t paying my bills or taking me out to dinner. So none of that for you, dear boy paid to have nookie with me, none of that indeed.
So we just sat on the edge of bed wondering where to go next. Even though ol’ what’s-his-face was a paid hooker he did not go that way either. Which made me stop and think of how not being versatile is basically just bad for business when your business is selling yourself for pleasure. We ended our entire awkward sexual tryst with a little more oral and some mutual hand manipulation. Then quickly got dressed and I was ready to put this whole ordeal behind me, well until my friends, who thought that ol’ what’s-his-name was just the fucking bee’s knee’s INVITED HIM TO JOIN US FOR DINNER. See the way it worked over there was that the boys would hang out with you, go to dinner, go dancing, all with the knowledge that over the course of the evening they could persuade you into coitus and thus rake in some more dough. You can’t blame them, they have bills to pay. So ol’ what’s-his-name seeing a golden opportunity for a more gratifying sexual encounter and a chance to earn more coin agreed.
You think that you have had some awkward moments in your life? Try having dinner, sitting next to someone who was just paid to have sex with you – awkwardly awful sex at that, while your friends fawn over him, drunkenly. I did not even have a chance to share with them the events that occurred within the “love room” – they were so drunk and ready to go that we got whisked off to the Hard Rock Café before you could say ‘chicken finger platter please’. I drank the rest of the night, heavily. I was so uncomfortable, I really just wanted to go crawl in a hole and wait for the evening to be over. I felt so dirty – and that’s hard for someone who has gone down on people in a truck stop bathroom for blow. Despite my very visible discomfort my asshole friends were throwing themselves at ol’ what’s his face. I could only think one thought “If you liked him so much, why not just buy him for you and let me pick someone else out of the book?” I do feel even if He-Man had brought himself to life the end result in the ‘love room’ would have been the same. Awkward, paying for it is just awkward. I’d rather seduce some drunken dude who was going to regret it in the morning – that kind of ‘morning after’ awkwardness I can deal with.
My friends were also so drunk they believed they could get him to fuck them for free. -Um, not happening. Though I am sure if they asked to see his menu of services they could have gotten a group rate discount. Ol’ what’s-his-face was a trooper though, trying hard to supplement his income that night. He followed us to a couple bars that we went to, thinks get blurry after that – I do know this: Ol’ what’s-his-face got a lot of free drinks, I got into a fight with the queeny friend who accused me of trying to cock block (WTF?) when I pointed out ol’ what’s-his-name isn’t going to fuck for free. Ol’ what’s-his-name really liked my jacket and kept wanting to trade me for his (um, no) and that he finally wandered away from our drunken, yelling troupe at around 2am, never to be heard from again. I was accused of being a cock block all the way back to the hotel by the queeny one. Just jealousy I guess, they all wanted ol’ what’s-his-face tongue darting their stinkholes, and I was the only one who got him. I decided to not share what happened in the “love room” with them, instead I merely shook my head in agreement to every question they had, which painted a kinky tale of depraved coitus in their minds. They were besides themselves with delight - Hey, at least someone enjoyed it.
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