Escorting, Gay Hang-Ups and Getting Over Myself
by pinkagendist
A reader asked me this week why I’d done porn, and after giving a short and incomplete answer, I’ve decided the topic merits a proper response.
The story begins in Madrid at a club called Pasapoga. Formerly an old theatre where Frank Sinatra once performed it was transformed into one of the most popular gay clubs in Spain. It retained its glamorous frescoes, red velvet curtains and crystal chandeliers. It was a summer evening and the music boomed, I smoked More cigarettes then, the thin long brown ones. I was on a
Pasapoga
campaign of self-transformation and although I’d had a few boyfriends and a whole lot of casual sex, a major problem remained: I could only do it whilst intoxicated. Why? A combination of fear, self-loathing and internalized homophobia. My conscious, logical mind knew the guilt and the shame were rubbish and found a way around my subconscious mind by drugging it. Kind of like giving one’s self a roofie.
I’d left the upstairs bathroom at Pasapoga and stopped at one of the balconies to look down. A vision of blue and purple flashing lights and shirtless men. I could see from the corner of my eye that a man in his forties was watching me.Unlike the barely clothed rest of us he was wearing a dark
Me in the Pasapoga days
blue suit. He couldn’t have looked more out of place. I went back downstairs to get another drink and he followed. As I reached for my wallet he stepped in and handed the bartender a bill. I smiled at him and explained it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted. We sat down together on one of the red tufted sofas and he told me his story. He was the person I probably would have become if my conscious mind wasn’t such a loud-mouth anarchist. In fact he sounded just like me. He had a problem with having gay sex, but his way to deal with it wasn’t to get drunk or take drugs. Instead, he paid for it. He said it made it seem like a business transaction rather than sex. He could remove himself from the experience, compartmentalize it. These days I ask myself how someone who understands what’s wrong with them doesn’t make an effort to fix it, indulging the problem instead. That pattern is self-destructive on every level. Being his age and never being able to honestly face one’s self seems like such unnecessary self-inflicted torture. Next, came his proposition. My ridiculous polite response was the same as before, “Oh no, that’s not necessary”. Yes, my reaction to being propositioned in a sex for money transaction was it’s not necessary. What I meant was, hey, I’m drunk, you’re cute, let’s go, no cash necessary. What he understood was, he wants more money than I offered. That’s when he multiplied his initial offer by five. My mild indignation was immediately substituted by a grin. The strange realization that the weird awkward teenager who thought he was hideous and different, turned out to be the sort of person a cute guy was willing to pay to touch. Conscious mind was doing a little victory dance with a baseball bat in one hand while it prepared to beat- up subconscious mind. I accepted, and it was a great night, it was also the beginning of me breaking down my many sexual hang-ups. I was an escort (polite term for rent-boy) for a year or so. Sometimes it was fun, sometimes it wasn’t. A visit to the world of porn seemed like a good way to consolidate my acceptance of gay sex. Document it, make it public. Doing porn itself wasn’t fun at all, though. I had the very inaccurate impression porn was about sex, rather, you have these incredibly hot lights pointed at you, there’s a man holding a microphone over your head, another one shouting instructions. A rubbish script that makes you feel like an idiot as you utter some silly lines. Three cameramen filming from different angles, and half (or more) of the guys who do it are actually straight, so they’re not even enjoying the experience. I’m not knocking anyone who does it, but it just wasn’t for me. Escorting on the other hand was a much more interesting experience on a human and psychological level. The average person think of prostitution as a b/j in a car or an hour in a hotel room far from home. But that’s an illusion. There are real people and emotions guiding the protagonists of each encounter. It’s a life where every day you’re dealing with something as intensely personal as sex and the complexity of other people’s (and your own) expectations of it. There’s the client you hope falls in love with you, but doesn’t. There’s the one you don’t really like who actually does. There’s a burn victim who’s too embarrassed of his body to have sex with anyone but a sex-worker. A widower who feels 68 is too old to re-enter the gay dating world and you become his only physical human contact. It’s like spending your days at the movies, happy and sad stories all blending into each other, and you’re suddenly a character in all of them (maybe temporary, maybe not)- trying to figure out what your own role is in life and where you’re going to end up. 
P.S. In case you’re wondering why I have photos of myself like the one above… well ladies, you’ll probably be pleased to know that gay men worry as much about cup size as straight men, except we worry about our own cup size. The crazy, narcissistic, paranoid ones like me, even keep photographic records and take measurements until we reach our size goal. Go ahead, laugh!
Never, in the history of my ever, have I had a one night stand. Not because I’m close-minded, but for me, sex is irrevocably and symbiotically meshed with emotion. I’m not attracted to someone sexually unless that emotional tie is there. I wonder, is that a female thing?
This post makes me sad. Not from your viewpoint as the protagonist, because I can see your confidence grow as you explain your journey. I feel sad for the people who still aren’t happy. =/
Yes, I think it may be a female thing, although I know gay men who share in your sentiment. But I’ve been reading about tribal sexual behaviour lately and it’s a real eye opener as to how conditioned we are to behaving in certain ways sexually. Matriarchal tribes in particular totally subvert ideas we’ve all internalized.
There’s a tribe where women have sex freely with a number of men, so the identity of the father remains unknown and all the children are considered everyone’s responsibility.
Do you think your tendency to emotional sex is spontaneous or does it derive from absorbing expectations society puts on women?
I think it’s biological. I have a lot of self confidence and don’t buy into stereotypes…but I haven’t delved too deeply into the psyche behind my choice so I might answer differently if so.
Reblogged this on WHORRIBLE.