I lean in closer, unsure if I had heard him correctly, “What?”
“I’ll give you two-hundred dollars to suck your cock. You know, a favour for a favour.” The man says nonchalantly, raising his eyebrows and straightening his back.
I couldn’t believe what he had just said. I sat there with a confused look on my face, trying to mentally process this disgraceful offer. In my deep thought I take a few seconds to reply to the old man.
“No,” I try to say with conviction and finality.
“You stopped to think about it,” the old man believes, “Would you say yes if I offered five-hundred dollars?”
I was mentally stuck. This wasn’t my first (or even second) dabble in being offered money for sexual favours. I was reminded of Canada and how I had once hooked up with a 36 year old hockey player who, after (the admittedly terrible) intercourse, told me that he was a pimp for the National Hockey League and was ‘recruiting’ new escorts to sleep with NHL players. He told me that being gay in hockey could ruin a player’s career, so a lot of the players who had gay or bi tendencies hired male-escorts on the side. The payment would be well and full: $1,200 for an hour or two. The high payment was for discretion and quality. I wasn’t sure if I had fit in the category of quality, so the offer made me take a mental step back. But even still, I seriously considered the offer. Ultimately I declined because I was only 18 and was scared that I’d be ruined mentally because of it, not to mention the horror it would bring upon my family if they found out. Plus I had so little experience with sex, and sex itself was something that scared me.
“I said no!” I say with aggravation, turning away from the old man.
The man walks around my barstool to come face-to-face with me again. I try to turn away once more but he grabs my shoulder, leans in close and says, “This is my final offer. One thousand dollars.”
“One thousand dollars!? To just suck my dick?” I say too loud as I notice some people turn around to look at me, I lower my voice, “How do I know that you’re not playing around with me?”
“I’ll take the money out of the ATM before we hop in a cab so you can see it. I live very close, so you can come back to mine, have a few drinks, I’ll suck you, you blow, you leave with one-thousand dollars. Easiest money you’ll ever make.”
Although I thought the man was crazy for wanting to spend that much money on me, I couldn’t help but ponder his offer: I really did need the money, having only arrived in Sydney with pocket change that I had almost already spent and I was hoping to go apartment-hunting in the next few days, which I knew was an expensive endeavour.
Better judgement took hold of me, “I said no,” I barked, trying to hide the fact I contemplated his offer for a second, “I’m not that kind of person.”
The old man was about to say something when Blaire and Dean walked up.
“We are going to leave,” Dean said, holding Blaire under his arm. Blaire had a huge smile across her face; at least someone was still having a good time. The old man had walked away, scared off by their entrance.
“Where are we going?” I asked while watching the old man leave.
Blaire answered with a giddy smile, “We are gonna go hangout at Dean’s apartment. He lives just around the corner.”
Dean’s apartment was a five minute walk from the club. Blaire and Dean walked beside each other the whole way, giggling and laughing as I straggled behind them. Dean didn’t seem too interested in talking to me, so I strolled a fair distance behind them.
The apartment was a run-down and very small. It was a two bedroom with an open living area and kitchen. Dean’s bedroom was off to the side and connected to the balcony. The other bedroom was down a narrow hallway: beyond that was the bathroom.
I stepped on the 5th story balcony for a cigarette. Dean followed me while Blaire ran off to fix herself up in the bathroom. I sat on one of the white plastic lawn chairs while Dean sat on the other. We sat facing each other in awkward silence for a few seconds, then Dean spoke up,
“So what are you doing for work, Twinky?” He said with a crooked smile.
“Twinky?” I asked, puzzled.
“Yeah, because you’re white and you’re a twink.” He says, letting out a giant roaring laugh.
I let out a fake, courteous giggle, “Oh I see. I am currently looking for work at the moment.”
“Have you done modelling?”
“I have done an outdoor freelance shoot with my sister once, why do you ask?”
“Well because you’re a cute guy. I would do you,” I was taken aback, I’ve never had a straight guy tell me that (seriously) before, Dean continues, “Haha, I’m just kidding. You are a good looking guy though. If I were gay I would totally bang you. You like it up the ass don’t you?”
I was shocked at his vulgarity, “I don’t really know. I haven’t had sex that many times.”
“You don’t need to lie to me; I bet you’re a little slut. A little bottom slut who likes daddies.”
I was even more shocked and didn’t know how to respond. Dean had mentioned earlier that he had a lot of gay friends, so I admired his comfort and openness with homoerotic topics.
Before I was able to respond to him, Dean adds, “You should become an escort. I am one.”