Category Archives: thailand

The Truth: Part 31

Scott was living back up in his room after that agonising night on the couch, his nightly screams continued but at least were muffled in his new location. He managed to get his hands on a wheelchair, kindly donated to him from an organization in which he was affiliated with.

Scott was unable to walk up and down the stairs, so every day I would have to deliver him food from the kitchen, or bring him up cigarettes, or any toiletries. Luckily Scott had a couple friends who would make food deliveries to the house. They would come with fully cooked meals that I would store in the fridge and deliver up when needed. I still had to feed Deniro every day and bathe him once a week.

Most nights I would come home from work just to simply check if Scott was still alive. Calling him was pointless because he was sleeping most of the time. He’d be in such a prescription drug slumber that no noise would wake him. I was sure I would come home one day and find him dead; one time I was sure he was. He lied twisted in the bed with his tongue hanging out, his breathing was so shallow it was unnoticable. I rushed to his bedside and shook him. He woke after a few good shakes, simply opened his eyes and weakly said ‘Hey darling’ before passing out again.

Once I had checked him and took out some garbage or dishes from him room, I would deliver up anything he needed. I would then get ready and leave the house again. I was out with the boys drinking and smoking almost every night.  

One night someone suggested we go to a place I had never been before; a sex sauna.  

I went with Matt, Brendan, and Nick.

The entrance to the sauna was fairly discreet despite its busy location. It was nestled in a corner building just a block off Oxford Street (Sydney’s gay street). It was past 12 at night, and we waited in a small line.

“That will be twenty dollars,” said the front desk attendant as we reached the front of the line. He clarified, “Twenty dollars each.”

I paid in cash and he handed me a towel and pointed me in the direction of the locker room. I waited until everyone had paid, and we all walked in together. I was really nervous and Nick could tell.

“You’re gonna be fine. Just relax.” He said.

“I’m actually kind of scared.”

“I’ll be with you the whole time. Don’t be such a baby. God.” Nick snapped.

The lockers had an assortment of older men undressing and I tried to suppress my laughter at their nakedness. I looked towards Nick with horror as the men gawked at us, and we both ferociously giggled and safely found lockers as far away from the wrinkly older men as possible.

I was too embarrassed to get naked in front of everyone, so I held the white towel around me as I took off my pants and underwear. Then I tightly wrapped it around my body.

“Let’s go to the sauna first.” Matt suggested.

The sauna and steam rooms were located downstairs. I slowly crept down the stairs afraid of what I might be about to witness. Luckily there were only three men in the sauna in opposite corners looking very timid. The men shifted their posture as we approached and I had the sudden realisation that I would have to remove my protective towel in order to enter.

Nick, Brendan and Matt hardly took any time removing their towels and entering the sauna, but I hesitated for a second too long and everyone gave me weird looks. I removed my towel and quickly used one hand to cover my crotch and basically ran and jumped into the sauna.

“Fuck, it’s nothing we haven’t seen before.” Brendan said about my modesty. I swear one of the older men was licking his lips.

We sat in the sauna, the bubbling water providing safety from prying eyes looking at my bits, and became boisterous. We laughed and splashed each other at the expense of the other men who were trying to relax. Soon the heat of the water was getting to our heads, and Matt started nodding off.  

“Oh my god, look at Matt!” Nick laughed at Matt who slept with his head back in an unnatural angle. Suddenly Matt’s head rolled forward and dumped right in the water. We waited a second for him to wake up, but when he didn’t I quickly waded over and rescued him. I lifted his head out of the water.

“What are you doing?” Matt said groggily.

“You fell asleep and were about to drown!” I replied.

“I didn’t fall asleep.” Matt retaliated as he rested his head on the edge of the sauna and fell asleep again.

We waited a few minutes and decided we wanted to look around, but when we tried to wake Matt up he told us to leave him there.

“I don’t want to leave him,” I said. I added more quietly, “He’s drunk and I don’t know what these guys will do to him if we leave him.”

“That’s his problem.” Brendan said brashly.

“Yeah, who cares. He can take care of himself.” Nick agreed.

“I’m not going to leave him alone here.” I said firmly.

“Fine, if you want to stay here with him then you can. I’m going to go look around.” Brendan got out of the sauna and wrapped the towel around himself. Nick followed.

I was left alone with a sleeping Matt and two old men.

I sat in the sauna and tried to look interested in everything but the two other men in the sauna. One of them was sitting across from me, and when I was checking out a poorly painted mural on the wall I felt something between my legs. It was the man’s foot.

My head whipped down to look at him as he rubbed me. At first I was shocked. He wore a crooked smile and was quite older, but he wasn’t bad looking. I could tell he had a nice body even though most of it was submerged in the water. Before I knew it I reached my foot out under the water and touched him too.

This man and I fooled around without words while Matt slept a couple feet away.

The man left the sauna once he was done and left Matt and I alone. I violently shook Matt awake and told him to go home if he was too tired.

The second level of the sauna was a giant dark sex maze. Literally. There were gloryhole nooks, sex swings, dead ends, and small rooms with “beds” in them (“Beds” because it really was just a platform with a mat on top of it). The maze really freaked me out. The walls of the maze were painted black and there was hardly any light. A couple times I walked around a corner directly into someone else. A few times a stray hand in the shadows reached out and grabbed me. Nick laughed at how on edge I was. While I was inspecting a glory hole he snuck around to the other side and put his hand through the hole and grabbed my leg. I screamed so loud that a few strangers congregated around to see what the commotion was.

Pretty soon I got the hang of the maze. I would confidently pull stray hands off my body and started walking around alone. None of the men were my type so when I was about to call it quits I was surprised when a tall man accidentally ran into me. Our eyes met. He was tall, muscular, tanned, and Italian. He grabbed my hand and without another word said, “You’re coming with me.”

We had sex in one of the rooms.

The Truth: Part 26

“I hope you are well!” I said enthusiastically on the phone. I was talking to Scott.

“Thanks babe. It was my birthday three days ago.” said Scott with a weak voice.

“I meant to call but I got busy,” I lied, I had totally forgotten about it, “I am so sorry. Happy birthday though!” I looked up at the five people I was with and they all looked sheepish. We were walking to a local cafe.

“That’s ok hun. How’s Deniro?” Scott asked.

“He’s doing good. Really good.” I lied again. I looked down at Deniro, who was on a leash, and see blood running down his neck. Fuck, I think to myself, what do I do?

*********************************************************************************

Two weeks before I talked to Scott on the phone two new boys started working at KC. Their names were Ben and Chris and they were a couple. Chris was a scene boy. He had blonde hair and an innocent look. He did things to get attention and you could tell he prided himself in being different. He was really odd, at times he was shy, and beneath his outer mannerisms I could tell that he was just a lost boy wanting to be heard. He was the very definition of the saying ‘the eyes are the gateway to the soul’ because his eyes juxtaposed his actions and gave away his true self. I grew to have a soft spot for him because I knew what it was like to want to be noticed.

Ben was confident, but equally as confused. He was articulate and spoke like an aristocrat. He thought he was too smart and was certain he was too good looking. He talked like he knew more than you and unintentionally acted like he was more important than you. He bragged about acting roles he had, acted like nothing bothered him, and pretended to know a lot about drugs and the sex industry.

Once they both started at KC the entire work dynamic changed. Ben and Chris quickly took it upon themselves to rule the entire Boys Room. They would come in with giant bags and throw their stuff all over the room and spend hours doing their hair and makeup. The room would soon be filled with makeup, hair products, clothes, and other assortments. The place quickly became a pig sty and nobody was happy about it.

Jay quickly got acquainted with Ben and Chris. Jay himself was still new, and I had a bit of a crush on him. He was silent but quiet charming. He warmed up to Ben and Chris and before the blink of an eye they were in a three-way relationship. Well, they called it a three-way relationship but it was obvious that Jay and Chris weren’t into each other that much. Jay was in love with Ben and Chris was in love with Ben. Ben was in love with Jay but was too scared to dump Chris to be with Jay because Chris was a safe space… at least that’s the way I interpreted it. Jay and Ben would cuddle and makeout on the couch when Chris wasn’t around. When Chris was around then Ben and Chris would usually get into fights and Chris would end up crying. The environment at KC was getting highly toxic. I was regularly at work coming down off crystal meth, so I was seriously annoyed by the new toxic environment.

Branden soon became friends with the threesome (my nickname for them at the time because it took too long to say all of their names). They would do drugs together and very rarely engage in sexual acts together. Nick soon followed suit and hung out with them for the drugs, and I fell right behind them soon after. Before I knew what hit me we were a group of six friends and we hung out all the time. I never particularly liked Ben, he seemed very fake and rubbed me the wrong way. Jay I was infatuated with, and Chris I felt sorry for, so I tolerated them. Matt had a full time job and wasn’t around as much, and we didn’t want him to hang out with us when we were doing drugs because he would get judgemental and ruin the buzz. Nick’s apartment was too small and Branden’s was too far, so we started hanging out in my Chippendale house. We all learned the game of poker and would have three day binges which more or less actually involved poker and more involved lots of crystal meth and talking about sex.

One night, the night before I talked to Scott on the phone, we were having a poker binge. We had rearranged the furniture so we could all sit comfortably for days on end. We were passing around the pipe often and I was on my second day of no sleep. As the night progressed Chris kept looking at me funny. Jay and Ben sat together and Jay would stare at Ben’s phone as Ben typed something out and then they would both giggle. Branden was telling a story and Nick was spaced out looking at his phone. Jay and Ben’s giggling continued and Chris kept looking at me. I was starting to get paranoid. When Ben stopped laughing and looked at me for a split second I had a feeling that they were laughing at something that had to do with me.

I decided to send Chris a text message: What is going on?

Chris: I don’t know if u want to know.

Me: Just fucking tell me.

Chris sends me a screenshot of a series of texts that Ben had sent him, it read:

       Ben: Do you think Cody would want to do a foursome?

       Chris: Idk

       Ben: Yeah, he’s kind of a prude.

       Chris: Yeah.

       Ben: He might not be any good. He’s not really experienced. He’s kind of weird.

I send Chris a text message: I wouldn’t have sex with you guys anyway.

Chris doesn’t message me back. Instead I get a text message from Ben.

Ben: Chris told me he showed you what I sent. So you want to come home with us?

Me: No.

Ben: Why not?

Me: Because I like one on one sex and I don’t want to have sex with any of you.

I could tell Ben was a little offended and it made me happy.

Ben: Jay thinks you’re really hot.

Me: That’s nice.

There was not another text exchange that night. It seemed like the three boys were just horny from all the ice so I didn’t think much of it. The sun was slowly brightening the night sky. Morning had come and we all turned into zombies. We didn’t speak for a few hours, instead we were consumed in our phone screens. Our faces illuminated by the blues and yellows of Facebook and Grindr. Chris suggested we go get coffee at the local cafe. We decided it was a good idea to get out of the house for a few minutes and I thought it would be a good time to take Deniro for his walk. I found a pair of sunglasses to help me hide from the brightness of the outdoors, and so did everyone else. Deniro whined with excitement when he saw me grab the leash. His tail frantically swung back and forth as I placed it on him. Standing up gave me a whole new rush and I started to feel less zoned out. Nick walked past Deniro as he walked out the door and said, “Don’t touch me.”

“Awe, don’t you like his pretty face?” I joked.

“Not when he stinks like something died.” Nick responded.

I followed Nick out the door with Deniro, “I just washed him a couple days ago.”

With sunglasses in place, the group of us walked through a very small park named Peace Park to get to the cafe. There were children laughing on the playground and parents sitting on the benches. I wished they didn’t look at me when they did because I looked in the mirror before we left and noticed my skin and hair was greasy. A little dog was running around off-lease and saw Deniro. The small white ball of fluff came running up to him, pink tongue sticking out with ears flapping behind. Deniro stood still as the small dog apporached. The owners walked up behind their dog and, within a second, the little dog yelped and grabbed Denrio by the neck. Deniro didn’t even flinch as the small dog bit at his neck and barked. The owners grabbed their small dog and apologized. I hardly said anything because Deniro seemed fine and I was tweaking out too hard to say much. The group hardly said anything as we continued walking. For me the walk seemed to take forever even though it took us 3 minutes total. Everything was too intense, I started to feel a panic rising in me. I tried my best to hide it and take deep breaths. We were nearly at the cafe when Nick said, “Cody, I think Denrio is bleeding.”

“Really?” I asked, then bent down to inspect him. Deniro had a line of blood running from his neck down his legs. I grabbed at one of his skin-folds on his neck and spread it. A chunk of skin had been removed by the small dog and it was bleeding profusely.

“Fuck,” I exclaimed, “That fucking little dog took a good chunk out of Deniro’s neck!”

Nick bent down to look, “Eww, that’s fucking gross. He didn’t even yelp when it happened. I didn’t think he was actually hurt.”

“Yeah, me neither. Fuck, I don’t know what to do. I’ll try and fix it once we get our coffees and get back to mine.”

My phone started ringing in my pocket. One Day/Reckoning Song by Asaf Avidan & The Mojos was my ringtone at the time. I had heard the song for the first time in Koh Tao, Thailand. I was with Blaire when I had heard it. I remembered dancing the night away in the beach club. At one point Blaire yelled in my ear, “You’re going to have such a good time in Sydney. It’s such an amazing place! You’ll do so well there.”

I take my phone out and look at the caller id. It’s Scott.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, I thought.

The Truth: Part 19

One day in Koh Tao, Thailand, I was walking drunk back to my hotel late at night. Blaire and I just had partied and drank copious amount of cheap alcohol that mainly came in literal buckets. Blaire went to back to the Swedish guy’s hotel for what would end up being her missing for almost two days, later found out to be that she had two days of ‘fun’ with Mr. Sweden. It was a nice night, so instead of getting transportation to my hotel I decided to walk. It wasn’t that far of a walk to the other side of the island, the only pain was getting over the monstrous hill. The road was secluded and empty, houses turned to forest as I made my ascent. 

Up ahead I saw a dog, which wasn’t a rare sight on Koh Tao; there were wild dogs everywhere. The dog was sniffing the road, searching for garbage for scraps of food. I paid no attention to it and continued walking up the hill. The dog was joined by two more and they became conscious of my presence. I was only a few meters away when two more dogs ran out of the bushes to my left, stood in front of me and started growling. The three dogs up ahead barrel down the road towards me and stop just behind the two. Five altogether growling and barking. Aggressive and protective. 

One dog in particular, a brown male, stepped forward, teeth glistening in the moonlight. He growled deeply and would then bark while stamping his two front feet, slowly getting closer. I dared not to break eye contact as that has been known to spur on attacks. I had to confront the dogs head on. 

I debated calling for help, but knew that my yelling could initiate the attack and no one could get to me on time if they heard my cries. I took a step back, and the dogs would take three steps forward. It was an intimidation game. 

I started talking to them in a soothing voice. I put my hands out in front of me, I don’t really know why I did but it comforted me knowing my hands were between their mouths and my face. I slowly took a baby step forward. The dogs growled even harder simultaneously, but none of them stepped forward. I waited a few seconds, and then took another step, slowly going forward and veering to the right. My plan was to slowly inch my way around the dogs without breaking eye contact. I would step, they would growl, I would wait ten seconds, and then I would step again. We danced like this for the better part of half an hour before I was around the dogs and far enough away that slowly, one by one, the dogs lost interest and started scavenging around the road again. 

This is the tactic I had to use with Deniro. 

Step by step I managed to get back inside the house and shut the door. Once the door was closed Deniro turned back around and continued eating. There wasn’t anything I could do about it but tell Scott once I was at Knight Call. I gathered up the rest of my things and headed into the city. 

I told Robert the story once I got to the brothel and he chuckles, “That dog is gonna kill you when Scott is away.” 

I made Scott go into the smoking area with me, not wanting to make a scene about his dog with the boys around. 

“He did what?” Scott asked, seemingly surprised. I told him the story again and Scott says, “He’s never done something like that before.”

“I closed the door so Deniro is stuck outside right now.” I said. 

“Good. If he does that to you again when I’m away just keep him outside. He’ll learn his lesson.” 

Later that night when Scott and I got back inside the house Deniro was pacing back and forth outside whimpering. Scott opened the door and caught Deniro by the collar. 

“You be nice to Cody when I am away!” He yelled, “Understood?” He lets go and Deniro runs up the slight set of stairs and down the hallway. 

The next morning Scott left for the airport and I went to work. Nick and I were the only ones there from the friend group who were doing a daytime shift, along with a straight guy named Blake and a Brazilian named Carlos. Blake was an enigma. He said he was straight, yet he worked in a gay brothel. He was good looking, which didn’t seem to give him confidence as he bumbled around the brothel. In a way I felt bad for him. He never seemed to quite fit in with the brothel dynamics, everyone passing him off as some straight imbecile. In truth Blake had a good heart, and regardless of his questionable sexuality he was a nice person. Him and I became friends. Once you got to know him he was intelligent in his own way, and I think the hardships of being a straight man in a gay brothel affected him mentally beyond the point of repair. In reality is affected all of us boys permanently.  

I like to imagine that all of us boys ended up alright. As much as I know some of us have been damaged beyond repair, I have a glimmer of hope that we can all make it. Even the boys I hated, I wish them all the best of luck. I need to know that we can make it out alive. 

That night Scott calls me from Cairns and he is very drunk. He tells me over and over again that he loves me, and I can hear someone laughing in the background. He tells me that he had a sex dream about me.

“Sorry babe I am drunk,” Scott slurred. 

“It’s ok, it sounds like you’re having fun.”

“I am. I hope Deniro hasn’t been too much trouble.” 

“No, he’s been good so far.” 

“That’s good. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.” 

I was very uncomfortable so all I said was, “Ok talk to you soon.” 

 A few days pass and I didn’t hear from him again until one day I was sitting alone in the smoking area and got a peculiar call from an odd number. 

“Hello,” I say with the phone to my ear. 
The man introduces himself and tells me that he is a friend of Scott. 

“I have some very bad news,” The man says, his voice dropping to express sympathy, “Scott was in a very bad car accident and won’t be going home anytime soon.” 

Stunned, I let out a with a bite, “What?” 

“He was hit by a car and has been in a coma for the past few days. He is in a Cairns hospital and has just woken up. He needed me to tell you that he won’t be able to go home for a few weeks, so you need to take care of Deniro and the house for him.” 

I was silent for a few seconds, “Ok.” 

“Save this number and call me if you need any help. Scott will be in contact with you once he feels better.” 

We ended the phone conversation and I sat by myself in the smoking area and finished my cigarette. 

The Truth: Part 18 

It took me a few days to make a decision, but I would decided to move in with Scott. The boys thought it was a bad idea, and even the managers told me to be careful. I didn’t tell them that I had a feeling I was doing something I was meant to do.  It was an easy move as everything I owned fit into my backpack. The room came fully furnished, and Scott even went out of his way to buy me new pillows and blankets. On my first night we stayed up late getting drunk. 

“It’s tradition for a new housemate to take a shot of Sambuca.” Scott insisted. We both did two shots and then he then passed me a beer and got on the electric piano set up in the kitchen and started playing me songs. I didn’t know at the time that Scott could sing or play piano, so it was a pleasant shock. 

So that was it; My first night I sat, beer in my hand, listening to Scott as he played for me. His voice was soulful and his energy was mesmerizing. 

The next day I told the boys about my night and Nick commented, “That sounds like my worst nightmare. If I ever had to sit through that I would kill myself.” 

“I still can’t believe you moved in with him. Isn’t it weird?” Matt asked. 

“Why would it be weird?” I responded. 

“Because he’s old and you’re young. If I were you I would be frightened that he was gonna rape me in my sleep.” 

 Brendan said, “Well if he does then just start charging him two hundred and fifty per round.” 

“He can be your sweet sugar daddy.” Nick joked. 

“Eww, I would barf. Scott is disgusting.” Matt said. Nick and Brendan laughed. 

I hadn’t put too much thought into it. Scott was older and I didn’t really know him. Maybe I should have been more careful before moving in.

That night I had my first outcall ever. An outcall is when you go to the clients house or hotel. I was being sent to his house, which was luckily nearby, and I was very nervous. Besides location, outcalls were different than incalls because you never knew who you were being sent to (unless they were a regular client). You don’t do an interview and you don’t get to see them, they just choose you from a list online and our managers tell us the address, give us taxi money, and send us off alone. They were riskier than incalls too. Although the managers had their credit card details and addresses, if things were to get out of hand you’d be completely alone. In the brothel you could scream loudly and someone would come running, but out in the field you had to rely on your own intuition. 

The man ended up being my first client that was good looking, which is rare in the world of escorting for obvious reasons: good looking people have Grindr, the old, ugly and fat had escorts. My client was tanned, muscular, and has an amazing white smile. His apartment looked like a place Tony Stark would live. Everything was connected through his iPad. He would touch a button on the screen and the blinds would shut, another button and music came on and the lights went down low. He was very well travelled, so the majority of my paid time with him was spent listening to his stories about being overseas. After talking for a long time I felt myself kissing him because I wanted to, not because I was being paid to. 

I had survived my outcall, to much congratulations from the boys and Robert. Scott was among the boys, and together we went to the smoking area. 

“Hey, I have to ask you something.” Scott said.

“Sure,” I replied, lighting my cigarette and taking a drag. 

Scott asks, “So I am going to Cairns in two weeks to visit a good friend. I haven’t been out of Sydney in a long time and I just need some time away. I was wondering, if it’s alright with you, if you could take care of Deniro for me? I’ll only be gone for a few days.” 

“Yeah, I’d love to!” I said maybe a little too enthusiastically. The truth is: I love dogs. Growing up on a ranch, my family would own three dogs at a time. My mother was a professional dog groomer who ran her own business out-of-home, so there was plenty of dogs around. 
“If it’s too much pressure then I can find someone else. I don’t want to put too much pressure on you.” 

“No, I’ll be absolutely fine.” I confirmed. 

“Well good. I’ll have to show you what to do then.” 

Later that week Scott showed me how to take care of Deniro. I was to feed Deniro one giant can of dog food a day, take him on a walk around the neighbourhood, and bathe him once while Scott was away. Because Sharpei’s are very wrinkly dogs they suffer from skin problems, so Deniro had to be bathed with special shampoo and conditioner once a week. Scott also started letting me feed Deniro days before he left so that Deniro would trust me while he was away. The night before Scott left he was at work and I was by myself in the house with Deniro. 

Scott sends me a text that says: Hey Babe, before you come to work tonight can you please feed Deniro.

I reply: Sure 🙂

I grabbed the can of dog food from inside the cupboard and Deniro came barreling down the hallway when he heard me opening it. He was restless at my feet as I tried to walk the food to his bowl outside. Scott always left the back door open so that Deniro could go in and out when he pleased. 

I put the food in the bowl with Scott’s instructions to tell Deniro to wait before he was allowed to eat it. I waited a few seconds after I poured the food in. 

“Ok,” I said in a high-pitched voice reserved for dogs and babies. Deniro basically jumped into the bowl. 

I stood and watched him eat for a second, the flaps under his chin were hilariously swinging with his head movements. I went to step away when Deniro turned and growled at me. It caught me off guard and in reaction I quickly took a step back and Deniro growled even louder, this time his back arching and head bowing low, almost like a cat. His eyes were fixated on me.

I’ve been around dogs my whole life. They have many different levels of growling and displeasure. 

This wasn’t a back off growl, the one dogs use to warn you to stop what you were doing. This was a low and deep growl that seemed to rumble through my chest. The look on Deniro’s face was pure aggression. 

Deniro was about to fuck me up. 

The Truth: Part 16

My first two weeks at the brothel were not entirely eventful. Brendan, Matt, Nick and I became good friends. I was officially a part of their group, and together in our naivety we ‘ruled’ Knight Call. The other boys would moan whenever the four of us had shifts together because we would sit there and talk and laugh so loud that I’m sure the clients could hear us all the way from Room 3. I was smoking cigarettes full time again, something that happened gradually from hanging out with all three boys in the smoking area so often. We would sit on the wooden slats outside cross-legged, gossiping about other escorts and telling tales of bad clients, cigarettes swinging around as we flamboyantly used our hands to communicate grandeur. Our friendship took off at break-neck speed, and it was only the second week. It felt like I had been friends with those three boys for a year by that point. I never felt so connected within a group in my entire life. Finally I had a group of friends who I could relate too mentally and sexually. It was amazing.

Blaire and I had met up within those two weeks as well. She had gotten a new job in an office downtown and was still seeing Dean.

“You’re making how much money!?” Blaire asked when I told her how much I had made in the past week.

“Fifteen hundred.” I repeated.

“Holy shit Cody,” Blaire said and then laughed, “Where can you sign me up?”

I met Dean that same day I caught up with Blaire as well. Dean, Blaire and I went for a run along the cliffs near Bondi, the most famous beach in Australia. He ran behind me yelling, ‘Move twinkie move!”, which Blaire thought was funny at first but then told him to stop once it got annoying. Dean and Blaire started getting more intense with their relationship. She would visit him quite often, but she was still wary about him and his odd personality. They weren’t dating, but it was obvious that they were both developing strong feelings for each other. Blaire still hadn’t let Dean know that she knew he was an escort, so he comically kept fabricating some giant lie to her that he worked at a few night clubs doing their paperwork.

I met many boys at Knight Call. I would see Dean there every once in a while, but he only came in if he had a pre booking. He would never hangout in the Boy’s Room. Instead, Dean would seclude himself in the office. One boy (or should I say, man) really perplexed me. His name was Scott. Scott was the older guy who was there on my first day. I hadn’t officially been introduced to him until a few days after the first. I learned that he was in his late 30’s and that he used to work at Knight Call way back in the hay day. He seemed distant, but connected. Loud, yet soft. Scott and I didn’t interact that much, and it was surprising how many clients he would get with his age. I’m not saying he was ugly or anything, he was beautiful and had the most intense eyes you’ve ever seen, but normally clients wanted the young boys. The only way to make money if you weren’t young was to have big muscles, which Scott had neither. Despite this, client after client would come and ask for him. Compared to Nick and I, Scott didn’t do as well. Nick and I alone would pull in a couple clients a day, but Scott would steadily get one a day, maybe one every two days.

Besides a muscular asshole named Jake that I had a huge crush on, Nick and I pulled in the most money at Knight Call. Jake wasn’t actually an asshole, he started about a week after I did, he was just opinionated and stubborn. Once I got comfortable at Knight Call I would start telling Jake, regardless of my crush, that I thought his opinions were stupid. Normally I would never openly insult someone that quickly, but I was heavily influenced by my surroundings and the people I hung out with. I had never hung out with gay people before, or had really ever lived the gay lifestyle before. Those first few weeks (and months after) were years of oppression being released, and it released in the gayest way possible. I finally had an outlet and pedestal to be myself and was using it to my advantage.

I had been paying $180 a week for the hostel I had been living in, which was useless because I spent every night at Nick’s flat. At first I slept on his couch, but I graduated to his bed after a drunken invite. I didn’t like Nick in a sexual way, I moved to his bed because he gave me the invite and it was better than the couch.

Brendan and Nick told me numerous times that no guy would like my mohawk or plugs, so I had my plugs replaced with normal earrings, my mohawk replaced with a crew-cut that made me look like Sigourney Weaver in Alien 3.

1465365_10151769499588045_624594946_nAfter those two weeks I felt like I had to start looking for a place to call my own. I couldn’t stay in Nick’s bed forever, and I was sick of paying for a bed in a 6-person dorm. Across the city I had looked at a room, but it was a $100 taxi to get there from the inner city, and the neighbourhood scared me. Instead of risking that experience again I decided to ask around the brothel.

“I may have a room for you,” Scott said, “Why don’t you come over in two days and check it out?”

“Ok… sure.” I confirmed apprehensively. I hadn’t actually asked Scott, he must have heard I was looking through the grapevine.

Later in the smoking area Nick said, “Don’t do it. He’s weird and he’s crazy.”

I didn’t feel the same way. Scott intrigued me.

The Truth: Part 15

After the collective gasp the room fell silent. Nick looked at me with sympathetic eyes while I gazed at him scared and confused. Suddenly a boy from the back corner broke the silence and started laughing. A few other boys followed suit.

The boy who broke the silence said, “One time Arthur got me to stand behind him in front of the mirror and jiggle his belly fat.”

Another boy chimed in through the laughter, “Yeah, he got me to do that as well. He also stinks like shit!’

The first boy added, “He always wears that ugly leopard shirt!” More boys laugh.

Brendan clears his throat and announces, “I heard he always gives boys chocolate dicks!” The room erupts in roars of laughter and collective eww!‘s. Brendan notices my confusion and explains, “Chocolate dick is when you pull out and its dirty.”

One boy fake gags, another one shouts, “Covered in shit! Smells fucking disgusting!”

Robert clears his throat and speaks up, “Well don’t traumatise him!” He looks directly at me. I could tell he was trying to keep his composure. A smile curls out of the corners of his mouth.

Nick grabs my hand and pulls me down closer to him, “I’ve never had Arthur before, thank fuck! But don’t worry, it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Does he really do all that stuff?” I asked.

Nick doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, but then says, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Nick then covers his mouth to hide his smile.

Just before I exit the Boys Room someone shouts, “Arthur is a rite of passage!”

I found myself going into the office once again, Robert not saying much as I gathered up the supplies from the cupboards. Robert had put the client in Room 3, and just before I leave up the stairs he reminds me, “Don’t forget he owes you one hundred and sixty.”

Opening the door of Room 3 let out a wave of pungent air that immediately made me want to gag. Arthur, a large white man in a leopard print shirt, sat on the edge of the bed. He eyed me up and down while wetting his lips with his tongue. His triple chin rolled in a wave at the slightest movement from his head. Arthurs jet-black hair was shined with grease, his eyes filled with lust. If I hadn’t known any better I would’ve thought he was an inbred cousin of actor Oliver Platt. I introduced myself and he reciprocated by smacking his lips and grunting his name in return. I slowly sat down next to him, his eyes never leaving my body as I carefully sit. I take a few seconds, but when I build up enough courage I lift my head and look at him with an apologetic smile. His was looking at me from the corner of his eye, either too lazy to turn his head or unable to. I almost look down out of embarrassment, but then he stands up and starts taking off his top.

Arthur was my second client, and I would categorise him in the top 5 worst clients I have ever had. Everything the boys said in the room was true and then some. I jiggled his fat in the mirror, and thats about all I will say. His skin stank of rot, his breath was death. His eyes creepy and focused. His genitalia was minuscule but his stomach was large, so large in fact that he tired to get me to lay on top of him while he was on his back and it was like laying on top of a bean bag chair. It was so awkward and uncomfortable, laying on top of his bean bag fat, that I asked to scale down and lay beside him instead.

By the end of my second night at the brothel I had two clients. One, my first client ever, was nice and made me realise the job wasn’t so bad. The other, my top 5 worst client ever, was horrible and made me realise that this job was going to be roulette: I’ll never know what I’m gonna get.

The boys howled when I told them in detail what had happened in the room. Many responded with ‘the worst is now over’ and ‘it’s only uphill from here’. Even Robert, when I first came down the stairs and led Arthur out the front door when the service was over, turned to me and said, “See, it wasn’t that bad.” I didn’t say anything, instead I gave him the stink eye.

Once work closed late that night Nick and Brendan invited me to go out with them for drinks. Nick said that Matt was out and that he’d introduce me to him.

“Just a warning though,” Nick said, “Matt can sometimes be full on,” Nick grabs me and starts shaking me, “SO DON’T BE FRIGHTENED IF HE GRABS YOU!” He lets go and Brendan starts laughing. I start laughing too and they tell me funny stories and facts about Matt as we walk to a club named Palms.

According to lore, Matt was pretty successful in his real job. Matt had a tendency to throw drinks at unsuspecting strangers and sleep with anything with a pulse when he was drunk. I also learned there might be a chance he’d try and go home with me, and like a man to a dog I should just say a firm NO!  Nick and Brendan tell me they would look out for me and protect me from him if needed.

Palms was an underground club, literally not figuratively. You had to walk down a set of stairs and through a hall into a giant dance floor with one bar. It was a very small club, full of old men, and they were playing 90s music. Three things I hated.

Nick spots Matt at the back of the club. We slide our way through the tightly packed crowd, and once we get to Matt it was obvious he was stark drunk. His eyes were unfocussed and halfway open. He had a big smile and swayed as Nick and Brendan hugged him hello. Nick introduces Matt to me, and Matt leans in and licks my face. Not a playful lick (is there such a thing?) but a full, sloppy chin-to-forehead lick.

And that was the beginning of everything. That was the first time Matt, Nick, Brendan and I all hung out. That was the start of the small incline before everything crashed around us.

The Truth: Part 14 

Standing in the hallway of the brothel, I had a decision to make. Before me were two doors: one that led into the office where a client was waiting to interview me, and one that led outside. The former door was filled with amazing uncertainty, fear, and possible regret. That door represented everything in the my life that was fucked up; all that was wrong with me, my insecurities and my selfishness. That door was the bad side of me, the side that not many people get to see.

Then there was door two. Door two was the door that led outside to freedom. It led to a place where the birds were chirping and where good life choices were made. That door represented my mothers love, the touch and purity of snow, working in restaurants, cheese factories and retail stores. That door was safe, comforting, normal, and filled with endless possibilities.

Before me were two doors. One was beauty and the other was pain.

When I was a kid I tried to cut myself multiple times. I held rusty knives to my wrists, applied a small amount of pressure and tried to jerk the knife down. I would always apply the pressure but could never bring myself to jerk the knife down.  This angered me as some of my friends tried cutting themselves to mild results, and I thought to myself, ‘Hey, my life is as shitty as theirs. If they can do it then I should do it as well.’ But no matter how much I wanted to rip the knife across my skin, I was never able to do it.

I did, however, take up poking for a while in my teen years. I would get a sewing needle from my mother’s sewing kit and start jabbing my legs with it. Soon I realised that if I dipped the needle in ink I could start giving myself prison tattoos. I spent hours creating two small tattoos on my inner legs. On one leg I tattooed a small cross, on the other was an outline of a tiny lizard. After I finished my tattoos I put down the sewing needle for good, I was happy with my results and didn’t feel the need for pain release anymore.

Two weeks after the tattoos were finished they got horribly infected. My skin around the area started turning purple and green puss started oozing out of both wounds. I spent two days watching my skin get progressively worse. My legs started getting sharp pains that would shoot up my thighs. I was afraid to tell my parents about it, knowing they would have a major freak out. So one day I took a large knife from the kitchen, went down to my room, rolled up my pant legs and sat on the floor. With the knife in one hand and my other hand stabilising my leg, I started sawing off the infected tattoo. I nearly screamed as pain overtook my entire body. Blood and green puss ran down my leg as the non-serated blade of the knife sliced through my skin. I didn’t have to use much force as the skin was already softened from the infection. I had forgotten to bring any sort of material to soak up the blood with, so I shuffled across the floor and gathered up all the blank paper I could find and put it around my wound. Then I shifted legs and continued the same routine with the other tattoo.

I had always wanted to cut myself but could never do it without necessity.

I started opening the door that led to the client.

I tried peering around the door as I was opening it, as if seeing the client before the door was fully open would help with the shock of it all.

Sitting on the couch was someone… normal. He was a white man in a suit. He wasn’t pretty but he wasn’t ugly. Older, probably in his late 40’s. He sat with a resounding peace in his posture and smiled at me as I entered the room.

“Hello,” the man said, extending his hand.

“Hi,” I replied, we shake.

“Please,” the man gestured to the space beside him on the couch, “Sit down and tell me about yourself.”

I sit down next to him and he placed his hand on my thigh. The client’s touch soothed me in a weird way and I felt my shoulders relax. He had a beautiful innocence in his eyes, almost childlike as he gazed at my face. I suddenly realised that these clients weren’t scary monsters, just human beings searching for connection. I smile back.

“Sorry, I’m new so I don’t really know what to do,” I say.

“Awe, that’s ok.” He says and squeezes my thigh.

“Thanks,” I say again and smile, “So, my name is, um, Carl. I am a top. I do, um, massage. And I think that’s it.” I realised I forgot something so I quickly add in, “Oh and I’m 20 years old and do you have any questions?”

The man lets out a small giggle, “No I don’t have any questions. You’re cute.”

I blush, “Thanks,” I stand up, “Well maybe I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.”

****************

Back in the Boy’s Room, Nick asked how the interview went. I told him it was fine, and let him know what I said.

“That’s perfect. It’s good you remembered to say that you’re new, they love the newbies.” Nick applauds, “Did I tell you that I made six thousand dollars in my first two weeks?”

Robert comes into the room, “CARL!” He yells while scanning faces. His eyes lock into mine and he smiles, “He wants you.”

In the office Robert helps me collect all the materials I would need: one bed sheet, two towels and a glass of water.

“Relax,” he reminds me before I start making my way up the stairs. Robert had put the client in Room 2, “And remember you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. And get the money first. He owes you one hundred and sixty.”

“Right.” I replied. With my hands full of towels and a glass of water, I made my way up the flight of stairs. I was eerily calm, my brain wouldn’t let itself go into a panic. I knew that if I started freaking out it would quickly escalate into a full-blown panic attack in the middle of the stairwell. I didn’t even pause when I got to the door of Room 2, I just burst my way through it, giving the client a fright.

“Sorry about that.” I said calmly.

“It’s ok,” replied the client, who was in the middle of taking off his pants, “I haven’t done this much… hiring escorts, I mean.”

“That’s ok, if you want me to be completely honest, you’re my first client ever.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, so I’m probably more nervous than you are.” I lied, I was completely calm.

“Well don’t worry about it,” The client ensured, “We can start off easy with just a massage.”

“Ok, cool.”

In the end my time with my first client was, for lack of a better word, pleasurable. We had a good laugh and a nice chat. I told him about my old life on the ranch and he told me about how he wishes to come out as a gay man to everyone in his life. It was decent and it was honest. I went back into the Boy’s Room feeling confident, like this job wasn’t going to be as bad as I thought it would. Before I even get a chance to sit down, Nick eagerly awaiting to ask me how it was, Robert burst into the room and says, “Carl, another one for you right now.”

“But I didn’t do the interview.” I question.

“He doesn’t need you to, he only likes to see new boys.”

Nick’s smile turns into a frown, “No,” he says, “It isn’t leopard-print guy, is it?”

Robert replies, “You mean Arthur? Yes it is.”

Everyone in the room gasps.

The Truth: Part 11

“Many human beings say that they enjoy the winter, but what they really enjoy is feeling proof against it.”
― Richard Adams, Watership Down

Pete opens the door to the boy’s room. Flashes go through my mind about what my eyes were about to register. Will I see boys shooting heroine? Will the boys going to be juvenile detention burnouts with those prison-murder-tears tattooed under their eyes? Will these boys eat me alive and spit me out a hard, cold, cynical man with no hope left in humanity? I begin to think that I’m not not up for this anymore. I am what you call an introverted extrovert: I am shy and complacent in certain situations, wild and unpredictable in others. Right at that time I was feeling shy and complacent, like I was being thrown to the dogs. I start to think If I run now will it be less embarrassing than if I have to run later? 

For the sake of keeping an interesting story I would like to be able to say the door swung open and there were twenty boys eating live chickens while cooking crystal meth and having an orgy on the couch. But what happened was: the door swung open and I saw six boys scattered about the room watching tv. There was nothing horribly abnormal about the scene.

“Hello boys,” Pete speaks up, “We have a new boy starting today. His name is-” Pete pauses and turns to me, “What is your name again?”

“Cody- I MEAN CARL!” I nearly shriek, so embarrassed that I just gave away my entire identity. Pete continues introducing me while I go pale white. I had just given away my real name. I think to myself, People will know of my sins. I must move out of this country. Tonight I’ll be on the next plane home. I broke the only rule. Was it a rule? I CANT EVEN REMEMBER THE RULES! What am I doing? They are all staring at me. I should say something. Anything. 

“Hi,” I whimpered, and then sank down onto a couch that was directly and conveniently behind me. Pete finishes talking and heads back into the office. The boys continue to stare for a second before turing their heads back around to watch the tv. I silently pray that no one tries to come over and talk to me. Right when I’m done my farce prayer, a boy whose name I can’t remember came over and introduced himself.

“What’s your name again?” The boy asked.

“Carl.” I try to announce confidently.

“Yeah… right.” The boy said while rolling his eyes. He goes back to his original place in the room.

The boys room was larger than I expected. It was just a single room, but one where the back half and the front half were divided by a step down. The back half was smaller and had just a desk and an L-couch in the corner. The front half widened out and had a couch lining the wall on the left, fully furnished kitchen on the right. In the middle was a small glass coffee table, and by the  back patio doors was a television.

I sit there in silence for nearly three hours while I observe the boys from the corner of the room.  There was a skinny blond guy on the far couch texting on his phone, an older white man watching whatever was on the tv, there was the guy that introduced himself to me, and then three boys who were obviously foreign and were only speaking in Spanish to one another.

***Now there are two things you need to know before I continue this story. One is that during my time at Knight Call I had to learn two names for everyone (their real names and their working names) and be able to decide when it was appropriate to use which name, a feat that isn’t as simple or as easy as you’d think. But for simplicity of the story, I’m only going to give you one name for everyone except for me (rejoice!). The second thing I need you to know is that I am not here to ‘out’ boys that were escorting. Its a private and personal decision. So to protect the identities of certain people in this story, I can only use their pseudo-names and very generic descriptions.***

The older gentleman turns to me, “Have you done escorting before?”

“No. I haven’t.” I reply, controlling the shake in my voice.

“Well it’s not that hard, you just go up there,” He points up towards the ceiling/second floor, “Fuck em’ like you love them, and then leave.”

“Cool,” is the only word in my vocabulary at that point. I realised that I  was sitting like a lady in church; knees together, back straight, hands in my lap. I couldn’t remember if I had been sitting like that for the past few hours but I hoped not, otherwise I would’ve looked like a freak.

The skinny blond boy comes over to me as I try to find a more humane way to sit on the couch. I find an equally-awkward position as he plops down beside me.

“Hi, I’m Nick,” He says as he extends his hand for me to shake.

I shake and reply, “Hi Nick, I’m Carl.

“Where are you from?” He asks.

“Canada.”

“Oh cool! And how long have you been in Australia?”

“Almost two weeks now.” I reply.

I noticed that while I was replying he was doing a scan of my features and clothing (you have to remember that at this point I still had a mohawk and spiral plugs in my ears). He seemed genuinely interested in talking to me, but I could also sense some judgement.

“You’ll love Sydney. I was born here.”

“Oh wow, I haven’t actually met someone who was born in this city yet.”

“Really? Wow.” He pauses, “Do you smoke?” He asks while taking out a pack of cigs.

“I quit two months ago but could really use one now.” I reply, not knowing how much I wanted a smoke until I had seen the packet in his hands.

I follow Nick outside into the backyard, which is small and fenced in with wooden seats around a wooden coffee table. Plants lined the perimeter of the fence, which made it feel peaceful. Nick hands me a cigarette and takes one for himself.

He lights his cigarette and then lights mine. I give him my thanks.

We are silent while we take our first drags, then Nick speaks up, “So I overheard you say that you’ve never been an escort before.”

“Yes, that is correct,” I respond.

“Ok, well here are the things you need to know…”

 

 

 

 

The Truth: Part 10

***********************************************

I was at Scott’s memorial, which was held at a large venue on Oxford Street and was filled with all sorts of characters. There were people who had starred alongside him in musicals, old friends who were like family, his actual family, neighbours and people he hadn’t seen in years. Everyone was there.

I hadn’t cried in front of people yet, and the only time I cried about his death was the day I got the call and found out: I was in Canada and my friend just told me the police came to his house and told him that Scott was dead. I almost dropped the phone. We finished the conversation and I was completely emotionless when my mom asked me what was wrong. I just nonchalantly replied that Scott was dead. I then proceeded to walk around like a zombie, making breakfast and taking a shower. I had to help my cousin move that morning, so I got into my old truck (that my parents kept) by myself and sat for a second before turning on the ignition. I put the truck in gear and drive down the driveway, up the gravel road and towards the highway. Once I hit the pavement of the highway I pushed the gas-pedal down to the floor and screamed at the top of my lungs, “YOU FUCKING CUNT!” I repeatedly swear while my truck reaches 160kph. After screaming I burst into tears and cry so uncontrollably that I had to pull over in fear of getting into an accident.

At the memorial we drank Sambuca shots and tried our hardest to keep things lighthearted, believing Scott would want it that way. I met one of Scott’s old friends, a father figure to Scott during the times when Scott didn’t have any resemblance of a family of his own. I had never met him before.

He shakes my hand, “I’m happy to finally meet you,” his voice is soft and soothing, “Scott told me so many wonderful things about you. You were very special to him.”

Then, randomly and uncontrollably, tears burst out of my eyes as I grab at him and hug him.

*************************************************

I agreed to start working at the brothel the following Monday. Blaire told me I should keep shopping around for real jobs and that escorting should only be a temporary fix. I agree and continue my job search.

It was also time for me to move out of Blaire’s apartment, so I headed back to the hostel I was staying in before. My hostel was eerily close to Knight Call.

Over the next couple days I applied to many jobs and landed an interview for just one. It was a job that involved handing out flyers on the street and trying to get people to donate to kids with cancer. I went to the interview, killed it, and the next day was offered a full-time position. I accepted. The cancer kids job wanted me to start Monday.

I had to make a decision: which job should I do? To most people the choice would be easy, but for some reason I couldn’t help but ponder the possibilities of working in a brothel. The prospect terrified me, yet filled me with adventure. I knew it had the potential to destroy me mentally, to ravage my personality, to overbear me with depression. But I also knew that it could  be empowering, sexy even. Guys would want me and even pay for me. I wasn’t a faceless nobody, people would know me and pay for my time and company.

The other escorts I’d have to work with could be drug addicts, rapists, or murderers. This prospect was also terrifying. But even then I thought of adventure, because who would want to work with mundane people when you could have the possibility of working with Sydney’s most crazy and spontaneous? I imagine young guys like me sitting on a couch shooting up heroine, and I am suddenly filled with passion.

Passion is a weird word. By definition is means a strong and barely controllable emotion. The thought of working in a brothel filled me with just that. It evoked a strong and uncontrollable emotion inside of me, the most uncontrollable emotion of all: curiosity. I was filled with passionate curiosity. I had the opportunity to walk down into Sydney’s underbelly and discover a whole new world for myself.

So on that Sunday night I had two choices, and for all selfish and egotistical reasons I decided to adventure into Sydney’s belly.

Once again walking up to Knight Call I had a mini panic attack. It’s almost 8pm. Pete told me that normal shifts start at 7pm but I should come in later so I’m not flooding in with all the other boys. He also got me to email him a picture of my body that he could post online for the website.

I ring the bell at the front door. I could hear someone rustling towards it, and then it swings open and I see that, unsurprisingly, it’s Pete.

“Why hello Carl, how are you?” Pete almost purrs (Pete always reminded me of a cat, mischievous and cunning and will always get what he wants).

“I’m good,” I reply.

“Good,” Pete nods, “Well I guess I’ll start showing you around now. The first thing you need to know is that the bell you are ringing is called the ‘client’ bell.” Pete pushes aside some plants covering the left wall inside the doorway, revealing a hidden grey doorbell, “This is the bell that the boys push when they want to be let in. Each bell makes a different noise so that we know if its a client by the door or an escort.”

Pete ushers me inside. We walk down the hall and past the office and come to a door on the left and stairs going up on the right. Pete pauses at the door, “This is the boy’s room. In there we have a kitchen, couches, a backyard for you guys to sit in the sun or smoke. Kitchen is fully furnished so you can cook if you want, we also have a television to keep you entertained. Sometimes it can get very… dull here.”

Pete doesn’t open the door to the room, instead we start walking up the stairs. We come to a bedroom with the door open.

“This is Room One,” Pete indicates, “Come inside.”

I step into the room after him. The walls were painted the same deep red as the office. The setup is very minimal, just a bed with disgusting red/brown/god-knows-what coloured mattress and pillow covers. On each side of the bed is a bedside table, and opposite the bed is a large dresser with a TV above it. The room also had two windows with white blinds on them.

Pete tells me that after each client we are responsible for making the rooms look tidy for the next one. The managers (there are four of them) are the ones that wash the sheet and towels, and Pete hires a cleaner once a week to clean the whole place at nighttime.

We head up a smaller set of stairs outside of Room One and come to a hallway. There is a toilet and a shower in the room to the right, and straight ahead is Room Two, which is almost identical to Room One except that its a bit smaller. Then we head up another set of stairs to the top floor, which is where Room Three is. Room One and Room Two have to share a bathroom and shower, but Room Three has it’s own bathroom on it’s floor, and it was also the biggest room.

We then head back down the flights of stairs and back into the office.

“This is usually how the whole thing works,” Pete explains, “You boys wait in the boy’s room. When a client rings the bell I let them in and bring them here, to the office. I show them pictures of you boys on the TV screen here,” Pete points to the TV, “The client will then tell me which boys he wants to interview. When that happens, I go into the boys room say which boys he wants, and one by one you’ll go into the office, introduce yourself and what you do, and then go back into the boys room. After all the boys have done the interview part, I go back into the office and the client chooses who he wants. When that happens I bring the client upstairs and put them in a room. Then I come down into the boys room and tell them which boy he wants. So, if you’re chosen, you come into the office,” Pete reaches into a cupboard beneath the TV, “And grab two white towels,” Pete pulls out the towels, “And then grab a bed sheet,” He takes a bed sheet out of the cupboard as well, its the same disgusting colour at the mattress covers in the rooms upstairs, “And a glass of water,” Pete points to a mini fridge beside the cupboard, on top of the fridge were glass cups, and presumably inside the fridge was the water. “And then you take all of this and go up inside the room. I suggest you make each client shower before doing anything. Make sure you lock the rooms as well, we’ve had a few incidences of other boys accidentally walking into the room.” Pete sets the towels and bed sheet down, “And the most important thing is: always get paid upfront. Don’t start anything until you’ve been given the cash. Legally I can’t give you the money, I can only get the money for renting the room, which I take before I bring the client up the stairs. It’s up to you boys to ask for your share of the cash when you’re in the room. You got that?”

“Yeah I think so,” I reply.

“Let’s bring you in to meet the boys,” Pete announces. A shot of nerves spikes through my body.

The Truth: Part 9

I message Dean on facebook.

Me: Hey Dean, I know it’s probably none of my business but I was looking up brothels online and I found one called Knight Call and I was looking thru the list of escorts and I found one that oddly looked just like you.

Dean: u little shit i told you to look up boyz delivered. yes it is me and if you say one word to blaire I’m gonna fucking kill you.

Me: Don’t worry its none of my business I’m not going to tell her. I was just wondering if it was a good job?

Dean: yeah its ok. I get lots of cash and I only have to go on dinners with these old people, its really easy.

Me: Would you be able to get me an interview?

Dean: Come in monday at 7:30pm the address is ————-. Just don’t tell blaire or else ill kill you! 

I told Blaire 5 minutes after she walked in the door. I couldn’t help it: the secret was too big and she was already thinking out loud earlier that she believed he was dealing drugs or something, so she was on track to figuring it out soon anyway.

“Oh well, I’ll wait till he tells me himself before I say anything,” Blaire says.

“So you’re still going to see him?” I ask, kind of confused that she didn’t get turned off by his profession.

“Yeah of course. It’s none of my business and I like him.” Blaire was always above everyone else’ in the open-minded department.

“Well, he got me an interview with a place called Knight Call,” I embarrassingly say.

“O-M-G Cody! What!?” she howls.

“Yeah, he said he just does dinners and stuff with the clients and I really need money so I’m just going to go to this interview and see how it goes.”

“Wow, just be careful, ok babe?” She grabs my hand.

“I will.”

*********************************************

 

I was walking to the interview which took place in Kings Cross; the derelict area of Sydney where bogans (think red-necks) roam, drugs are abundant, and prostitutes hangout on the streets. I managed to get to the brothel, which was down a narrow street that lay hidden from all the excitement from the main square in the Cross.

I hung around the corner of a large hotel, peeking at the normal-looking house with suspicion. Three boys were laughing and walked up to the door, rung a bell, waited a few seconds, then were let inside by a man I couldn’t see… presumably the boss/owner/my interviewer. It was fairly obvious that the boys were escorts and not clients.

I felt like throwing up.

I take three deep breaths and walk towards the house. I try and calm my trembling hands. I make it to the door and look for a doorbell. It was dark, the small light that illuminated the doorway was hardly bright enough to see much. Despite the darkness I find the doorbell, a small white one on the doorframe.

I almost ring the bell when a surge of panic races through my body and I bolt down the street. I lean against a brick wall and steady my breathing. I think to myself over and over it’s ok. It’s. ok. This interview is not a contract. I can do whatever I want. 

I almost build enough courage to walk back to the door when I notice an older man walking towards me. The older man (who was also a little overweight) pauses when he passes by me and looks me up and down. He smiles. I don’t. The man lets out a huff and continues up the street, right to the doorstep of the brothel. He rings the bell, and is let inside by, presumably, the same man who let in the boys earlier.

I take a minute to truly calm my nerves. It was 7:45 by that point and I was late for the interview. I took one last deep breath, walked up the the door, and rang the bell.

I wait a couple seconds then hear someone walking towards the door, he then has a slight struggle with the door knob. I take one last deep breath when the door swings open. Standing there is and older gentleman who looks as if he’s had Botox or some sort of facial surgery to look younger. Beyond the unknown facial reconstruction he looked well, but you could see the cracks in his complexion, giving away his true age. He was definitely in his late 50’s, maybe even his 60’s. He had a natural build and a super-white smile as he said, “Hello. Please come in.”

He holds the door open for me as I walk inside, “Thank you,” I say with a mousey tone.

The older man leads me into a small office that had a large television on one wall that was displaying pictures of boys. Opposite the tv was a long desk with two computers on it. The walls were painted a deep red, a buddha head rested on a stand close to the door. A glass coffee table sat in the middle of the office, with a black leather couch behind it.

The man shakes my hand, “Hi, my name is Pete. You must be Cody.”

I shake his hand limply, “Yes, I am. How did you know?”

“Well you sure wouldn’t be a client!” He chuckles, “Please sit down.” Pete gestures at one of the two office chairs that sat at the long desk with the computers on it.

I sit down and take a deep breath.

“So Cody, where are you from?” Pete says, grabbing a paper and pen.

“I’m from Canada.” I say trying to hide the shake in my voice. I hold my hands in my lap and try to keep them from trembling.

“Beautiful country. How long have you been in Australia?”

“Almost two weeks.”

“How do you like it?” Pete asks, putting on square reading glasses.

“It’s alright. A lot colder than I expected.” I let out a nervous laugh.

“Well you came here at the wrong time, we are just heading into winter.”

“I guess I just didn’t expect winter to be this cold.”

Pete is silent for a couple seconds as he jots something down on the paper, then he looks up and says, “How old are you?”

“Twenty.” I reply. Pete writes it down.

“We’ll keep you at twenty on the books to avoid you from getting all the pedophiles. You’ll still be in that market because you look younger than 18 but you’ll manage to avoid the total creeps.”

“Oh… ok, thanks,” was my only response.

Pete then asks me questions like how tall I was, my weight, measured my chest, etc. After Pete writes all of my measurements down he looks at me and asks, “So are you a top or a bottom?”

“Oh, I don’t want to have sex with the clients.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know Dean, and he said I could just do dinners and stuff with them.”

Pete laughs, “Yeah, Dean does a lot more than just dinners, let me tell you. Listen Cody, if you want to make any sort of money here you need to do at least something sexual. Nobody wants just dinner.”

“But I don’t want to have sex with them.”

“Well I can put you in the books as dinners only, but to be honest we get clients in here looking for ‘just dinner’ about once in a blue moon. You’ll just be sitting here every shift with no money to take home. You’ll be wasting your time.”

I had to make a quick decision. Did I want to sleep with them and make more money? Did I want to risk being dinners only? Or should I shake his hand and say thanks for the opportunity but this isn’t going to work for me?

I clear my throat, “Top. I’m a top only.”

Pete smiles and writes it down on the paper and says, “You don’t want to be a bottom for them?”

“No,” I try and say firmly, “I want to keep that for my personal life. If I’m going to do this I want to save at least something for myself.” That was good enough reason for me to be considering sex with clients.

“How big is your cock?”

I blush and don’t say anything. Pete just sits there clicking his pen, looking at me with judgemental eyes. I think Pete took my pause as a sign that I was really small, but the truth was that I was embarrassed. I’d never measured my penis before, but my limited sexual experiences led me to learn that I was above average based on the reactions of my sexual partners once they saw my member. Average in my mind was between 6 and 7 inches, so based on that reasoning alone I managed to say out loud, “8 inches.”

Pete nods and writes it down, “Ok last question, and this is actually the most difficult one for most people: what do you want your name to be?”

Against all better judgement, I pick out the worst, most unsexiest name known to all humanity. It’s not bad when it’s used just on regular human beings, but it’s terrible when used as name that’s supposed to be sexy.

The name I used came from and old conversation I had with my sister once when I was little. We both wanted to be con artists and came up with fake names for each other, and the name I used (which is now tainted to me) was…

“Carl,” I almost blurt out, “I want to be Carl.”

“Well CARL, welcome to Knight Call.”