20 Questions

Sometimes I can be a real sap.  I meet a guy for what I think is a first date, or at least a meet & greet, and I find myself in the middle of what I like to call “the Barbara Walters interview.”  He plies me with compliments and sexy text messages and vague insinuations of the hot time we have ahead of us, only to start in on his list of questions before the first cocktail arrives.

The last time this happened – which, I assure you will be last time this happens – was at the casino/resort on the Vegas strip where he was attending a conference.  By the time he got to his third question, I was so disappointed that my shoulders dropped and all the blood ran out of my face.  I have absolutely no poker face so only he must have seen it.  Still, he stayed, presumably because he had his list of questions and a hooker within reach and who knew when that would happen again.  I stayed because the guy was pretty cute and I hoped that we’d end up in his room with my tongue all over his tight little body.  No such luck; all I got was a hug and – wait for it – a kiss on the cheek.  Doris Day got further with Rock Hudson.

What’s most interesting about the Barbara Walters interview is that it’s always the same questions, in more or less the same order.  So here they are, asked and answered.  Save your manipulations and schemes for getting out of your next speeding ticket.  And if you want to know more, it’s $150/hr and dinner’s on you.  And I pick the place.

How long have you been doing this?
About 5 years.  It’s kind of hard to pin down a firm date. 

How did you get started?
I’d thought about it on and off for years but what finally brought push to shove was a plastic surgeon in Los Angeles who sent me a million messages through a bear chat site and wouldn’t take no for an answer.  Finally he offered me money.  I suppose I should have been insulted, but instead I remembered the immortal words of Marilyn Monroe:  "Ever notice how 'What the hell' is always the right answer?"  About a week later I put an ad on Craigslist and here we are.

But what ever made you want to be… um… why did you…
Why did I become a hooker?

Exactly
It’s a complicated story, and it goes back a very long time.  But it’s something I’ve thought about as early as my college days.  When I became overwhelmed and wanted to escape the world, I didn’t think of going to a commune or becoming a beach bum – I imagined going to Paris and working the streets.  Ultimately I was too much of a chickenshit to go through with it, and I’d probably be dead if I had.

Is being a hustler all you do?
I’m not a hustler.  I use the term hooker because it helps keep me from taking myself too seriously, but still there are different kinds of sex workers.  I work as an escort, which to my mind means that I place an ad and the clients come to me.  A hustler – again, to my mind – is someone who works a room and gets a guy interested and then mentions, “Oh by the way it’s gonna cost you.”  Not that I have anything against those guys, I just don’t have the balls to do it.  Can you seriously imagine me working the floor of the Bellagio asking guys at the blackjack tables if they want some company?  It’s just not me.

Ok, but is it all you do?
Right now it’s the primary source of my income.  I also so some writing, which would bring in more money if I were more aggressive at pitching ideas to newspapers and magazines.  But that’s another story, never mind, anyway…

What do you write?
Mostly non-fiction.  Or at least that’s what I’ve published the most lately.  I write different things under different names; here’s a link to “Rusty Writings.”

Is Rusty your real name?
It’s not what’s on my birth certificate, if that’s what you mean.

Can I ask your real name?
You can ask all you want, but you’re going to have to get to know me a lot better than this before I tell you.

Do you date?
Not very often.  Or I should say not anymore.

Why not anymore?
Because every time I’ve tried it, I’ve ended up regretting it.  (“Like now,” I remember wanting to tell a certain young man while sitting at the slot machines at Planet Hollywood.) 

Regreted it how?
Because there appear to be three kinds of guys who are interested in dating me these days.  There are the ones who want to fool me into giving them a freebie and then disappear like spit on a griddle before we’ve wiped up the cum.  I haven’t fallen for that one in quite a while.  Then there are the guys who are fooling themselves that they can handle dating a hooker – they take a little longer to disappear.  And thirdly there are the guys who start out as fuck buddies and then decide they want something more – but rather than say anything they – you guessed it! – disappear.  We men are not socialized to use our words when it comes to complicated relationships.  Anyway I can’t say I blame them… I mean I wouldn’t date me… I'm too posessive of the other guy's attention.

NB:  I admit to the possibility that they disappear because they meet me and think I'm a total asshole.

What about the guys who think they can handle dating an escort but then meet you and become intimidated?  (“Like you?” I wanted to ask the cutie at Planet Hollywood.)
Well they might fit into the second category, but because they don’t have the balls to say anything I never know for sure.  Besides:  me?  Intimidating?  Look at me:  I’m the most unassuming guy you’ve ever met!

But you’re a professional and you’ve had so much more experience than most guys.  I’m sure they’re afraid they’re not going to be good enough in bed.
Oh miss honey please. I am so easy-going.  If I’m in bed with a guy I like I’m not going to judge his performance.  And besides, maybe I can teach him a thing or two.

What kind of clients do you get?
I get the whole range:  from 20 year olds who have never been with a man and want a pro to steer ‘em around the curves, to 45 year olds who’ve never had sex with a man, to 73 year old men who live alone and just want to be held by a lumberjack type for an hour. 

Do you ever get really hot guys?
Oh yeah… and that’s when I say “Dad loooooooooooves his work!”
But really – and I swear this is true – a good 95% of the men who hire me are men I’d be with anyway.  It’s a total myth that the only people who hire escorts are desperate trolls who can’t get hired any other way.

So what do you do if you get there and the client is totally horrible?
In all honestly, it has never happened.  Ok that’s not true:  there was one guy in a far suburb of Phoenix who literally looked like Gollum from Lord of the Rings.  He was strung out on crack (or some white substance he was smoking), and couldn’t stay focused on anything for more than a couple of seconds.  So I hung around long enough to make it an hour and I split.  He wanted me to go to the cash machine with him so I could stay another hour, but I told him I couldn’t.

But that was really the only time?
Well look:  I’m lucky.  I love men.  I love all kinds of men of all shapes and sizes and colors and tints and cut and uncut and hairy and smooth – well, you get the picture.  And I can find enough attractive in almost anyone to spend an hour together.  Now sometimes the guys an asshole, but I lived with my father for 22 years so I can put up with anyone for an hour – but when we hit that 60 minute mark I am so out of there.

But you’ve never walked out on a client?
No.  But there have been a few clients I wouldn’t’ see again.  That’s how I “fire” clients.

Why wouldn’t you go back?
Ok here’s an example.  When I was living in Los Angeles there was this guy who called me late at night from the other side of the 405 – practically in Ventura.  So I drive the 45 minutes to his place, and we have a lot of fun and we go at it for well over an hour in a half.  And by the time I get showered and I’m ready to go it’s after one o’clock and he says “You don’t want more than your $150, do you?”  No tip, no extra dough for the late night and long drive.  Now I’m not a greedy person and I’m usually very generous with my work “hour,” but this, I felt, was way beyond the pale.  And the fact that he brought it up meant that he knew he was cheating me.

I’m not very good with confrontation (mostly because I have a classic Irish temper), so I put the money in my pocket and drove home to West Hollywood.  Then the next night around the same time he called and asked me to come back to Ventura.  “I’m not available tonight,” I said.  “What about tomorrow night?” “Nope.  Not available then, either.”  Luckily, he got the hint and didn’t force me to say “never.” 

So it’s only when they don’t pay you enough that you won’t see them again?
Not at all.  One guy took me to a very nice dinner at a steakhouse off the strip and I spent the whole meal biting my tongue.  One of those tea-party types.  And another guy spent the whole meal quizzing me on what he considered to be the things that any Vegas local should know.  Stuff like that.

And you’ve never had any other problems with clients?
There’s been a couple of guys who weren’t quite ready to be fucked, if you know what I mean.

That’s disgusting!
Tell me.

What’s the strangest thing anyone’s asked you to do?
The grossest, or the strangest?

The strangest.
That’s actually harder to answer.  Remember the movie “Chinatown” where John Huston casually explains to Jack Nicholson how he raped and fathered a child with daughter (Faye Dunnaway) when she was 15?  He says, “Most people never have to face the fact that at the right time and the right place, they're capable of ANYTHING.”  What most people consider kinky sex is like that.  There are a lot of things that you’d never initiate or ever think about when sitting in your living room that might just seem hot as fuck when the opportunity comes up with the right hot guy.

So what’s the strangest thing you’ve ever done?
You’d be amazed at how many guys hire me to lie quietly in bed with them for an hour.  Fortunately I’m a cuddle monster so that’s the easiest money I make.

How has sex changed for you since you’ve been doing this?
Well I certainly have less of it these days.  I mean, it takes someone really interesting to get me off the couch and in the car without a pay day in the equation.  (At this point I look at my interviewer and try to get a guilt fuck for my trouble, but no.)  The other thing is that I’ve definitely gotten better at it.  Someone does something that feels good and I add it to my bag o’ tricks… so I can confidently say I’m a much better lay than I was 5 years ago.

Do your clients ever fall in love with you?
Of course.  Or at least they think they do.  It’s more of an obsession, and it has nothing to do with me, personally.  Of course none if it has to do with me personally.  I’m a certain physical type and certain other types that are attracted to me.  It goes back to why I started hooking in the first place.

How so?
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been objectified for being a redhead.  When I was a kid I was teased by the other kids and kvelled over by the old ladies.  As I got older, that objectification became sexual in nature.  And for a long time I fought it.  A deep-voiced Israeli fellow came up to me at the nightclub one night and opened with “You’re my favorite color” “I can also type sixty words a minute I sniped back.”  Then one day I woke up and sort of dug the fact that guys were attracted to me for the color of my hair.  And then some time later I woke up and decided to capitalize on it.  And here we are.