The online diary of a gay courtesan.

I went for lunch and a walk in the park today, because for the third day in a row it would be spiritually negligent to not. It is so pretty here lately – it’s hard to believe there was snow on the ground a week ago. The trees and flowers are putting out buds; the clover is bright green, with little purple pin-striped blooms; and I even saw my first massive bee of the season. The bees look so plump and lazy, the way they bumble around in the air like zeppelins - I think they’re marvelous. Bumble bees make me smile. They’re so clumsy and endearing.

I went to lunch with a new acquaintance, and we talked about all the light stuff: Religion, career, school, and family. You know, the easy stuff. HA! We went for a walk while our bellies were still full, and he asked me more questions about work. He finally came around to the question that I knew he was wanting to ask: “You said the line is different for each dancer. Where is your line?”

I have never been an escort. I’ve never had penetrative sex for money. I’m just not interested in it. I have allowed some men to go down on me during a private showing, but it’s not my modus operandi. I regularly touch the clients as they are touching me. I’ve even given a handjob here and there – but all that is fairly tame by comparison to what others enjoy/tolerate.

Sex is special to me: If I hook up, I want it to be because the guy is hot and/or intriguing. If I meld, I want it to be genuinely invested. If I make love, that can’t be bought from me. Groping and infrequent receptive oral sex don’t offend me, because I perceive them as fairly impersonal. Perhaps I’ve been touched superficially enough that it just doesn’t mean anything to me anymore? Kissing and sex, however, are much deeper forms of touch, and they are still reserved for my personal time.

In my past blogs I’ve strongly cautioned against doing anything against local laws. I am aware of the hypocrisy in what I have just admitted. But the limited sexuality I sometimes permit doesn’t leave a blot on my conscience. Also, consider how irresponsible it would be for me to say to a neonate, ”Yes, go out and suck as much dick as you can! Let them all fuck your ass too, for good measure.” Um, no. That is nowhere near the level where I operate – it’s fine for the people that are okay with it (if they’re willing to take the risks involved), but that isn’t for me.

What I’ve described today is reality, not legal advice. No, I don’t advocate that people do what is done, but that doesn’t change the fact that it happens. For the most part with me, a dance is a dance, but occasionally they are a little bit more. The line is different for each dancer, and mine is drawn pretty far down on the scandal ladder.

Ultimately, you have to know who you are and what you can tolerate. In addition to this, there is also the law. No, you shouldn’t allow anything that is illegal to happen during a dance. People also shouldn’t smoke marijuana (according to the law). They also shouldn’t speed when they drive (according to the law). And of course, people shouldn’t loiter, download music from the Internet, or jaywalk (according to the law). I will continue to say that people shouldn’t be sexual in their dances, because I don’t want to be responsible for leading someone into risk. However, there is the perfect world, and then there’s the real world. I figured it was time to speak more transparently about where my line is – I’ll not be turning myself into a saint, thank you very much.

So, with all that said: Wanna private dance?

Many, if not most, male exotic dancers in gay clubs are straight. Case in point: At Swinging Richards in Atlanta only 5-10 of the 60-65 dancers like men. I often get asked, “How can a truly straight guy allow men to touch him?” It’s quite simple: Until the mid-19th century there was no such concept as identity based on sexuality. No one was homosexual. The term itself didn’t exist until 1869. Although no one was homosexual as we understand it, there were plenty of people participating in same-sex intercourse and romances. Here’s what you need to know if you’re trying to explain to yourself how it’s possible to rationalize wanting that dancer whom you simply can’t accept is heterosexual: Many straight men do not equate sexual activity with sexual identity. In this way they can be in homoerotic scenarios and still maintain that they’re straight. That’s how straight guys can have circle jerks and all sorts of other bizarre mating rituals in the locker room and on the football field and still come out “okay.”

Now, let’s look at the title of this blog…

Gay men like dick. Period. Vah-jay-jay is horrid to us. Period. (God, did I just say period after mentioning putang? I think I just threw up in my mouth a little… The only time I have never been queasy thinking about a bleeding muff is when Janet Jackson sang “My swagger is serious, somethin’ heavy like a first day period” in her song “Feedback.” You can see that video on my site!)

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Bisexual guys can get into either boiz or grrrlz, and genuinely like either – bisexuality is a true sexuality. It is not simply an excuse to get laid more.

Buy-sexual is a whole other matter… Buy-sexual men do not actually like men – they simply accept gifts from them. They do not generally sleep with men. They simply allow gay men to fawn over them. “Buy-me-a-present-sexual” is a straight guy who encourages courtship but never puts out.
Pay-sexual, however… well… Anyway, you can figure out the rest on your own.

There was a man named Dave in Atlanta at Swinging Richards who was in love with one of my favorite dancers, Charlie. Dave lived in Chicago, but he would fly in a couple times a month just to see Charlie. He was “in love” with Charlie, and wouldn’t talk to any of the other dancers. He wanted all Charlie’s attention, and he would get jealous when he’d watch Charlie give dances to other patrons.

To complicate the issue even more, Dave was married. The inconsistencies throughout this entire scenario almost make it a sitcom, except that I genuinely felt bad for Dave. I remember saying, “Dave, you’re paying for a fantasy, not a reality. Why don’t you try talking to one of the gay dancers?” His response: “I don’t want a gay man. I like only straight guys.”

That hurt. It really did. And it brought to the surface a problem in the gay community – don’t we get treated badly enough by straight people? Why do we treat each other even worse than “those people” do? Not much to say here: If you fawn over a straight dancer, you deserve the heartache you’ve paid for.