NEVER FALL IN LOVE WITH A HOOKER
One of my regular hustlers that I met in Times Square was Steve. Last week, I saw Steve—he was looking fantastic. Fresh out of jail. White skin with those fabulous freckles. 200 lb. sex god. We also had the best sex ever. We’re both positive. The only problem is, and it’s a big one, is he’s still on drugs. So after one day of fabulous sex, he vanishes and I probably won’t hear from him again for a few months. I hear he got one of his legs amputated.
I saw this delicious piece of cake in the back pages of yet another publication featuring escort ads. His name is Corey and I am obsessed with him.
I now only dream of hustlers, but the medications I take has lowered my craving for them. It all seems like such an effort. But it hasn’t stopped me from eyeing every beauty that passes my way.
I hear there’s been a lot of new recruits in town. Big muscular things. Could be fun. Could be uncut. Could be just what I’ve held out for all these months.
I’m back from Provincetown. It’s 1995, July 4th weekend. I love P-town. I met the sexiest, beefiest dancer named Nigel from Montreal. Total babe. We talk music and of course I invite him to NYC.
I finally hooked up with the porn star Donnie Russo. Sexy. Totally full of himself. Both got off. But it was a bit stiff. Pun not intended.
I put in a call to Mike. Big sexy Italian who knows how to stir up the libido with his filthy mouth, strip tease actions and always with that prick being rock hard.
Just had a wonderful session with KC. Such a big, beautiful, beefy guy. Sexy, passionate and not afraid to show off. Loves to get his ass played with, which, by the way, is absolutely stunning.
I’m in the UK and had a worked up appetite, first for food then for a prostitute. I found a new bordello called Image on Earls Court on Nevern Square. The building had a very old Victorian feel to it, with lots of dark wood paneling. When I got there, I met the madame, who was very gracious, and let me know I could see an array of young men down the hall. He told me to follow him. I got to see the young men through a one-way mirror, lounging, watching TV, and playing cards. The madame said I had my pick of the litter. I chose a bodybuilder named Mark who was just what the doctor ordered. He looked a bit challenged, a bit like a Marine and was so playful in bed—big ass, big nipples, lots of dirty talk and a delicious, sloppy kisser. I came twice and made a date for the following evening.
There were many one nights stands. There was always some young man who could use a dollar, that I picked up. They were all shapes and sizes and they all had to have a certain look—big, muscular, sometimes freckled, tattooed, built. Now remember, I was in charge, I was paying and they were going to do exactly what I wanted.1
In late 1994, when I was in San Francisco, I saw an ad for an escort, prominently displayed in the back pages of a local newspaper. One of the reasons it caught my eye was because it said “265 lb. gorgeous man” and the picture was breathtaking. He was total fuckin’ beefcake. I called him and when he arrived, he looked exactly as the ad described.
That man turned out to be pro-bodybuilder Chris Duffy who had just won the NPC Nationals in 1992.
In 1984 he was an overall winner of the Southern States Bodybuilding Championships, and three years later he won two gold medals during NPC Los Angeles Championships. Winning 1992 NPC Nationals, he became Mr. America. He placed second during USA Championships, the same year.2
He was on the cover of every muscle and fitness magazine known to man and around that same time, he was appearing in a few adult, gay porn videos directed by Jack Fritscher, which spotlighted posing and muscle worship.
In the mid-90s Duffy pursued a career in gay pornography. He appeared in few movies under the pseudonym—Bull Stanton—but when journalists found out about this, controversies arose, since Duffy was an award-winning, top bodybuilder, and he embodied masculinity.3
Chris appeared in these films, so he could escort and make money through sex. He decided to end his contract with Joe Weider’s,4 IFBB (International Federation of Bodybuilders) because Weider wanted him to do too much, for too little money, and because he felt it wasn’t right to be working as a bodybuilder while making adult videos.
Not much later after the escort encounter, we started spending time together and there was a definite chemistry between us. We enjoyed the same music, the same movies and going out on the town together. After I went back to New York, Chris came to visit. I met him in my lobby and was again blown away by how completely fuckin’ gorgeous he was.
He ended up staying with me for a while, and I so loved his company. I genuinely liked the idea of this guy in my life because when things got hectic, just the small action of walking down the street, hand in hand, was so romantic it took me away from the stress in my life. We would go to movies, galleries, and restaurants. He was incredibly handsome and being with him felt very warm and loving. I also told him I was HIV positive. It was a little scary telling that to somebody who seemed to feel so strongly towards me, but he was fine with it, because I soon found out that he was positive, too.
I called him “Big Daddy,” and I think he got a kick out of it. But he said that actually, he thought of himself more as “a young boy, run amok.” He was so sweet and I had a lot of feelings for Chris—emotions I hadn’t had in years.
However, even within the close relationship we were growing into, I sensed that something wasn’t quite right. He was in the process of divorcing his second wife and was shooting up steroids and speed, both of which exacerbated his ADD, with which he had recently been diagnosed. In fact, I once found him in my kitchen, crushing up Ritalin tablets and mixing them into his steroid syringe.
I think I wanted Chris to be someone he wasn’t and couldn’t be at the time. It felt like at some point it was all going to explode—and it did.
Our relationship was always messy—bouncing between New York, San Francisco, and Ft. Lauderdale, managing both of our needs—it became too much. After I had first met him and hired him for one night, we became a couple. But a year later, we broke up. I was miserable about it. It took over all my thoughts and it brought me back into therapy, because I needed to get over him.
Except I didn’t. We continued to see each other on and off over the next five years and then at some point we completely lost touch. In 2015, I saw him at the 19th Street Gym in Chelsea, while I was working out. I heard this huge laugh, a laugh that could only belong to one person. I walked over to him. It looked like he was at the end of a very sweaty workout and when he lifted his head, he saw me. I think we were both a little shocked. When that wore off, we smiled and gave each other a huge hug. It was such a surprise to see him again. After that, I saw him a few more times at the gym.
At some point, and I don’t know why, I got a nasty email from him. I can only assume he was using drugs again. Drugs had been a big problem for him throughout his life. When I reconnected with him for this book, I found a loving and charming man, who had been working hard on himself and is training to become a professional golfer. This new connection is so vibrant and important and one I hope to keep.
In 2010, I was in Los Angeles and walking down Hollywood Boulevard. I came across a construction site and whenever I see a construction site, I make a bee line for it. There was a hot guy there with a tank top on, and I immediately said:
“Hello, Sailor!”
I let him know I was a photographer from NY. His interest seemed to peak immediately, but he said he was super busy, so I suggested we trade phone numbers.
His name was Todd, and he was completely gorgeous, with beautiful, blue eyes. He had long blond hair and a very “surfer dude” quality about him. I found it kind of odd that he was holding down a construction job and I was even more surprised to see, given his very “wasp-y” appearance, that he was completely tattooed from the neck down. I soon found out he danced in strip joints on both the East and West Coasts. Wow . . . everybody’s got a story.
We connected immediately. And it quickly progressed to something more.
My arrangement with Todd lasted a very long time. I constantly paid for him to come to New York and when he was here, essentially, I was his “sugar daddy.” I paid for everything. He had a wicked sense of humor and a big dick. I got my needs met and he got to come to New York. He sometimes came for five to ten days, and while he was here, he often did freelance massage work.
At some point, he started having problems with his family—he had kids and a girlfriend—I remember thinking, “What have I got myself into?”—not just because of the obligations with his family, but because he was becoming more important to me than just a trick.
Whenever he left to go back to Los Angeles, it got lonely again. I had become used to him being here. He was sweet and affectionate and he knew how to whip up tasty meals and cater to me. It was a nearly full and complete home life.
In mid-2013, I went to Vegas and I invited Todd to come along. We went to see the Cirque du Soleil show, “The Beatles LOVE.” Then out of the blue, I got a call from the tour manager for Guns N’ Roses. He said Axl wanted to make a new record and work with a different group of people—so I said okay, I’ll go check out the show.
The concert was at The Joint at The Hard Rock Hotel, where we were staying. But halfway through the show we started getting bored with all the guitar solos from the session musicians whom Axl had hired. We then went back to the bar where everybody was hanging out.
We were talking to a number of music people. I had on a $250 Vivienne Westwood T-shirt and all of a sudden, some guy turns around and spills his entire beer all over me. I was furious! I took a deep breath and went upstairs to my room to change.
When the elevator opened on my floor, I got out, and noticed there was a huge window at the end of the hall. I could see all of downtown Vegas when I stood in front of it. As I faced the window, I got down on my knees, and started praying. I was praying because I was aggravated and feeling anxious. Even though I hadn’t had a drink for five years, everyone at the show was drinking. It was tough to be around people who were drunk, babbling in my face with the smell of beer and vodka on their breath. Having had a few years under my belt, I didn’t have the urge to drink, but it was unpleasant to be around, and I was grateful to be clean and sober.
A few minutes later, another elevator door opened. A group of drunken, rowdy guys got out and saw me on my knees at the window:
“Hey Buddy, are you okay?” they shouted.
“Yes!” I screamed at them. “Leave me alone! I’m praying!”
“Whoa!!!” they said, quickly turning around and jamming back into the elevator. I finished praying, rushed back into my room, showered, changed, and headed back downstairs to the show. The guitar solos were still going on—I thought they would never end; I was delighted when it finally did. We then made our way to the Green Room to meet with Axl and discuss what he was looking to do for his new album.
After about an hour of waiting, there was no word from Axl or the tour manager, so we left.
Despite that mix-up, it was another hot weekend with Todd. Of course, all this was at my expense, which I never cared about because he was such a desirable companion. But instead of flying back with me to New York, he returned to Los Angeles.
Five years in, Todd decided he wanted change in his life, to be more involved with this family. And I realized I was tired of the whole setup. He was always a trick. I paid for every single one of those rendezvous. I was sober then and thinking more reflectively on the decisions I was making in my life—I had spent a lot of money on everything for him, and to what end? It was all very one-sided. I was getting nothing out of the whole arrangement. It was time to move forward and not look back.