Read A Consumer's Guide to Male Hustlers for Free Online Page B

drugs and I prefer not having them at my house."
    "You're not much fun," he commented.
    After a few sexual encounters, I was certain that if I saw Jed every few days for the rest of my life, I would not want or need any additional sex partners. Had Jed asked me to become monogamous with him I would have gladly agreed. Since I had become a "regular" we worked out a low fee of $25 per session. Nevertheless, always paying for sex would have amounted to a lot of money.
    I did not need to worry. I never saw Jed in any pattern. He would move without giving me a new phone number, or do a gig out of town, or forget to show up when we made a date. I overlooked all of this because our sexual sessions were so intense.
    All told, I had sex with Jed close to 200 times. Our sexual encounters ranged from very good to excellent. In spite of Jed's moodiness and his apparent disinterest in me as a person, not once did he falter in his performance. I am big on affection and kissing, and I got this in great abundance from Jed. He never made me feel that I was imposing on him sexually; but almost always he conveyed to me that I made unreasonable demands upon his time. Making appointments was a burden to him. The way he wanted things done was to call me when it suited his mood and needs. I would have to drive to his place, wait until he got ready, bring him to my home, and return him to base when we were done.
    Jed did some New Wave gigs out of town and sometimes even got paid well. I know this to be true because I saw some of the programs, and helped him cash his checks. Apparently, he had some connections in the music field. But nothing permanent ever came of it.
    He treated hustling like all his other temporary jobs. He had them for a while, lost them for not showing up, then tried something else. Once, he told me that he would place an ad in the paper and hustle out of his home. I felt threatened by it. Jed would have been entitled to charge a small fortune for each encounter, and would not need to bother with clients like me who were on a tight budget. I did not need to worry. Even if he had gotten around to writing the ad, paying to run it, acquiring an answering machine, and waiting for calls, Jed would not have kept his appointments with his clients. The reason that we saw so much of each other was due to my persistence. I never got tired of having sex with Jed, and grudgingly put up with his flakiness.
    Over the years, we had our emotional ups and downs, though the sexual chemistry between us never changed. (The worse Jed's mood, the better was his sexual performance!) We were often displeased with each other: I, because Jed would be late or stand me up, or just be morose and in a bad mood; Jed, because I would fuss over inconsequential matters like being stood up. From time to time, he would borrow money from me, and was upset because I wanted to pin him down regarding an exact day and time for our next date.
    But we also had good times. One summer we went to Guerneville, on the Russian River. We stayed at the Willows, a gay, rustic hotel overlooking the river. We spent most of the day on the river and I taught Jed to paddle and steer the canoe. At long last, Jed discovered that I had a useful skill I could impart to him. As soon as we changed and went out for dinner, guys started hitting on Jed. We had already decided beforehand that we would have sex after we ate and then Jed would go about town. "I can always score drugs in Guerneville. Dudes just offer them to me," he assured me.
    Sex was wonderful that evening. I was content with our sexual session, and with not needing to fend off Jed's many suitors. He went out just before eleven. A few minutes later it started raining very heavily, the last thing one expects at the Russian River in August. I had not let Jed use my car. He knew how to drive, but, naturally, did not have a valid license. Even if he had a valid license, I would not have allowed him to use my car because of his drug