Happy Prostitution Day!
Romance is once again forced upon us on this, the day when it is socially acceptable to accept flowers and chocolates in return for anal sex and blow jobs. Allow me then this reflection on a traveling tale of lust.
There are three things that happen when you travel. One thing is a story where nothing happens. Another thing is that you make something happen to have a story. The third thing was a story before it happened, a story waiting to happen. I travel a lot and have experienced these three things. This story is all of them.
This is a story about curiosity.
It’s August in Houston, Texas. Fuck. It’s fucking hot. 100+ degrees. And no clouds. I’m hitchhiking, standing on a westbound onramp for Interstate 10. It’s a shitty onramp. There is little room for cars to safely pull over, but I’m too tired to find a better ramp and delirious enough not to care.
The night before, I had Greyhounded from New Orleans. Only paying to go to Baton Rouge, but stowing away to the end of the line. I spent most of the night sitting in the station waiting for sunrise. A cop outside the station told me not to wander the streets or I’d get attacked and they’d take my pack. I listened to him. Sort of.
Inside the station this guy got my attention. He saw me using my laptop and asked me if I’d sell it for $300. I said I would. He asked me if I was hungry and offered to buy me breakfast. The cop had told me no restaurants or diners were open and that should have been my first clue, but I was curious.
I think his name was either Andrew or Anthony. We walked down a main street into the heart of downtown. He stopped at a corner and told me he had to go hit an ATM to grab cash for the computer and I should wait for him there.
I didn’t. I walked across the street, hid behind a column of some office building, and waited. Like a terrible movie, I disliked the set up and hook but wanted to see how it ended.
Time passed and I’m thinking this guy saw that I left and took off himself so I’ll never know his true intentions. I waited until I noticed two different guys walking up the street from the direction I had walked with Anthony/Andrew. A gunshot went off and they started running. I decided to go too, down another street and back to the bus station.
Anywho, I digress. This is a sexy story about being manhandled by the elderly, not about how shitty Houston is.
A Porsche pulls over. Angry honks from the cars passing him to get on the freeway. I hop in. His name is Max, he’s sixty-three years old and retired. He picks me up because of the heat, he can’t stand to see me suffer out there. Pity rides happen and I take them all the same.
Max cranks the AC, says he can get me out of the heat for a while and serve me some lunch. I can even get a shower. Yes, yes, and yes.
We go to a house he calls his friend’s house. He’s housesitting for the friend. He’s lying.
He fixes me up with some grub which I eat quickly. He tells me the shower is upstairs. I use it. I wash the sweat off knowing when I step back outside I will again be covered in sweat. When I exit the bathroom he shows me a guest bedroom I can take a nap in. I’m tired, and sleeping in a bed sounds glorious. I nap.
I sleep for about half an hour when I hear a knock at the bedroom door. It’s Max. He’s trying to get up the courage to ask me something, I can tell. He’s very nervous and cute about it. He reminds me of a more attractive John McCain.
He’s subtle in a not so subtle way. “Would you like to watch some porn?”
I decline. Despite my inclinations toward sexual deviancy, I’m not a overly libidinous person.
Max spills it. We’re at his life partner’s house whom really is out of town. He claims they’ve been going through a rough patch and that he can no longer get an erection with him.
He asks me if he can give me a handjob. This is where curiosity takes over again. I hadn’t had much experience with men up to that point, and Max seemed harmless. Earlier that month in Florida, a man had taken me to a motel and tried to have sex with me, but I deflected his advances. That guy did not ask, he just expected.
I say yes.
He takes out a bottle of lotion and I take off my pants. He rubs the lotion all over my penis and testicles until I’m hard. He then undoes his fly and begins stroking his own penis as he fondles mine. He comes fast and hard.
He asks me if I want a blowjob. I decline. This isn’t about me.
We hop back in the car and he buys me some fast food for dinner, hands me ten dollars and a sack of marihuana, and drops me outside the city limits.
I am on another onramp, it’s late afternoon. I think about what just occurred and realize, for the first time in my life, that I am a prostitute.
I stick my thumb out and laugh at the passing motorists.
J.W. Wargo is a Nomadic Bizarro Storyteller originally from Boise, Idaho. His travels have taken him from Budapest to Honolulu and all points in between. He has a Bizarro fiction novella out called Avoiding Mortimer.