Kept Man: Firsts and Forever Stories

After we said our goodbyes, I wandered into the crowd and looked for Ash. Predictably, he and his boyfriend Wesley were all wrapped up in each other when I found them.

On the surface, they looked like a total mismatch. Ash was a tattooed, lavender-haired DJ, and like me, he was fairly short with a slight build. Meanwhile, his tall, muscular boyfriend was a buttoned-down doctor with glasses and a fondness for bowties. But despite outward appearances, they were perfect for each other and totally in love.

It wasn’t the time to chew him out for showing the crap I made to Skye, so I just told him I had to leave for an appointment. Ash asked, “Do you think you’ll be back later? I’m sure this party will keep going until the wee hours.” He looked so hopeful that I found myself telling him I thought I would. Ash and Wesley both gave me a hug before I waded back into the crowd.

The last thing to do was to thank the host of this party, and it didn’t take long to spot her. Nana Dombruso was a tiny senior citizen dressed in sequins from head to toe, including a very tall Uncle Sam-style top hat. When I joined her, she had her skinny arms wrapped around one of the members of the dick band. The tip of his costume kept sagging, and every time she squeezed, it would pop up again. I grinned when she told him, “You just need to keep a tight grip on it, so it doesn’t go limp.”

I said, “Sorry to interrupt,” and the dick costume sagged pitifully when she let go and turned her attention to me. “I have to get going, but thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Dombruso. This was a lot of fun.”

“Now, I know I told you to call me Nana, and I’m glad you came, cutie. You’re welcome here anytime, and I hope you come back soon.” Nana was a fierce supporter of the LGBTQ community and had a habit of “adopting” gay men, especially those without families of their own. I figured she was just being polite though, since she barely knew me.

It took a few minutes to extract myself from the conversation, and then I slipped out the back gate. The Lyft I’d requested was waiting at the end of the block. Fortunately, the driver wasn’t particularly chatty, so I got to relax and watch San Francisco roll by as we drove across town.

There was a subtle shift that happened in the city on summer holidays. A lot of locals left to go hiking, or camping, or just someplace different, while tourists poured into the city. In a way, it balanced itself out. But that in- and outflux added to the traffic, energy, and hectic pace of the city, and it left me feeling slightly on edge.

The quiet of my apartment was a relief after the party and the drive across town. I stripped and stood under a warm shower for a while, then took my time getting ready. This appointment—for lack of a better word—was supposed to be dinner only. But new clients often ended up asking for sex once they felt comfortable with me, so I prepped myself as if that was part of the plan.

When I finished grooming, I checked my reflection in the mirror and smoothed my dark hair. I wore it short, except for a longer bit at the top. Ash liked to say this hairstyle was designed to give me something to hide behind. Maybe he was right. With a tilt of my head, my bangs fell forward, nearly covering my eyes. There were plenty of times when I wanted a wall between myself and the rest of the world. Even though this was a pretty flimsy one, it served its purpose.

I tossed my head to get my hair out of my face, then adjusted my glasses and studied myself closely. I looked tired, but this new client probably wouldn’t notice or care.

No, not tired. Weary. There was a difference.

When I pulled up a rehearsed smile, it disguised the subtle strain around my dark eyes and looked surprisingly convincing.

I turned away from the mirror and went into the bedroom, then got dressed in a perfectly tailored royal blue suit and a crisp, white shirt. A pair of brown Italian loafers, a matching belt, and a nice watch completed the look. There was no question I was overdressed, but that was intentional.

After turning tricks for eight years, I’d learned a few things. When I started out at nineteen, I was hustling on street corners. Since then, I’d figured out how to sell the illusion I was something more—someone high class, desirable, and unquestionably worth the high price tag that came with an hour or two of my time.