The life of a harlot is typically thought to be a lonely existence. It is the general assumption that prostitution is a trade left to those with no other outlets in life: they need the money, they are forced into it, or they are dealing with unimaginable mental paradoxes. Whomever imagines that maybe one of those creatures of the night has a stable life and career, a functional marriage and maybe even some children? Hardly anyone, I imagine. However, those things are more readily available to be absorbed and proven to the majority if there is some sort of substantial evidence. There are physical characteristics that can define someone if they are married, and the actual fact that they go home to their husband every night. He is a real manifestation of their congregation. It is a tangible existence, and people can see that and therefor believe it. I've heard of hookers being married, and often having a husband who makes a large amount of money. There is simply a void there that must be filled, as well as severe psychological trauma.
This is not my point, though. This is only the precursor to my story. I am shedding some light upon a scenario which at first might seem far-fetched, but when explained and observed does not seem all that strange after all. Now, take the above-mentioned setup and apply the element of "love". While a marriage and kids may be present, most would not believe that the nightwalker in the family actually loves her husband and kids. How could she do such a thing when so much is at risk? Where is her conscious thought-process between good and evil, wrong and right? How DARE she? There is obviously no love there, right?
Maybe. Maybe not. Married life between straight folk is a different element than partnerships involving gay couples. Love between the gays is generally a very, very fickle and elusive thing; superficial to the a high degree and plagued with infidelities and strange idiosyncrasies. For this reason I know many young men around my age that have vowed to never love. Sure, they admit that they can be smitten and often times are, but that they never throw themselves into the pit and hope that the other will be at the bottom to catch them. I used to be this way up until recently-- just yesterday, in fact. I had a closed heart and a brutal rationalization system laid out in my head. I was the most emotionally devoid person I knew and I even prided myself on the fact that nobody would ever have control of my heart.
I know that it sounds a bit over embellished, but it is not. I was the master of facades, manipulation, and heartbreaking. I could pick someone up into the heights of heaven, lifting their souls and making them feel incredibly special. Then, without so much as a grimace, I could let them go, allowing them to fall and smash into a billion little emotional pieces. I have done this many times and my mind is not haunted by it. Love comes and goes. I got what I wanted from them and decided that I'd had enough. They cried the rivers, built the bridges, and got the fuck over it. So what?
That was how I used to think. Thirty-two hours ago I was an emotional robot when it came to relationships, even in my current entanglement. Things have changed. The following story is a recount of what I can remember from the night before last.
My phone rang as the clock neared 7:45 PM. I had been expecting this phone call, as it was from the call box downstairs at the gates. I picked up and buzzed whomever was dialing in. I'd already known it would be Edgar. He was never on time (he told me previously to expect him around 5:00) and I awaited his arrival with great anticipation. I genuinely liked my boyfriend. He is the most beautiful man I've ever laid eyes on and aesthetically perfect for me in every way. Tall, lithe, toned and with a great sense of style. I remember when I first met him in San Diego and that I could not take my eyes off of him. I was smitten within seconds and was eager for our mutual friend to introduce us.
I was shocked to discover that upon speaking to him I grew suddenly very nervous, my ego escaping me and replaced by some foreign sheepishness that I fought to dispel but could not. I shook his hand with a sweaty palm and was immediately embarrassed. I attempted to pull away, but his hand tightened in mine for an instant. I knew I was flushing and quickly averted my eyes to my friend, Rubisell, who lifted his brows in amusement and continued my silent suffering by loudly mentioning my fondness for Latino boys.
My hand was finally released and I shoved it in my pocket, my other hand giving Rubisell a light shove. He laughed along with Edgar as I shriveled a bit inside. Luckily, the conversation was turned to their friends and I was allowed to let myself settle into my head for a minute. I gathered my thoughts and calmed myself. I rationalized that this guy barely spoke English and that something other than sexual encounters would never happen from knowing him. I'd encountered this type of thing before with my other Mexican lovers. The language barrier had proved to be a big damper on the relationships, but the incredible sex more than made up for the lack of conversational substance.
A few minutes later I was relieved to hear their discussion close. We parted ways, Rubisell and I continuing toward our destination while the beautiful Edgar went on his way. I only chanced one look back and saw that he had stopped and was staring directly at me. Another flush of embarrassment and I turned away. Rubisell laughed about the situation and later told me that he had invited Edgar out with us the next week when we had planned to see a movie together. I rolled my eyes and sighed.
"What the fuck? Why? He can't even understand the movie." I said. Rubisell looked at me and smirked in spite of my frusteration.
"Who says he can't?"
"We are seeing Elizabeth: The Golden Age. I highly doubt that he will be able to understand the conceptual English language, heavily laden with accents and whatnot."
"Some of it is in Spanish."
"Greaaaaat. Nice excuse."
Rubisell stopped walking and shot me a look of great disbelief. "Stop being such a little bitch. It's obvious that you like him, so why don't you do something about it? I mean, it was REALLY obvious with your face turning bright red and the fact that you couldn't even look at him sure wasn't a dead giveaway."
I opened my mouth to convey a look of mock shock. "You're perceptive, Rubisell. Really perceptive. You should do something with that-- like, join a fuckin' circus, you douche."
"See!" he called after me as I began to walk away from him, "it's obvious that you think he's cute. I mean, you saw him, didn't you? He's GORGEOUS."
"Yes," I replied, beginning to become exasperated with the whole Edgar subject, "he is beautiful, but I don't think it would work, buddy. He's too.. Authentico."
Rubisell laughed and grabbed my shoulder, making pace with me and leaning into my strides. "Just the way you like 'em."
"Fuck you."
"Well, I AM Mexican.."
I grunted. "I meant that he doesn't even know English."
Rubisell laughed again, this time in an authentic tumbling roar. I was a little surprised quirked and eyebrow. "What?"
"That's never stopped you before."
I smiled in spite of myself and shrugged. "What the hell, lets have him out with us then."
The next week I was cursing Rubisell's name silent in my head as Edgar and I stood outside the cineplex awkwardly. Rubisell was nowhere to be found and his phone was mysteriously turned off. He had set me up, that clever son of a bitch. I was outwardly perturbed while my stomach reeled with nervousness and my heart resounded in my chest and ears like boot steps marching on pavement. After another ten minutes of calling him repeatedly and the weird moments between the phone calls that consisted of broken and uninteresting light conversation, I decided to give up on Rubisell, knowing that he had ditched us ON PURPOSE.
"Well," I began in a sigh. "I honestly don't think he's coming."
Edgar gave a little smile and shook his head in agreement. "I don't think so."
"Well, should we just go see the movie ourselves then?"
Edgar shrugged, hands in his pockets and said, "do you want to?"
"Eh, not really."
"Okay.." he awkwardly agreed.
"But-" I quickly responded, seizing the opportunity to spend more time with him, "we could do something else. I don't like movies when meeting new people. We can't talk to each other in the movie."
Another smile, those beautiful and perfect ivories of his momentarily stunning me. I regained myself and scratched my head. "What would you like to do?"
"I like Balboa Park."
"Yeah? Me too. You wanna go?"
He agreed and we made our way to my car and were walking together in the park ten minutes later. The clouds overhead were omnipresent and heavy with rain. I feared they would suddenly release their loads over us, but I certainly did not want my chance to get to know this beautiful creature in my company, so I chanced it.
We talked about our lives, where we were from and how we came to live in San Diego. I learned that he was originally from Nayarit, an area of Mexico close to Guadalajara and known to be very beautiful. He was twenty years old and worked as a cook in an upscale restaurant in Hillcrest. I was impressed with his understanding of my English and how he manipulated our conversations between Spanish and English. It created a greater understanding between us, as I was developing my Spanish at the time and he had no American friends to speak the language with. I suddenly became very comfortable in his presence, as he was very humble and mature. His aura was also very soothing and his questions polite and sincere.
We entered an area of well-trimmed grass used for lawn bowling. The sprinklers has been activated and were monotonously spraying the lush green expanse. There were several ornate benches positioned along a small brick wall that served as a border between the park and the lawn bowling area. We sat and talked some more, both of our eyes gazing out onto the dark green patches. Suddenly, and without warning, the sky opened up and the rain came upon us. Stunned, we stood. However, instead of running back to my car, I simply stood there. The rain.. The rain! I loved the rain! I was from Portland- I missed the rain. I laughed and looked up, my face instantly becoming soaked. When I looked down Edgar was smiling at me. The smile was not the same as before. This time it was significantly more affectionate, and I knew he understood.
He was quick as a rabbit as he ran headlong into the sprinklers and within seconds he was drenched to the bones. I joined him and together we ran through the sprinklers. We laughed and gingerly touched. Eventually he came to me, arms spread, and embraced me in a running hug that sent me into the water-logged grass. He then straddled me as I lay there sprawled on my back, and kissed me in the puddles and much. It was a very light and delicate kiss, but one burning with so many desires and passions and genuine feelings. I was elated and immediately became warm.
We made our way back to my car, hand in hand, our useless coats dangling from our free hands. Once inside my Volkswagon, we stripped to our underwear and turned on the heat. The windows fogged and we were encased in our own warm, wet world; kissing and embracing with earnest and innocent touches that were meant to explore more than our bodies. Eventually, we fell asleep in the back seat, locked in each others' arms.
From that point on I've not dated other boys. As you know, I escort, but I consider it (in a perverse way) business rather than pleasure. I can disassociate what I do with Edgar with the events that happen when he is not around and I am getting paid. I've never felt bad about it and I have explored it from many different angles, often enlisting the mental help of some of my brighter friends. The general thought is that I have built up such a barrier to love that I am not truly in love with Edgar, and instead I am comfortable and content with what I have with him. There must have been something deeper, I knew, but at the time I did not know how to reach those fathoms.
Now, as the door is opening and Edgar is coming through my apartment door, my thoughts are brushed away and I am filled with delight. He is as beautiful as ever, and this is the first time that I have seen him since he returned from Mexico City for his stint in Fashion Week there. I ran to the door to greet him and ushered him in, taking his backpack from him and hanging his jacket in the closet. We sat and talked for a while. He told me of what he did in Mexico City, of the museums and history centers he visited and the interesting people that he met. I listened and asked questions, genuinely curious of his activities. It has been nearly three weeks since he had left and I missed him very much. I wanted him to continue talking. I wanted him to do something, anything. Sex was irrelevant at this point, especially when considering that we didn't have sex of any kind with each other until we had been together for almost three months. His presence was what I desired, and now that I had it anything that came with it was incidental.
Edgar was curious as to what I had been doing while he was away, as well, and insisted that I tell him everything. I spoke of work, friends, parties and Hollywood events that I had been invited to. When I had finished with my stories, a moment of silence fell over the two of us. Our eyes met and stayed. Suddenly, Edgar moved toward me, taking my hands in his. He inhaled sharply and began to speak.
"Jonathan, te amo mas que todos. When I was away I could only think of you and how beautiful and good you are to me. I want you to know that everything you have done and do for me so appreciated." He then kissed my hands and began to speak into them. "We are so very different, but that is what makes me respect you so much. You have everything you need right now and you are so young. Your energy is incredible and I feel like I am a small person around you. You are creative and talented and can be friends with anybody. I feel that you will spread your wings and fly without me, and I do not want that to happen. I love you too much, I love you more than anything and I want to be with you forever. I mean it, Jonathan."
I was frozen. Part of the reason I was so comfortable around Edgar was because he didn't get too deep with me. He was a superficial fantasy life, a trophy boyfriend worth loving for that reason and that reason alone. Sure, I'd helped him out with money and financed the last week of his trip in Mexico City, bought him Louis Vuitton and pay for all of our dinners, but that was because his purpose was being served. He was the trophy, and trophies need to be polished. Now, though, things were changing. Not only was the shift apparent in how he felt but suddenly I felt very peculiar. Instead of shutting myself up emotionally, I felt the walls around my heart begin to crumble. Edgar's words had sent a small tremor into the very foundations of my defenses and set off a chain reaction of decay. My fortifications were quickly dissolving.
I took my hands from his and held them in the air for a second before burying my face in his chest. It was then that the tears came. I burst open with emotion and clutched at him while I sobbed, my hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and back. I wanted to tear him into pieces for making me feel this way, to make him suffer as I was suffering. It had been over a year since I last cried, and I had been desperately afraid of the pains and weaknesses that sadness brought. And now, after so much hard work at making myself solid and strong, here I was doing the very thing I'd vowed to myself I would not do.
"I'm fucked up." I cried into him.
"I know." He whispered, hands wrapped around my head and pressing my face deeper into his wet and warm heartbeat.
I shook my head. "No, I'm really fucked up. Really, really fucked up."
"I know, Jonathan," he reassured me, "but that is part of your beauty. Your clever madness, the burning anger inside of you that gives you purpose and drive to better yourself."
I continued to cry. I could not help it and the tears flowed from me. The next moment, as Edgar held me and stroked my neck and whispered sweet things into my hair, my heart lifted. I suddenly felt myself ascending out of my sorrow and into a state of calm. The tears were still there, but my anger was gone and my sadness alleviated. I was free now I realized. I was truly in love with this boy. I loved him for who he was in his entirety, and had no reason to ever doubt my feelings for him. In fact, it became apparent that I loved him from the first moment I laid eyes on him. From the second that his dark orbs reflected in my own baby blues'.
"You are the only person that I do not hate in this world." I said into him, my eyes closed and dripping. He was silent and only tightened his arms around my skull for an instant. At the time I was speaking the truth. It is not true to say that I hate everyone all the time. But, in that moment in time I hated the world for giving me an excuse to close myself off to such a beautiful creature as Edgar. I had not been fair to him, I had not given my heart to him when he needed and deserved it more than anybody. I lied to myself and reasoned that it was not going to last, that this certainly was not the real deal. I was so sorry, and I told him so many times while we were embraced like that.
That night we made love for the first time. We've had sex before, but we had never truly made love. Every sensation I felt was heightened to a new, ecstatic degree. Our mouths weaved a song of passion while our bodies told the story of our love.
I know now that I am truly and deeply in love. This picture was taken the next morning. It's the first picture we've ever taken together in the five months that we have been together. He is beautiful in every sense of the word and I there is no limit to my love for him. He has completed me and this I am sure of.
I am not sure how to explain my love for him, and at the same time continue to escort. It makes no sense to the rational mind, but I am far from rational. This much is very obvious now, as you might notice. I have yet to see a client, but I am almost positive that when I do I will not feel bad about it. Such a paradox, these little idiosyncrasies that I have.
