A Consumer's Guide to Male Hustlers Read Free

reply was always the same: "But I do not dedicate myself to that" (meaning prostitution). With a great deal of diplomacy, we would agree on a reasonable remuneration, after many assurances on my part that the money was a contribution toward their families' welfare, not a fee for sex.
    It was quite a struggle for me stick to my budget. But it worked because it saved me from worrying that I was spending too much money on hustlers. I budgeted by the month. If my monthly budget was 300 pesos then, on the tenth of the month, only 100 pesos should have been used up. This way I knew that if I did not have the funds on a given evening, a few days hence there would be enough money in the kitty to go cruising.
    It took a number of trips to Mexico before I understood fully the alpha and omega of Mexican homosexuality: penetration . In Mexico, penetration has a symbolic significance that transcends the physical aspect of the act itself. Apparently, because my partners expected me to pay for sex with them, they did not impose the Mexican sexual code on me. On my first trip to Mexico, I got away without screwing or being screwed, which, for a number of reasons, I did not want to do then. Merrily, I climaxed by dry humping my partners. (This practice is also known as frottage.)
    My partners climaxed the same way, or allowed me to blow them. (In those days, they would never have blown me. They considered this practice a foreign barbarity. Many Mexicans still do.) It is absolutely inconceivable that, had I been Mexican, I would have been allowed to neither screw nor be screwed!
     
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    I had been working in Mexico illegally for five months. My papers could have been arranged but with a horrendous bribe. My legal status was precarious, compromising the school. I had to return to Toronto. I felt as Adam must have felt just before the expulsion from the Garden of Eden.
    In Toronto I found a job as the special events coordinator at a community center. I imagined myself to be in the public eye, and felt that I needed to be very circumspect. My cruising anxieties returned. I was as unsuccessful as I had always been there. Whereas in Mexico I had always found partners whom I liked physically, in Toronto I again had to make do with men I did not care for particularly. I assume that many of these men did not care much for me either. The inevitable result was always just a better-than-nothing encounter.
    Most of all, I resented the time I spent on unproductive cruising. I had a busy schedule at work. I continued my Spanish studies, took prerequisite courses for my master's degree, and held a part-time job. The long cruising sessions annoyed and frustrated me. Even then, I considered time a more precious commodity than money.
    In Mexico, all my contacts turned out to be hustlers. In Toronto, I had never encountered one. I assumed that they hung out at certain locations but I did not know where these were.
    I had lots of compensatory time off at work and used it twice a year for vacations in Mexico. With my newly acquired Spanish, I also traveled to Puerto Rico and Spain. In these places too I met hustlers easily.
    This feast abroad and famine in Toronto went on for a number of years. Then I obtained a position in San Francisco, applied for a visa to the USA, and resigned from my job in Toronto. Now I felt myself free from the imaginary limelight that had engulfed me at work. Free at last, I asked a fellow cruiser at Queen's Park where one could meet hustlers. Disdainfully, he told me the location.
    It was a street corner not far from Queen's Park. There, hustlers would congregate around the clock, though there was more choice at night. To my delight, ethnic minorities had some representatives on this corner. The third or fourth guy 1 met there became my "regular." His name was Albert. He was nineteen years old, skinny, and short. His blood was a cocktail of many ethnic groups, but the First Nation (Indian) predominated. He was very shy and also