A Consumer's Guide to Male Hustlers Read Free Page A

extremely passionate. I suspect he had a drinking problem, which he tried to hide.
    As with my Mexican sex partners, I looked forward to seeing Albert: not to get off and get it over with, but to be with someone I enjoyed looking at and having sex with.
    We saw each other every few days. Sometimes, he stood me up. Maybe he was drunk on these occasions. When that happened, I would go to the hustlers' corner and pick up someone else I liked. Albert and I always had a good time. I liked his shyness, and he was happy that someone was ready to listen to him and take him seriously. I had just acquired my first TV set. Albert stayed at my place until late in the evening watching programs he enjoyed, while I did my Spanish homework at the other end of the room. I took him out for dinner a few times. None of his other clients had done this.
    Fraternizing with hustlers—above and beyond what is necessary for sex—is considered by many as a sign of loneliness. In retrospect, was it loneliness that prompted me to befriend Albert, in a limited fashion, in addition to having sex with him? For close to three years I had coordinated public events, from dance festivals to political forums, and was not the least bit starved for social intercourse. It was physical intimacy that I was sorely missing! I wanted to unite these intimacies—something I had never managed to achieve until meeting Albert.
    I resigned my job at the community center expecting to leave for San Francisco within a few Weeks. But the paperwork for my visa did not go through for half a year. Finally freed from my high-profile job, I could do as I pleased in Toronto. Now I allowed myself to cruise Queen's Park regularly. I even met sex partners fairly frequently. But because they were only very marginally my type, I was not particularly interested in their company after the mediocre sex session was over. They, too, after the lukewarm session, were not eager for my company.
    With Albert it was different. We always had good sex, and, aesthetically, I enjoyed being in his company after we were done. Most of the time, he watched TV. While I was doing my own work, I was pleased that such an appealing guy was in the same room with me. For his part, my place was more cheerful than his own shared accommodations, and I did not argue with him about which program he could watch.
    I liked Albert as a person, and was happy to add a social component to the sex act. I certainly did not buy his time. I did not have the wherewithal to do that. Albert must have had a pretty good idea of my financial circumstances. After all, I lived in a furnished studio apartment.
    After seeing Albert regularly for a month or so, I fell in love madly with someone I had met socially. His name was Joel. He was a few years younger than I, and, to my surprise, of fair complexion. As a matter of fact, he could have passed for my younger brother. Joel was a music student—an aspiring violinist.
    For some three weeks we saw each other as often as possible. It wasn't only that we had good sex. We went out of town together for a weekend, and took in two concerts and a few movies. Joel spent so much time at my place that I assumed he would move in with me. I started toying with the idea of giving up on moving to San Francisco.
    A few days into this affair, Albert called me for a date. I had all but forgotten about him. I informed him that I was dating someone and that his services would no longer be required. I almost told him, "See, I can get it on, for free , with a guy I like even better than you."
    It was just as well that I had not told Albert that. From the very beginning, Joel behaved strangely, as if he had mental problems. I chose to ignore it. One evening Joel came by and, in a very agitated frame of mind, told me, "I am seeing the world from the wrong end of the telescope. We have to stop doing what we have been doing!"
    "But what's wrong, Joel?"
    "I haven't told you. I am a patient at the Toronto Forensic