Saturday, November 17, 2012

10,000 Screaming Faggots

Trick number 12 has the largest dog I've ever seen, it takes up the whole sofa, snoring. Wait, do dogs snore? Actually, this dog might be larger than the sofa because the sofa is caving in, and the dog's head is hanging over the side; the dog hairs are everywhere and the whole living room smells like urine. Yes, let's go in the bedroom. Trick number 13 lives on Sean's street, and it's kind of spooky because when he comes to the door he actually looks like Sean. Yes, he is 20 years older but at first I'm wondering if Sean is playing some kind of joke on me, like why would this 40-year-old be dressed like Sean dressing like a 12-year-old, anyway, but then I remember that’s a popular look in Boston.

Speaking of Sean, did I tell you about her heels — yes, heels! She debuted them on our last visit to Avalon, or not the last visit but the one before — black heels, several inches tall, almost stilettos. I mean they don't exactly make her tall, but they do make her taller. Preppy boy with overcoat, in stilettos, honey, bring it on. Now she wears them whenever we go out, or maybe not at the bars but definitely at the clubs — I'll take that as a sign of progress.

            Trick number 14 wants me to come right over, but we're just about to leave for the Loft. So that's not number 14, but it does remind me to tell you about all the flakes, even though I guess in this case I'm the flake but no, really, like the one who keeps paging me, over and over, and then whenever I call him back he just wants to ask about my feet. Last time he said: Do they smell more like roses, or cinnamon? Then, the one who keeps calling to ask me if I’ll have sex with him and his girlfriend — I already told him no. If his girlfriend wants to watch, that's fine, but he'll have to give me an extra hundred. This time he wants a discount, because he and his girlfriend are planning on having a baby.

            Here's trick number 14: who knew that I would be spending so much time in Cambridge? It's the guy with the big black dildo again—the ones who tire me out the most are always the ones who call me back, that's why I never have any regulars. Trick number 15: mostly he just wants to talk about Ab Fab, he says this is his favorite episode so I try to pay attention for a moment. He keeps rewinding the part where Edina or Patsy or whoever that is in the zebra print coat leans over to some snooty gay couple and says, "Marlena and Judy rolled into one, is it?" I can't tell if he's laughing at the gay couple, or at Edina and Patsy, but at least he serves Stoli — yes, another cocktail, please.

            Trick number 16 keeps saying you didn't tell me it was pink. He means my hair. But I always tell them, it's part of my routine on the phone. He says: I thought you were joking. A hundred dollars to leave — I’ll count that one. The tricks in Boston are generally much friendlier than the ones in San Francisco. Or, not friendlier, but more polite. No, not polite, repressed. Yes, even the aggressive ones are repressed, like number 17, who asks me to stick my tongue out so he can see if I have any diseases, and then when I look in his medicine cabinet it's filled with pills. And 18, who keeps whining fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, even though I'm not the slightest bit hard. I prefer 19, who isn’t turning me on at all and they keep getting distracted by the sweat stains at his armpits, and that smell, until he starts rubbing my thighs, and then I'm wondering how it's this one who knows exactly what to do, how? Trick number 20 wants to do ecstasy together, but he's never done drugs, any drugs. He wants me to get the ecstasy — honey, I'll get it, but I'm not bringing it back.

The funny part is when I walk out on the street in my favorite neighborhood — yes, the South End — and I'm trying to figure out who's worse, the gay people who look at me like I'm trash, or the straight people who look at me like I'm going to mug them. But then there's some baseball cap realness tragedy staring at me, I figure it's just the usual straight boy getting ready to beat his meat I mean beat my meat I mean beat me so I keep walking but then from behind me he keeps saying hey, hey, and something makes me turn around, even though the straight boys do that all the time but it turns out this guy recognizes me from Avalon. Tells me he just smoked coke out of a TV antenna at Evan Aubergine's house, Evan’s in love with him and at least he gets free drugs, he's in Harvard Business School and he has to get through it somehow, and I'm not sure what he wants from me until he says: Can I suck your dick? Just like that — kind of funny and now I notice he’s hot in that tragic way, and then we're upstairs in his apartment filled with big brown sofas and Orientalist art but anyway afterwards I go to Luxor to meet Abby and there's Jason Fontana and one of his friends right outside. Apparently they’re trying to decide whether to go in because they don't have ID — of course, I say, of course — so then I guide them up the stairs and it turns out Sean is already there with Jon B and Richie so it's sceney as all hell, and where’s Abby?

But wait – did I mention that now that we’ve listened to that Michael Sheehan mix on our boombox at home about 50 times, we notice that the song isn't about 10,000 screaming faggots, but 1000. Although that's still a lot of screaming faggots, right? But now we're starting to wonder if faggots isn't even in the original song, and Michael is just mixing that over, which would be even hotter.



Anonymous said...

Girl, dogs snore even more than those tricks who pay you to just sleep next to them and cuddle. And those tricks always, always snore so loudly.

mattilda bernstein sycamore said...

Honey, don't remind me of those tricks!