After a bit of cajoling from Adam, I finally let him see a picture of my cousin from Faebook. Adam, in all his infinite wisdom regarding all things gay, claims he can tell a person's sexuality based on a mere photograph.
Of course this wasn't a proper experiment, seeing how I'd already told him about my cousin coming out to me. But as soon as I pulled up my cousin's Facebook page, Adam nodded in agreement and told me I should have been able to tell straightaway.
"And how's that?" I asked. "Are there such things as gay eyes?"
"No," Adam continued, "but there is such a thing as gay-face."
I rolled my eyes. Gay-face, as far as I know, is a term that gay men often use to describe common facial features they share. A tightness around the eyes and mouth is one, as are "sparkly" eyes and a too-wide smile.
Mainly, gross stereotypes that any heterosexual such as myself would be shunned for saying. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Adam can be the most homophobic person on the planet. The fact that he sucks cock himself seems largely inconsequential.
"Well, thank you anyway for all your help," I said. "PFLAG especially -- they had a lot of good information for family members."
For some odd reason, Adam began to chuckle. That "chuckle" soon grew into full-fledged laughter that sounded like a hyena in heat. I'm not saying my laugh is any better -- Rebecca used to describe it as explosive -- but he was really losing it. Confused, I waited until he regained his composure to ask him what was so damn funny.
"Come on, you're telling me you don't remember?"
"Oh Christ," I said. "Adam, that was over a year go."
"Still, you banged a lesbian during your first month at work!"
"I didn't 'bang' her, dumb-ass. She told me to go, remember?"
All right, here's how it went down: I'd been working for only about a month and was still getting used to the whole having-sex-for-money thing. My agent was patient, understanding, and gradually increasing the amount of clients I would see -- and she always did a good job in terms of screening.
However, her screening process didn't seem to account for women questioning their sexual orientation.
The women I met with was what many would call a "lipstick lesbian". I apologize for the crass stereotype, but she was very, very feminine. So feminine that I would have never guessed that she was questioning her sexuality, or that she'd hired me to help her with it.
We never made it that far. After I stripped nude, I crawled into bed with her and began kissing her on the mouth, neck, breasts, etc. But when I made the move to slip on a condom, she pushed her hands against my chest and told me no.
"No?" I repeated. "Is something wrong?"
"God, I'm so sorry. It's just -- I can't go through with this."
"Um, all right then. We can wait a bit, then maybe you'll feel better--"
"No, it's not that. I... I like women."
After we were both dressed, we discussed everything. She'd broken up with her fiance after having an affair with a woman at her workplace. After that'd ended, she tried telling herself the affair was just a fling. My God, she wasn't a lesbian. No way. Just a fluke.
I suppose bedding a handsome man (her words, not mine) would give her a final solution to the manner. I can't say I was really hurt, seeing how she liked women. And she even insisted I keep the money. Not too bad at all.
I know I must sound like a broken record at this point, but escorting is not just about sex. If it were, all my clients would just rent porn and masturbate at home. No -- escorting involves something more, a kind of one-on-one interaction that might end with sex but can include a whole lot more.
And just a general announcement, my blog isn't going anywhere. Rest assured, the adventures of this Man About Town will continue!