My name is Jake, at least it is to you. For those of you that haven’t met me yet, I’m a gay escort. Men, email and ask to meet for sex. After the sex is done, I clean up, get dressed and head back to my home.
But the best part, the part that never grows old is the approach. I’m given an address, and a time. Sometimes a room number, sometimes an intercom code.
I travel to the hotel by public transit. I enter through the large front doors, gliding past the door men and bell hops. The front desk clerk recognize a person at work, gives me a nod and a smile. I smile back with a devilish glint in my eye. He presses the button under his counter and the glass doors to the elevators slide open.
I ride the elevator up the shaft to the 9th floor, sharing the trip with 2 other people. You feel a rush that only comes from knowing you’re about to do something that your fellow passengers would pass a not so positive judgement on. But they have no idea. The only person who can judge you, is yourself.
Step off at floor 9, wish the others a good night. Little do they know that when the return the nicety, my good night ends with an envelope filled with a couple JA MacDonalds.
917, the end of the hall; corner suite. Must be a great view. I knock and wait. That moment from the knock to the opening of the latch, that time that seems to last for ever, that is the part that keeps me coming back…