15 Boy Toys, Hustlers, and Boyfriends for Pay

We like to think that our boyfriends and partners are some mystical predestined soulmates, but in fact we often select them based on some quite mercenary factors:
1. Does he live far away?
2. Does he have nice roommates?
3. Will he be a a social asset, getting me noticed by the right people, invited to the right parties, invited to "share" by the A-list of the gay community?

Even: does he have money?  You can be persuaded to accept a mediocre physique, annoying personality, and inadequate penis if it means spending the night on sheets with a 1200 thread count and getting expensive presents when it's not your birthday.

The mercenary factors are most evident with three types of relationships:

Hustler: He's on the clock.

Boyfriend for Pay: Not literally, but if the gifts dry up, he'll likely head for the door.  He's not a hustler, but he sure ain't free.

Boy Toy:  He's with you mainly for the free dinners and late-model car, and you're with him mainly for the social status his hotness brings, but you like each other for other things, too.

During my 20s and 30s, I was a Hustler just once, and never a Boy Toy, that I know of.  But I met a few:


West Hollywood

1. The Kept Boy, aka Zack, who ordered a Flying Grasshopper at Mugi one night, got completely smashed, and tried unsuccessfully to have a three-way with us before we took him back to his wealthy boyfriend.  Definitely a Boyfriend for Pay











2. Scott, the Cute Young Thing who came to my Celebrity Boyfriend's post-Oscar party with a famous director, and nonchalantly cleared the dessert plates while naked. Boyfriend for Pay.

3. Benny from Basgo's.  He was a regular at Basgo's, the Hispanic bar, who made his living picking up bi-curious and downlow men, one or two per night, but went home with open gay guys for free.  Hustler.

4. Danny the Trophy Boy, who Lane dated before me: 19 years old, stunningly attractive, didn't do anything all day except watch Duck Tales, hang out with his friends, and buy clothes (55 shirts, 21 pairs of shoes, and 32 belts). Boy Toy.

I'm not counting Infinite Chazz, who started out a boy toy, but became one of the family.  He started calling me "Dad."  Still does.

Castro Street

5. The Nephew.  There were a lot of older, closeted gay men in San Francisco, who were afraid to come out, even in a gay neighborhood.  The elderly guy getting drunk on martinis at Twin Peaks introduced his companion du jour as his "nephew," even though they were groping and kissing each other.  Boyfriend for Pay











East Village

6. Claude, the super-hung English boy who was living in Ravi's gigantic house on Long Island, and hosted sex parties but wasn't allowed to do anything himself. Boy Toy

7. Barry the Colonial Williamsburg boy spent time in West Hollywood, working as a Hustler before an encounter with a Boyfriend for Pay convinced him to give up the life.  Hustler.

8.My roommate Edward, an older, rather fey art appraiser, had a "secretary" named Andrew Marvel (look it up).  The boy didn't have much to say, but then nobody wanted him for his sparkling conversation. Or his secretarial skills. Boyfriend for Pay. 

Florida

By the time I got to Florida, I was 40 years old, a twink magnet, with a car and a house (actually sharing Barney's house), old and well-off enough to attract Boy Toys of my own.  But I found very few.  Most guys either paid for the date or insisted on paying for their half.  The Young Republican had more money than me.

9. Darvon from Keokuk, who used the stereotype of a Midwestern farmboy (and the term Keokuk rhymes with) to draw clients.  Hustler.

10. Victor the Gym Rat, who "shared" us with his sleazoid Daddy.  Boy Toy












11. Yuri!  He had a Ph.D. in Atmospheric Science and spoke five languages, but the college adminstrator who started dressing him in $500 Gucci shirts didn't seem to notice. Boy Toy.

Dayton

Boy Toy relationships are rare in the Straight World: they can't increase your social standing among heterosexuals, who generally think of all gay relationships as inferior to their own.  Besides, they rarely notice, assuming that older-younger pairs must be father and son.

Upstate

12. The Satyr, about 60, fat, with the biggest Kovbasa++++ I have ever seen.  His housemate was a young, slim Asian guy who did the cooking and cleaning.  I was pretty sure that he was a Boy Toy.

13. Troy, my boyfriend for five years.  He wasn't really a Boy Toy, but he was extraordinarily cute, and didn't have a job for the first two years we were together.  I was paying for his rent, utilities, food, gas, and just about everything else, so all of our friends just assumed....




Plains

14. Jimmy the Boy Toy.  My Platonic friends were in their 50s, and their "housemate" Jimmy had a beautiful face and a gigantic Mortadella+.  They enjoyed sporting him around the gay community, even though they weren't actually having sex.

15. Jameer.  He was in his late 20s, some 20 years younger than me, but when we started dating, he insisted on paying for everything and giving me expensive gifts: "I want my man to look good."  I think I was the Boy Toy!

My West Hollywood Date from Hell: Me, Morris, and the BFF

West Hollywood, May 1994

I've always been attracted to men in business suits, probably because I saw so few growing up.  All of my friends' fathers worked in factories and wore coveralls, except to church on Sundays, where they put on the Ritz.

The preacher wore a suit (no Satanic clerical collars for Nazarenes!).  I spent countless hours watching him as he paced and yelled and pounded the pulpit in outrage, until his tight bulldog body was slick with sweat and his cock was very blatantly shifting back and forth in his pants.

Whew.

So when Morris (not his real name) showed up one day at the Metropolitan Community Church, I was enthralled.

He was in his 40s,  but distinctly old fashioned -- wearing a gray flannel suit in Los Angeles heat, complete with vest, pinktie, handkerchief in the front pocket and cuff  links instead of buttons.

Thick gold watch, pinky ring, slicked-back black hair, cologne.  Who was this guy, Humphrey Bogart?

The pinky ring and cologne were turn-offs, but not enough for me to avoid him during the after-service "coffee hour," aka the "cruising hour."

We didn't usually discuss our jobs in West Hollywood -- everyone made do on a variety of part-time and temp jobs while pursuing our various goals of acting, modeling, writing, or art.  But Morris asked first thing, and told us that he was a broker-sales-marketing something or other to do with business.  Yawn.  Other biographical details: he was new in town, transplanted from far-off Connecticut, he had only been out for a few years, and he was a non-practicing Catholic who had never been in a Protestant church before.

In other words, he was not at all assimilated into the gay community.

Well, we could work on that.

"You need the grand tour of West Hollywood," I told him, "The bars, the Different Light, Mrs. Fields' Cookies,West Hollywood Park.  I'm meeting my partner and boy toy for lunch in a bit.  We could..."

"Thanks, but I have a lunch engagement of my own. Another time, perhaps?"

Thoroughly rebuffed, I retreated to the other side of the room and talked to other people until he was gone.  Then I walked down to the French Quarter, and waited for Lane and Infinite Chazz.

In May 1994, I was 33 years old.  Lane was five years older, shorter than me, buffed, bearded.  Our boy toy, called Infinite Chazz because he was infinitely attractive to everyone who saw him, was in college in Orange County, but visited most weekends.

It was very crowded, and the French Quarter was set up with mostly tables-for-two, so we had to wait about 20 minutes to be seated -- at a table only 20 feet from Morris!

"That's the guy I cruised at church," I told them.

"Whoa, bummer!" Infinite Chazz exclaimed.  "I mean, he's hot and all, but look who he's with!"

It was a woman in her late 100s, who was doing everything she could to appear under 80.  Black wig, heavily made up face with bright red lipstick, evening gown, dripping with jewels.  Mink stole in 80 degree weather. Eating a steak with a knife and fork.

Never before or after did I see anyone eating a steak at the French Quarter.  Or using a knife.  I didn't even know that they had full "cuts of meat" on the menu.

"Miss Mae West is still alive!"  Lane exclaimed.

"Or Aunt Clara from Bewitched," Chazz suggested.  "Or...I know, I know -- Auntie Mame!"

"Maybe Auntie Mame is his mother, Mommy Dearest Mame?" Lane suggested.

"Taking your mother out to dinner!" Chazz exclaimed.  "Sick!"

"Or maybe Mr. Morris is...a gigolo!  Dinner, dancing, a kiss on the cheek, make the dowager princess feel loved."

"I'm trying to read the menu!  Stop making me sick to my stomach!"

"All I know is, I dodged a bullet there," I said.  "That Morris is crazy.  Imagine, hanging out with a woman!"

We weren't gynophobic, necessarily, but we grew up with parents, friends, teachers, coaches, and pastors constantly screaming at us, "What girl do you like?  What girl?  What girl? What girl?", hour after hour, day after day, constant asserting that "You are attracted to women, like every boy who has ever lived!  Your destiny lies in a woman's arms!  Heterosexual romance is the meaning of life!"

So it was an enormous relief to be able to relax and not have to think about, talk about, or look at girls. Any mention of a woman, could re-open old wounds, ruin our mood, put a damper on the whole day.  We looked up to guys who could go through a conversation, a whole day, or a lifetime without mentioning anything feminine.  They had the power!

It wasn't easy.  You had to pretend not to see actresses on tv (Dynasty?  Isn't that the show starring John Forsythe?), omit pronouns when talking about your relatives (instead of "I'm calling my mother," "I'm calling my parents"), and call your pets "he," even if they were female.

Lane and I weren't that assiduous, but friendships with women?  No way!

I was going to let Morris slide on by, but suddenly he got up, arm in arm with his lady bff, and approached our table!

"Fancy meeting you here!" he said. "I'd like you to meet Mae."

Lane nudged me under the table.

We made introductions all around, but did not deign to shake Miss Mae's small, many-ringed hand. Touching a woman?  Absolutely not!

Then Miss Mae returned to her steak, but Morris stayed behind.  "So, Boomer, you mentioned a tour of West Hollywood. Will next Friday night be ok?"

I hesitated.  He was friends...or something...with a woman!  But he was attractive, sophisticated, and wearing a suit.  And he probably had a penis. I liked penises. Why not?

"Sure, that will be fine."  I gave him my address.  "Call for me at 7:00."

"Marvelous.  Um...will your friends be joining us?"  He leered at Chazz.

I looked at Lane, who didn't share my fetish for business suits.  "Well, I go to schul -- temple -- on Friday nights, but I'll meet up with you later."

Lane and I were allowed to date other people, as long as we got together for the bedroom activity, to participate or watch.

"I'l be going to temple with Lane," Chazz said.  "But I'm up for after-schul dinner and cruising."

"Marvelous."  He reached out his hand to be shaken, gave Infinite Chazz a wink (was that how they cruised in Connecticut?), and returned to Aunt Clara.






We spent the week discussing the logistics for my Friday night date.

I would take Morris to the Different Light Bookstore and then the Cafe Etoille for dinner -- the ritzy place would justify his wearing a business suit.  Then cruising at the Toy Tiger (the oldster piano bar).  We would meet Lane and Chazz at the Gold Coast after temple.

Since Morris was new to the gay community, a four-way would probably be too much for him, so we agreed that only Lane would be present for the sharing.  Chazz would take the guest room, and join us in the morning.

On Friday night, I put on the tie that I wore only to job interviews and funerals, so Morris wouldn't feel too out of place.

7:00.  I waited.

7:10.  No Morris.

7:20.  No Morris.  This was before cell phones, so I couldn't call.

7:30.  I started changing into my regular clothes so I could go out by myself, when there was a knock on the door.

Morris.  Wearing a cut-off t-shirt and jeans.  Not a business suit!  Well, at least he had a hairy chest and a nice bulge.

"Parking is a nightmare in this town!" he said.  "Mae is still looking for a parking place.  She'll be up in a minute."

Mae?  Up in a minute?

He kissed me on the cheek.  "So, what marvelous plans do you have for us this evening?"

Mae?  Up in a minute?

Browsing at the Different Light Bookstore.  Dinner at the Cafe Etoille.  Listening to old show tunes at the Toy Tiger.  A good night kiss on the cheek.  Morris, Mae, and me.

I did manage to go down on Morris later, but that's a story for another time.

See also: Sex in the Office: I Finally See Morris's Member.