A gay sex story: Cheap Bus Fare
Most people have a plan. I did. To get the fuck out of my podunk South Carolina hometown. That was it. Nothing else. Just to leave my hometown and everyone in my life behind. I left the day after I graduated high school. A note on the counter told my parents how I felt about them. I was young and didn’t realize it was bad to burn bridges back then.
I chose Miami purely out of financial concerns. Greyhound had a discount in fares to Miami and it was much cheaper than any other big city destination. The ride gave me time to reflect on myself. I had achieved the one life goal that I had, leave Anderson. Now I had to figure out what to do with the rest of my life.
I wanted to go to college, but didn’t have the resources to attend. I was good at writing, and was interested in it. My parents had planned my life before I was even born. These were the first true steps of my own. It was exhilarating to just have a choice.
It took some searching, but I found the cheapest and dirtiest motel in town. I wasn’t searching for the dirtiest, it just went hand in hand with cheapest. Prostitutes operated out of the motel. Drug addicts were all around. Police sirens sounded at all hours, frequently. Overdoses seemed to be pretty common on and around the property. I stayed in after dark and mostly kept to myself during the day.
I never questioned my sexuality. I knew that I liked men for as long as I could remember. I liked my older brother’s friends when I was little. I liked our neighbor when I was in middle school. The first time that I masturbated was watching him in a pair of shorts and no shirt mow the lawn. I had crush on the dad’s of my friends in high school. I knew I wanted to be with an older man in his late forties or early fifties. I didn’t find men any younger than mid forties to be attractive.
My parents figured out my sexual orientation very early as well. They were very religious. I was punished whenever they thought they saw me look at another male. They frequently accused me of being in relationships with boys my age that were just friends. They sent me to Bible Summer Camp for at risk youth. The at risk meant gay or suspected gay. It was similar to being at home really. The only difference was it was a pastor punishing me instead of my parents and, well, he had a larger audience.
I had done a lot of thinking about my preferences. The added bonus about older men was they were established in life. They had a house and a car. They probably didn’t have kids so they had disposable income. I wasn’t looking for a man to pay me for sex. I wasn’t looking for expensive gifts. I just didn’t want to work a
normal job. I wanted to be a homemaker. I liked to cook and didn’t mind cleaning a house. I did hope that they would help me with college, but that wasn’t a dealbreaker for me either. I was interested in travel and hoped I would get taken on trips. That was the extent of it.
I truthfully had no interest in anything more than having a live in boyfriend of means that handled the finances and liked to travel. Was it wrong of me to desire that type of arrangement? Most heterosexual woman have no issue with revealing that they desire that and even more, and nobody thinks anything wrong of it. Especially back in the mid nineties when I moved down to Miami.
I befriended a young man who lived at the hotel. He was a several years older than me and lived at the motel. He was attractive, but had a crippling addiction issue. He sold his body at night and usually had spent all of his money before getting back to the motel.
“What do you do at night, Andre?”
I knew what he did, or at least thought I did. I just wanted to hear his story.
“I walk the side streets and get in cars with men.”
“Do they have sex with you?”
“That’s the point.”
“Do they want to stick it in you, or do they want you to stick your in them?”
“I’m usually the bottom, but some of them want to suck my dick before they fuck me.”
“Do you enjoy the sex?”
“No. It’s not my thing.”
“How long have you been doing this?”
“On the street, a couple of years. I used to be a cabana boy. Old rich men would take me in the pump room by the pool. They would walk out with a smile and I would walk out with three hundred bucks.”
“Three hundred dollars? That’s how much men pay you?”
“Not anymore. I usually get ten or twenty now.”
“Did you ever date any of the men?
“I ain’t gay, man. I let dirty old dudes do things to me for cash, but I only date women.”
“Gotcha, I’m sorry.”
“Lots of old men in this city would kill for you. Small, cute, pretty face, very skinny with a big bubble butt. If you ever wanted to sell your ass to the highest bidder, you should go to this little club on the beach that I used to work at. The night crowd is mostly straight and young. The day crowd is usually older with a lot of gays. I’ll give you directions. Go to the beach side bar. Order a club soda at the bar and just be seen. Wear a tight pair of speedos to draw attention to yourself. Don’t approach anyone. Most of them are going to try to get you to come to a pool party or to dinner, just play cool. Those guys want a young boyfriend. Someone will eventually offer you five hundred to make their cock erupt like a volcano.”
Andre gave me the directions. I had been working on my tan by laying on the motel roof. The access was off the front balcony hallway and wasn’t locked. I bought a tiny Speedo. I oiled up and went there on a Thursday, just after lunch. It was easy to find.
I ordered a club soda with a lime. I sat on a lounge chair by myself. I read a Kurt Vonnegut book. Men looked. Girls in thong bikinis walked by. Old men followed cabana boys and girls to different places. I felt like a million eyes were on me. There were plenty of good looking men, but it was definitely a mix of gay and straight. The straight people were probably oblivious to the gay ones.
I had decided, especially after talking to Andre a few times, that the only ways to meet richer men for dating was through networking or get invited to a party. Some of these men were out, but many were not. Most would definitely be shy of having a picture of themself in a gay club in the National Enquirer. These men were careful. They met and courted their lovers at private places.
“I haven’t seen you around here before.” A tall and large man in a button up short sleeve shirt and pink shorts said to me. He shirt was unbuttoned nearly down to the belly button on his large belly. He was probably six feet tall and three hundred pounds. He wore a Rolex. His beard and hair were immaculate. He wore Persol tortoise sunglasses with blue lenses.
“I haven’t been here before.” I said, trying to play it cool.
“I’m looking for some fun, today. How does a thousand dollars sound? Sound about right?”
A thousand dollars was an unfathomable amount of money to me, but that isn’t what I came there for. I rolled my eyes and looked away.
“I’d rather have my self respect.”
“Good answer. Very good answer. May I sit?”
“Umm… Sure.”
“You’re not from around here, are you?”