When the doorbell rang some 30 minutes back, I knew it was the home delivery guy with my dinner. The usual suspect, he grinned at me, and then arched his back beautifully to bend down to get my food packet from his box on the floor. A single fluid motion that made me grin, as I imagined him on the pole of a stripclub, but of course, this sullen scion of my Marathi-dominated neighbourhood would blink his eyes in terror and scamper away, had I had the temerity to inform him that i saw his future assured in a New York gay hooker club. And so, I kept my mouth shut, paid the delivery boy with the latent pole-dancing skills his due (plus a Rs 10 tip for the exhibit), and decided to write a blog post about the male hookers I have known in my o-so-boring life.
A gay gigolo comes cheap in good ole Calcutta, much cheaper than the Rs 1500 upwards rate that Delhi swears by. The boys in Calcutta are usually sweet and shy, but not when it comes to getting their jollies in bed. Yes, I've had sex with a hooker. Those were the not-exactly-misguided and terribly yummy days of my youth, when I decided to take the plunge and see for myself what the 'full body massage' advertised in the papers really meant. I wasn't disappointed, either. Enter honey-skinned, doe-eyed Bong/Maru Bang Boy, who spelt out his rates: Rs 200 for an ordinary massage, Rs 300 for an 'erotic' one, an extra Rs 50 for oral sex, an extra Rs 50 for anal sex, and yet another extra Rs 50 if his client expected him to orgasm. Quite an inexpensive menu, and for a callow youth such as me, it proved too irresistable an offer, and so I caved. I haven't exactly regretted, though.
Of course, I wasn't exactly the goody-two-shoes who would never err again - I still am not - and so that wasn't the end of my tryst with 'painted people' after that thrill of a First Experience. The thrill of a hooker was quite different from the random sex that I anyway indulged in, on a non-payment basis. The gigolo gene tickled me pink - it got me excited that in this position, I was completely and irrefutably in control. Call it a kind of a power trip, a mental kink - I enjoyed being the one who told the guy to strip when I wanted, to strip the way
I wanted, to touch himself the way I wanted, to touch me
the way I wanted... it all inflamed me. And, with the rental rates so low, and the quality on offer so much better than your cinematic Deuce Bigalow fare, that I saw little reason to stop.
... Until, of course, Boredom got to me. *sigh*
When I hit Delhi, I was informed that the hookers were far more handsome, and their prices were much higher. By that time, I was bored of the whole thing as well, and so I tracked the scene more as a voyeur, rather than a participant. I went to the weekly meat market (aka Pegs 'n' Pints
) and almost all of the big beefy Punjus or Jats I pointed at were said to be for sale, so I was all agog with curiousity about what the price tag was. My friends giggled and told me that most of saddi dilli
was for sale, but I refused to buy that theory, of course. I still hoped to find that one
hot guy who was not a hooker, who was actually boyfriend material. Turns out, even though I found several, my Delhi stint was not to last for too long. Anyhow, it's not as if Delhi turned out to be the gay Chippendales, at any rate - nor any of the seedy sex clubs and saunas that NYC and London boast of. In its own little way, Delhi remained the collection of Punjabil and Haryanvi villages it always was - and its hookers remained the sweet little (?) Punjabi and Haryanvi peasants who slipped on their Ps and Qs, and asked a discounted rate from you because they thought you were 'saxy'.
(Delhi being Delhi, that's when you haggled over whether you felt you deserved a 10% or a 20% discount.)
My fascination for the Bombay gigolo has similarly been from the sidelines, despite my observation (and appreciation) on the home delivery guy's catwalk moves. O, I've seen the obvious
hookers at the GB
parties, on the sidewalk in front of Voodoo's
, at 'The Wall' in front of the Gateway of India, and I've also seen the not-so
obvious hookers. And that second category is what gets me particularly interested. That's H
ature, really: number 1 is the fact that we all want what we can't get, and number 2 is that when we realise we can
get what we want, albeit for a mind
blowing price, it's somehow amazing for S
alue. That's when you see the hot guy dancing in the middle of the party, or the guy with the smokin'
profile in the gay chatroom, and then you realise that he's For Sale
, and if you had a couple of grands to tuck inside his g-strings, he'd let you pull them off him and do whateva the f*&% you wanna do to them and him!
A word of advice: most gay hookers these days prefer un
soiled currency. ;-)
Labels: bombay boy, lets talk abt sex, travelogue