Bought and Paid For

The difference between a prostitute and an expensive date depends on where the cash goes. 

If the money goes into your pocket, you're definitely a hooker.  If, however, your date pays for an expensive dinner, a nice bottle of wine, and tickets to a show, you're just an expensive date. 

But what do you call the guy who accepts a plane ticket, a $500, second row, center court seat at an NBA game, a trip to a luxury ski resort, and several extravagant dinners? 

I was that guy just a few months ago . . .

Back in early February, my friends BOB and Neo planned a weekend getaway trip to NYC. 

Having never been to NYC, I jumped on board immediately. 

Two weeks before we left, the three of us sat around BOB's house and planned out our agenda.  We ordered tickets to Mama Mia!, the Broadway show.  I'd heard great things about the Met (Metropolitan Museum of Art) and MOMA (the Modern Museum of Art), and wanted to check out at least one of them.  Neo didn't much care what we did as long as clubbing and drinking were prominently weaved into the agenda. 

The museums, show, and tourist trap planning were easy - anyone can find that stuff online.  However, none of us had ever been to the Big Apple, so we had absolutely no clue where to eat or where to go out at night. 

Determined not to miss out on any fun nights in the New York City gay scene, I logged into gay.com to get the scoop. 

Almost immediately, a forty-year-old investment banker in the Manhattan room sent me a "pvt" message. 

He was masculine, self-confident, and had an ironman competitor's body.  He'd been a part-time model from his college years until age thirty-eight, when his job intensified and he got a divorce from his wife. 

Although he had the face of a twenty-six-year-old, his gray hair gave him a distinguished air.  To give you an idea of what he looked like, imagine a much hotter, more muscular version of Anderson Cooper, the infamously-gay CNN reporter. 

"Anderson" and I chatted online for two days, until we were comfortable enough to talk on the phone. 

The conversations were fantastic, and we could barely wait to meet each other.  It got so bad that Anderson tried to get me to commit to staying with him in his penthouse apartment for an extra day or two. 

BOB knew how excited I was to meet Anderson, and told me that I better not ditch out on any friend-time to hang out with my mysterious Internet crush. 

But Anderson was persuasive. 

An aggressive multi-millionaire, he was used to getting what he wanted.  Through our lengthy conversations on the phone, Anderson figured out that I'm a sucker for basketball games.  It doesn't matter if it's high school, college, or professional--I love them all.  He made a couple calls and scored second row, center court tickets to a Knicks game for Friday night. 

How could I say no? 

I broke the news to BOB and received a warranted scolding for ditching my buddies, but then licked my wounds and started drooling over the game.    

DAY 1

Finally, after two long weeks of planning, we boarded the plane on a Thursday.  We arrived in the Big Apple and took a cab to our tiny hotel in Chelsea.  The weather in NYC was shockingly cold, but no amount of wind, rain, or snow could break our spirits. 

While Neo and I waited for BOB to get fully pimped out, I called Anderson at his office.  He knew we had dinner reservations at Vice Versa, a cool, eclectic restaurant in midtown (www.viceversarestaurant.com), and wanted to meet me there for a drink. 

I was hesitant, especially since I was already bailing on my friends on Friday, but I was curious to finally see Anderson in person.  So, I penciled him in for a quick drink between dinner and Mama Mia! 

After BOB, Neo, and I finished our delicious, surprisingly affordable dinner, Anderson called. 

"That's him," I say as I pick up my cell phone, which had been sitting prominently in front of my plate. 

"Well, get it over with, hooker," BOB said with a grunt. 

I laughed and flipped open the phone.

"Hey."

"I'm sitting at the bar," Anderson says.

He has a calming voice, but my heart is racing. 

A thousand thoughts are running through my mind. 

I'm finally gonna meet him.  I hope he's as cute in person as he is in the pics.  Please don't be psycho.  I hope he's attracted to me.  I hope I'm attracted to him. 

With a bit of liquid confidence from two glasses of Cabernet, I walk towards the bar. 

And there he is. 

Ball cap, jeans, a long sleeve shirt, jacket, and hiking boots.  Not your typical Manhattanite. 

More importantly, he's exactly what I pictured.  His angular jaw and cheekbones compliment his deep-set blue eyes beautifully, and his triathlete's quads flexed on the barstool beneath the thin fabric of his faded jeans.

"Hey.  Finally, we get to meet," he smiles.

I smile back and stare at the cute dimples that hadn't shown up on any of his photos. 

"It's about time." 

I sit down and lose myself in the handsome stranger sitting next to me. 

I lose track of time, and have to hoof it over to the Winter Garden Theater to meet my friends and catch the show in time. 

Anderson walks with me. 

Before we get to Broadway, we stop. 

"I really want to kiss you right now," he says. 

"Here, on the street?" 

"This is New York.  It's no big deal."

Before I can respond, he closes the gap between us, puts his hand on the back of my neck, and kisses me warmly with his soft, full lips. 

I forget all about the chilly February air as he pulls back and flashes a little grin. 

Without warning, he goes in for another kiss. 

I don't stop him.

"Meet me after the show tonight.  Please."

"I can't.  I've got to hang out with my buddies.  Tomorrow, though." 

"Come on," he says with the confidence of someone who always gets what he wants.

"I'd love to but-"

"Don't say no.  Just . . . give me a call later, o.k.?"

"Um, alright.  I'll do it."

I say goodbye to Anderson and walk the last half-block to the Winter Garden Theater.

Mama Mia! was really fun, but thoughts of Anderson lingered in my mind throughout the show. 

Neo had his heart set on going to Splash, a huge gay dance club, so after the show, we took a cab there. 

After spending $10 on cover and $30 for two luke-warm beers, I give Anderson a call. 

"Change your mind about coming over?"   

"I thought we were just hanging out.  You want me to come over to your place?" 

"Yeah.  What's wrong with that?"

I pause, not sure what to do.  After all, I'd just met this guy a few hours ago. 

Anderson isn't finished though.  "Matt, think about it.  You know me better than you know a lot of people.  We've talked everyday for two weeks.  Seriously, think about it."

He's right, I rationalize.  Why not?

"Sure.  Why not?  Should I take a cab over?" 

"Yeah, or you can take the subway.  I'm in Tribecca." 

I choose the cab. 

Minutes later, I walk into Anderson's professionally-decorated apartment. 

He gives me a quick tour before leading me into the kitchen. 

Anderson pours two glasses of red wine and hands one to me. 

Nervous, and feeling like a called-in male escort, I ramble something about BOB's antics at Splash. 

But Anderson isn't the least bit interested in the story; he has other things on his mind. 

He puts down his glass and slowly closes the gap between us. 

Anderson likes to be in control, and I don't resist as he kisses me softly again with his wine-tipped lips. 

Sheer electricity and excitement run through my body. 

I'd only met this guy a few hours before, and now I feel like I'm losing control.

It feels dangerous, and I love it. 

Anderson runs his strong hands down my lower back and pulls me toward him. 

I feel his manhood through his thin cotton pajama pants, and I'm completely enveloped by his firm limbs and soft lips. 

He looks at me with his sea-blue eyes and says, "Come to my room with me." 

I don't leave until the next morning.

DAY 2       

Friday morning, I took the subway back to my hotel in Chelsea, expecting a serious thrashing from BOB and Neo.

And, deservingly, I got one. 

I promised BOB that I wouldn't hang out with Anderson after Friday night, and I knew that it'd be an easy promise to keep since Anderson was going out of town on Saturday. 

I grabbed lunch in Union Square with an old co-worker while BOB and Neo shopped and got massages on Canal Street. BOB was in a particularly good mood after his massage, where he got naked while the Asian masseuse climbed on his back and rubbed him down with exotic oils.  Only on Canal Street . . .

That night, I bought Anderson dinner at Nobu, a Japanese restaurant in SoHo. 

Then, finally, we walked to Madison Square Garden to watch the Knicks play the Milwaukee Bucks. 

I'd sat in luxury boxes for several professional and college games, and in the cheap seats lots of times, but I'd never sat two rows off the court. 

It was absolutely awesome! 

The adrenaline of the players and fans was intoxicating, as were the four huge beers that Anderson bought for me. 

Something about basketball excites me, and I couldn't wait to get back to Anderson's house.  Anderson felt the same way, and said I looked sexy holding a beer and cheering for the Knicks. 

Anderson told me that he couldn't get enough of masculine guys, and wanted to rip my jeans and polo shirt off during all four quarters.

Later that night, we both got our way, and for the second night in a row, I didn't go back to my hotel room. 

DAYS 3 and 4

Anderson left town on Saturday morning, so I spent lots of uninterrupted time with my buddies for the last two days of the trip. 

Neo, BOB, and I checked out the Met and shopped in Midtown.  We dined in a cool Italian restaurant in SoHo and went out to the bars in Chelsea. 

Despite the fun I had with my friends, I longed to see Anderson one last time. 

I liked the guy, and honestly, sex with him was addicting. 

DAY 5 - 11

Starting on Monday, he called me several times a day. 

Apparently, Anderson wanted to see me again too.

He wanted me to fly back to NYC to go skiing with him.  He said he'd buy my plane ticket, he'd pay for the equipment rentals and lift tickets at Lake Placid, and he'd reserve us a romantic room in a luxury resort. 

I hesitated at first, feeling guilty about accepting so much from Anderson.  But I wanted to go skiing, and I wanted to see him again.   

I ultimately put my hesitations in the back of my mind and hopped on a plane to NYC that next Friday morning. 

Most of the weekend went really well; awesome, in fact. 

But on Sunday, while Anderson gave me a driving tour of Manhattan, my hesitations resurfaced, and I started thinking about the two weekends I'd spent with my handsome internet crush. 

I felt like he was a little distant too.

I think we both realized that, although we had fun together, and the sex was fantastic, nothing more "real" could ever develop between us.  We knew that a relationship would never work.  He'd never leave NYC, and I couldn't leave my job or my town for the next few years. 

He drove me to the Newark airport, I boarded my plane to return home, and haven't spoken to Anderson since. 

In the last few months, I've thought about Anderson.  I've wondered who he's dating and what he's doing.  But I haven't really wanted to see him again. 

I have no doubt that he feels the same way.

When I was with Anderson, I felt like more than an expensive date. 

But I never really felt like a male escort. 

Still, I felt cheap in some way, like I'd sold a part of myself to someone.  Perhaps it was because the sex, albeit good, was meaningless. 

Maybe it was because I knew that Anderson and I could never have anything truly meaningful. 

Is there a middle ground between being an expensive date and being a prostitute? 

Can someone really exist in that gray area, and exist there happily? 

For me, I stopped being happy with Anderson when I realized that a relationship with him would never work . . . that we could never be anything more than two guys experiencing a romantic, lust-filled weekend. 

It was at that point that I felt cheap accepting his generosity.       

Comments

[Abnitude (posted by Chad via email request)]

i think everyone prostitutes themselves for something at some time in their lives. we all do things and get a payout in return that we may not feel we deserve. i don't think you should feel like a cheap hooker at all. you should count yourself among the lucky ones who met someone who is able to live a lifestyle that most everyone else dreams about. because of "andersons" ability t be extravagant, i think you took a different twist on the situation presented to you. yo were at the right place at the right time meeting anderson on gay.com and then hitting it off with him. use the time you spent with anderson as a great opportunity to live a fortunate life. if anderson was telling you the amount he was spending and then telling you what he deserved in return, then it would change what you did. i don't think that's the case for you. it was a great story too...i hope the skiing was good in lake placid..i have done that a few times and its always worth the trip

[pelleas]

Well, I didn't think it possible. But with this blog you just surpassed an already remarkable threshold for shallowness. Let's see, a trip to New York, the cultural center of the universe, and all you can say for yourself is Splash, "Mamma Mia," and "checking out the Met"? Dude, when will you learn? Forgive me for sounding rude, but you seem stuck in a superficial gay vacuum of trivial club nights and meaningless sex. No wonder why you feel a little cheap. We've all been there, but it sounds like you need a little broadening of your cultural and social horizons.

[Synrgy]

Urban... Sounds like an incredible experience, and if it taught you something about yourself, others, or is just a great memory to pull up every now and then, then awesome... Thats what life experience is all about. I don't think you're shallow, superficial, culturally or socially inept, nor do I think you're a hooker (lol) I think you are experiencing life.

[Jay]

I don't think you're a hooker or an expensive date. You demanded nothing from him and he asked for nothing in return.

In fact, we all sometimes get so caught up in the moment that we fail to grasp reality. Once reality set in, things ended. It's life.