Promisetown Tales
© Michael Walker
1999-2005

Bit 14
Max loved his work

Max loved his work.  After having been everything from a bartender to a law librarian, from a waiter to a mortician's assistant, from an actor to a technical writer; he'd given it all up one day when the stress (and boredom) of these vocations overcame him.  Laid up with muscular distress that not even intense psychotherapy and prescribed pharmaceuticals seemed able relieve, he decided to hire a massage therapist.

Now Maxwell Wellington was anything but average; so as he lay in his bed looking for a masseur in the local gay rag, he had a brilliant thought.  Why not, he thought to himself, kill two birdies with one stone; relieve his back tension and his sexual tension in one fell swoop.? 

Turning to the non-certified body worker section (which is where non-certified body workers had to advertise their wares right in with the male escorts), Max chose a guy who promised to take him around the world.  That sounded great and the price seemed right.  He called him up, chatted for a minute, and then walked over to his studio.

The man's studio turned out to be a condo in which he had apparently just moved.  There were boxes all over the place, unpacked, and the guy seemed distracted.  He had Max undress and lie down on a massage table.  Max did as he was instructed and the man began giving him a very poor massage.  Then, after about ten minutes of this, he asked Max if he wanted to do the deed.  Max, taken aback, said "Sure."

The man then proceeded to abuse his customer in several ways that were pretty much as badly implemented as the massage.  When it was all over, about ten minutes later, the man asked Max if he wanted to take a shower.  Looking back on the experience, Max realized that this was the kindest thing the man had done for him.  Hours later, Max found himself laying alone in bed thinking about the experience.  "I," Max said out loud to himself, "could do way better than that."   

For Maxwell Wellington, that referred to the entire experience and not particularly the baser aspects of it.  Max mulled the concept for almost a year before he could muster up the nerve to try to secure a non-certified massage customer.  He did it by placing a free advertisement on the Internet.

"And the rest is history," Max told Cynthia.

"So," Cynthia said to her newfound friend, "You became an escort just like that?"

"Well, no," Max answered, "I really did just want to do bodywork because I knew I could do a good job.  I'd been getting massaged every week for about three years running, so I figured I had the technique down.  I just needed to apply it to another person from the perspective of a body worker."

"And?"

"And then suddenly I had my first client.  He was a rather,” Max looked for the right word, large gentleman.  His personality was great and he was funny, but when I stood over him with massage oil on my hands, I found myself afraid.  Then, I just sort of dug in, so to speak, and began kneading his body."

"He was fat?" Cynthia asked.

"Obese, really.  But, like I said, he was charming.  A psychiatrist.  We discussed things like attention deficit disorder while I massaged him.  He liked my work so much that he had me come again the next day.  And the day after"

"But you were just doing massage?"

"Well, technically I was doing bodywork.  I had no certification so it would be considered illegal for me to call it massage.  And unfair, really, since there are folks who go to school for years to get certified."

"I see," said Cynthia.

"So I did bodywork on this guy, and it was great.  Actually, the fact that he was large helped me out.  I wasn't as nervous as I might have been because I knew that clinically there was very little I could do to help this guy's muscles.  They were buried pretty far under his fat.  During the second session it became apparent to me that he was mostly just appreciating the touch of another guy."  Max stopped talking for a beat and then added, "Or maybe it was just the touch of another human being."

Cynthia took a sip of diet coke.  "When did you switch to escorting?"

Max smiled.  "It took about four months, I guess.  So many of my clients began asking me for release."

"Release?" Cynthia asked.

"Yes, you know.  They wanted the ultimate relaxation."

"Ohhhhhh," Cynthia said as Max's words sunk in.

"Yeah," said Max, "At first it sort of offended my sensibilities.  I mean, here I was trying to provide a certain kind of service, bodywork, and there they were asking for sex.  I knew that was stepping over some line, only it didn't feel like a line.  It felt crazy for me not to do it.  So I checked around with other guys in the industry and came up with a new price."

"For release."

"Well, for escorting."

"What's the difference?"

"Well, babe," Max told Cynthia, "The difference is that I don't charge for favors of physical love.  I explain to the client that they're paying for my time and nothing more."

"Companionship."

"Exactly."

"Max," Cynthia scolded, "That is so bogus!"

"No," Max calmly explained, "It's not bogus.  The reality of it all, and I didn't know this until I actually tried it, was that very few of the people really wanted only physical release.  Oh, we both knew that it was an underlying goal for some of them, but not for all of them.  Some of my clients really just want to hang out."

"Hang out?"

"Yeah, hang out.  They're visiting Promisetown and they don't know anyone.  Or they really do need a massage session.  Some of them just like the thought of taking a guy out to dinner.  Often they need a shoulder to cry on."

"Max, are you trying to tell me that escorts aren't just providers of -- "

"No, my dear," Max told Cynthia, "I'm telling you that I don't.  What other escorts do is their own business.  I do know, however, that my clients enjoy my company time and time again, whether or not we do the dirty deed."

"And they pay you well?"

"I do all right."

"You must," Cynthia said, "You don't have a job."  The minute the words left Cynthia's mouth she knew she'd said the wrong thing.  "I mean," she stammered, "What I meant to say was -- "

"It's all right, Cynthia, everybody makes that assumption.  That if you're enjoying the work as much as I do, it's not a real job.  Better yet, unless you're providing some socially redemptive function you aren't really a productive member of society."

"Oh, Max, I didn't mean that."

"Sure you did, Cyn," Max smiled, "And I understand.  But you see, you don't really understand.   Like most people, you're looking at this whole thing from a very limited perspective."

"How so?"

"Well, you're looking at it through the shroud of misunderstanding and fear that people like you're parents no doubt taught you.  That I'm somehow damaging the people I work with.  Or that marketing and making money this way is evil or bad or worthless or -- did I say evil?"

"Twice."

"Good, that drives the point home.  But I don't see what I do as damaging, evil, bad, or worthless.  I’m not tearing the moral fabric of society.  It’s true some escort’s clients are married with children.  Some of them are teachers or priests.  Maybe some of them hate the fact that they're compelled to use the services of an escort.  But for me, it's just an important service.  Whether they’re men of color or men of the cloth, I treat them all with respect and with honor."

"Women too?"

"Men, women, sure.  I provide a service that stimulates people and offers them the opportunity to experience more than just the ordinary."

“You’re gay?”

“Yes.”

“Then how come – “

“Cynthia, try to understand that this is an avocation for me, it’s not my orientation.  I provide affection and banter and understanding where needed.”

"Max," Cynthia said, her brow suddenly furrowed, "This is all so complicated."

"Yes," Max replied, "It is."

"I think I'm going to need some time to assimilate what we just discussed.  I mean, before I can provide you with some feedback."

"Honey lamb," Max said in his most slick escort voice, "Take all the time you need.  I'm not going anywhere.  And besides, I don’t require feedback.  Friendship would be nice, though."

“Oh, Maxwell Wellington,” Cynthia said, “You’ve already secured that!"

“Good,” Max replied, “Let’s keep it that way!”

Author Notes