Sunday, December 27, 2009

I'm just a gigolo...

OK. The truth be told, I guess I was a gigolo at one time.

I wasn't trying to be. But a woman I had sex with paid me for my time. It started cuz I missed work, but then she kept paying. And at 19 I needed the cash.So I took it.

I got paid for sex. I guess I was a prostitute.

It started like this: I was single and 19 and looking for a girlfriend. Well, I had a girlfriend, I was also looking for sex (sorry Heather). My friends Catherine & Amy moved into an apt. in Groton, an old chicken coop, and it became party central (see the pix on my profile of me with a dumb hat and a maxi pad for context). We would read the Boston Phoenix & check out bands.

One night, we started reading the "Entre Nous" ads - the personal ads - in the paper. This one ad was a 31 yr old woman looking for, based on her description of a young metal kid, me. My friends goaded me into answering her ad, and I did. Then I forgot about it.

A week later, checking the mail at my parents PO box, I got a letter. From the woman, Linda.

She sent me the nastiest, sexiest letter in the history of the world. My 19 yr old ass was hooked. I wrote back, and we arranged a meeting.

Now, here is a weird aside.

Earlier that year, my bandmates & I went to a psychic in Orange MA. Named Zelda. How fucking cool. Zelda. Awesome.

Anyway, when she read my "future" from a deck of playing cards, she told me that in the next year, the names "Linda" "Richard" & "Michael" would be important. Plus a "paper" and "someone in a military uniform."

So, I leave work, (working for my dad, sorry dad) and go meet Linda at the HoJo Hotel above the Mass Pike in Newton.. We proceed to have only the kind of sex a 19 year old man can have with a 31 yr old woman who is apparently the horniest person in the world. Then I decided to complain that I was missing work. Then, Linda decided to write me a check for $25 for each hour I missed. 4 hours, $100. I protested, but she stuck it in my pocket. I found it later. Score.

I then proceeded to see her every week, each time she'd give me a check for $100. She was also married to a paralyzed Vietnam vet, and she said she'd tell him the check was for her tutor. And Linda justified fucking me by the fact that her husband was paralyzed, and couldn't do the deed nymore.

Yes. I slept with a married woman. Yes. I slept with the wife of a hero who fought in Vietnam. Yes. I accepted her cash for it too.

But it was great sex.

Here is the part where the psychic fits in. I thought what the psychic was talking about was my sister, being pregnant by a man named Richard, they lived at the Hotel Linda, and if Kelly had a boy, it would be named Michael, after Mick Jagger. (It was a girl and her name is Elizabeth).

But, even though I don't believe in that psychic shit anymore, I was fucking a woman named Linda, her husband, Richard Michael (they called him Michael) was a vet (there the uniform comes in) and the "paper" part was either the ad in the Phoenix (called the REAL PAPER in the back section) or the check.

So, I kept doing it for a year.

She was strange. She loved that I had my hair dyed blonde, teased up like Vince Neil. She loved that I wore leather pants, or jeans, and a jean jacket with patches & buttons from heavy metal bands on it. She swore that I was large in the pants, and loved that. She swore I got her off and LOVED that. And she always smoked too much weed. So that means I did. And she got GREAT weed. So good that one night at Motel Linda, I was hallucinating so bad I couldn't "perform."

But she was weird.

The final straw was when my folks went away to take Scott to a BMX race in Ohio or something, and she came to our house to F me. She started going on about how she would love to take Scott's V-card at 14, and I probably should've let her, Scott would've loved what she woulda done. But I took pity on him, her being weird and all that.

A week later was my birthday - Memorial Day weekend - and she offered to pay me $500 to spend the weekend at Hampton Beach in a hotel with her, plus another $1200 in clothes for the weekend.

I said no.

I never saw her again. Well, until I saw her ad again in the Phoenix 2 yrs later. But that was one & done.

So, here is my memory of being a "gigolo":

Sitting in the HoJo's restaurant at the rest area on the pike, with only $4 in my pocket for a coffee & slice of pie, at 4am in a snowstorm, freshly fucked at 19 with a check for $100 in my pocket for said fucking.

Life may or may not have been good at 19. But it sure was interesting


  1. Bri,
    And to think I believed you about having an appointment with your therapist.

  2. You are a dirty, dickless, disgusting piece of shit. I think you like it when people tell you what a dirty ass crack whore you are, so I hesitate to write this, but more than that, I hate you, you ball-less, bald headed pieces of rotting flesh.

  3. That man that got me pregnant... his name was Richard Michael C______.


Step up to the plate & swing away