January 13, 2016

I always used to dream about escaping my ordinary life. When everyone around me was fulfilled and satisfied by so little, I knew I wanted more; I wanted a life that exceeded expectations. I saw how society determined much of our lives, and I refused the idea of settling for less. Boundaries fenced me in; they wouldn’t let me navigate freely and experience what was around every corner. We only live one life, and I intended to make the best of it.

When I first left home, I saw all these possibilities and I felt like I was going places. However, I quickly drifted from my path and pushed things a bit too far by engaging in prostitution. I thought I’d move away for college and build a decent and respectful life for myself, but I wasn’t able to see the point in doing that. Conformity is boring. Everyone does it that at some point we become carbon copies of each other’s lives. Go to school, get a job, get married. The end.

Well, not for me.

I don’t really see why someone like me would decide to become a prostitute. I was definitely tempted by the money, the constant, thrilling excitement that resulted in sex. The whole thing played out like a game I thoroughly enjoyed. At some point however, I felt like it was draining me. It took a serious toll on me. It became too much. I think it took away the bit of humanity I had in me by turning me into a senseless robot, completely deprived of any sense of logic and an inability to process genuine emotions. I was dealing with strangers who resembled animals eager to act on their sexual instincts. Then again, that was the reason behind every encounter; I was the object of desire people flaunted their money at. I was there for one reason, and one reason only: to satisfy sexual needs. When you’re only seen as that, your internal emptiness is brought to the surface and is fully externalized to the point it becomes too obvious you can no longer deny it exists.

My prolonged escort job with Bastien Zieler took a turn for the worst yesterday: I’ve been spending the last couple of days inside my hotel room while Bastien went to work. It’s been snowing for three days straight, bringing the depth outside to more than eight inches. I felt so alone, so utterly alone; kind of rejected. I was too bored and lazy to go outside, but luckily for me, the massive hotel had an ethereal world of its own; it had various distractions ranging from an upscale bar, a world-class restaurant, a lavish spa, an indoor pool as well as a health club. It’s also steps away from Michigan Avenue and Millennium Park, but I didn’t feel like going out and trudging in the snow. Instead, I stayed in and took advantage of all the simple activities the lodgment provided. Yesterday, Bastien took the day off, and he was eager to spend it with me.

I’ve had a little too much to drink the night before so my sleeping was fitful. I woke up to him nudging me. When I got up, he was smiling. He seemed happier than usual as if some sort of miracle had happened; I knew it was because his club was finally ready to launch in the upcoming week. The snow had slowed down so we went out for lunch at Velvet, a luxurious restaurant dominated by plush furniture adorned in velvet and complimented by an engaging warm and inviting ambiance. The food was top-notch; nothing less than a masterpiece. A stroll through the deluxe mall next door followed. As we checked out each floor, I could sense something was off about him throughout; he became uneasy, distracted. He kept complaining about the smell of gas leak, something that obviously wasn’t there, or maybe I just couldn’t smell it. Either way, we kept going and he insisted on buying me a brown aviator leather jacket that I would’ve never been able to afford.

Back in our room, we made a go for it and had sex. Bastien savagely undressed me, pushed me to the bed and licked his way down through my chest and to my cock, his mouth opening and taking over it. Having a heavily muscled mature man at his peak service me ever so cravingly was more than I was hoping for. He fucked me on the bed before picking me up and fucking me again on the dinner table before moving me back to the bed. Halfway into our third round, though, I noticed a decline in his performance and his breathing became scarce, but as I was close to climaxing, I didn’t stop and kept on going, both hands firmly and heavily positioned against his chest. I humped him aggressively until I came, and everything went south right after when he made an alarming sound; his eyes rolled up and he went unconscious immediately. His whole body was stiff, and he wasn’t responsive. I checked for a pulse, and wasn’t sure whether there was one or not. I put both hands one on top of the other one on his breastbone, interlocking them, and performed chest compressions; nothing. I didn’t know what to do after that, so I called William and told him what happened. He asked me to pack my things and leave the room immediately while he notified one of his personal contacts who worked in the management department about the situation. The faster the cover-up, the easier it would be for the whole incident to go unnoticed.

An unforeseen drama tends to always happen when I least expect it, and that’s what makes it so baneful. I’ve always managed to keep focus, and earnestly believed in my unique, astounding capability of playing the part of Trevor Domvik so convincingly well. I’ve taken my role as an escort so seriously that it became so absurdly important in my mind. But I’ve finally realized that that wasn’t enough. The crisis, as well as Aurora’s and the one caused by Tye’s intervention in my private life that cost me my friendship with Ryan, have proved how much I was deceiving myself all this time thinking I had it all in my grasp. As it turned out, I only did when the mess was small and manageable, but the fact I keep finding myself in situations where the cracks are too big to handle only proves how far I still need to go to become the distinctively sharp and independent person I’ve always strived to become. It’s extremely frustrating and tormenting for me to know I’m still not quite there.

I felt myself crumbling down as the elevator reached the ground floor. When it did, I walked out, prudent and paranoid, eager to get to the exit. My entanglement widened as soon as I reached the lobby when, as I turned into the area, I saw Hilda coming in dressed in a sophisticated, fashionable navy attire with an expensive, medium-sized carry-on rolling on the floor behind her. My immediate reaction was to walk out at breakneck speed while avoiding any eye contact, but as soon as I prepared myself to dodge her, our eyes clicked. Although it was only for a fracture of a second, I knew I was screwed. I felt the air grow stale, and an intense, warm sensation took over my body, but I kept going. I pushed myself inside the revolving doors and to the outside. I was so distracted I didn’t pay attention to the few steps of stairs and ended up missing one which caused me to lose balance and fall backwards, hitting the back of my head hard once I landed. The surrounding crowd of people stopped, a doorman ran up to me, and I could hear clicks of her high heels approaching; one click, and my eyes closed, two, and they reopened to the sight of her. How we came to cross paths in this anonymous, big city so far away from home, was beyond me. It’s like the whole wide world unanticipatedly turned into a tiny fish bowl without any kind of prior warning.

Hotel staff was getting ready to call in the medics, and I had to persuade them I was fine to make sure that didn’t happen. They escorted me back inside to the lounge area where I sat down. In the meantime, I saw one of the hotel managers rush to the elevator followed by two employees; I knew William had informed them about the incident. Hilda asked me what I was doing in the city, and I told her I was here for a photography seminar. I thought that would be enough to erase any kind of assumptions or thoughts running through her head, but knowing how expensive the hotel was, I knew she wouldn’t buy it. I then directed the question at her, and she said she’s in town for a modeling gig for Stella McGraw, an incredibly talented and very well-known fashion designer whose company is based here. She then asked me what room I was staying in and I accidentally gave her the actual number of the room me and Bastien stayed in. I then immediately followed that with another lie claiming I was switching rooms because there was a maintenance problem with the bathroom in my unit. After she checked in, we both went up to her room. I was getting unbearable, painful stomach cramps at that point, and became really nauseous from the stress. I threw up twice, and she left the room to get me some medication from the lobby downstairs.

I’ve always thought of Hilda as my more sane and empathetic counterpart, but her sudden appearance was nothing but a burden; she was like a thorn to my side. Her presence made me grounded in reality again, and more wary about my actions. Moving away from home allowed me to re-establish myself as a different person, and since no one knew anything about me prior to my arrival, my behavior and motivations couldn’t be questioned. But with someone I have history with, it felt like my life had been interrupted, and I had to watch every move I made. Hilda was suspicious of me from the moment our eyes met, and when she came back, her attitude was different; she knew I was here for another reason, and she wasn’t going to give up on knowing what it was until she got all the information she needed; it’s like she was taking on the role of an obsessive detective, relentless and determined to get answers to her questions.

My initial instinct pushed me to act sick, tired and to minimize our talk, but I soon found myself more talkative as I tried to get the suspicions out of her. She said that on her way downstairs, she overheard two housekeepers chit-chating, saying a man was found naked and unconscious in his unit, pointing out the number, which made her connect the dots; she was assuming I was with him, even worse, that I had something to do with the state he was found in, but she didn’t really focus on that part. She was more concerned about signs of proof I was sexually connected to him. I rebuffed her claims and almost lashed out at the accusations before grabbing my stuff and storming out of her room. I left the hotel, and looked up nearby, cheap hotels on my phone before receiving a text from William, assuring me that Bastien was fine and that everything has been dealt with. He made sure a key for another room was left at the front desk in my name. That put me back in state of immediate relief as I walked back inside and headed to my room.

The next day, I went down for breakfast, and Hilda was sitting alone at a table overlooking the river. I was torn between avoiding and joining her, worried I might be further interrogated if I did. However, I thought I’d sit down and talk, hoping she was no longer hung up on knowing the real reason I’m here; maybe if I faced her instead of running away from her that would prove to her that I have nothing to hide. I walked up to her and sat down at her table, and she was glad I did. After a nice exchange, she expressed to me her frustration by my elusiveness during our previous encounters to which I obviously had no response. My reticence annoyed her, though, and she became reluctant again to get the answers she needed. I snapped at her, urging her to drop the subject. She didn’t appreciate my violent reaction and after a short pause, she said:

“There’s a lot of anger in you, Felix. I couldn’t see it before, but I see it now.”

Her eyes were filled with disappointment, and right after she said those words to me, she got up and left, leaving me alone to stare at the frozen and bleary view of the city.

That wasn’t how I wanted things to proceed, but she gave me no other choice; the main reason behind my defensiveness had nothing to do with my sexuality but more with the fact she wouldn’t stop poking around in my life for personal information I didn’t want to share and I certainly didn’t have to justify why. Although I wouldn’t have cared if she found out I was engaging in sex with men, I admittedely didn’t want her or anyone else to know I was involved in prostitution. I’m very confident and flexible with my sense of self and that goes back to my ambivalence in regards to social norms, moral values and sexual orientation. While most non-heterosexual individuals find it extremely hard to fit in or admit to the world which gender they’re attracted to, I didn’t seem to have a problem. I definitely went through a phase of confusion when my sexual desires kicked in, but I quickly realized I had no sexual identity, no sense of shame and no emotional attachment. The only reason I hid and still hide various parts of me is strictly to protect myself from being stigmatized, judged or rejected. It’s highly important that the world accepts me even though I’m constantly hiding behind a constructed version of me.

Prostitution, for the most part, was a uniquely narrowed insight into what’s it’s like to be a sexual human being. It allowed me to see things from a very specific and detailed perspective; you delve into people’s lives, witness their vulnerabilities, their hopes and fears as well as their deepest secrets and perversions. As I threw myself deeply into each encounter, I’ve managed to make each client open up and unravel themselves to me by unlocking their brains and admitting things they wouldn’t normally admit. There was a thrill and excitement behind each discovery that always put me in a state of arousal. Although I was in control, I’ve lost touch of the person I was turning into by putting a lot of focus on other people’s lives. I tried to focus on the sex, but half the time I couldn’t bring myself to enjoy it. I still did it hoping that my absence of emotion could be substituted with sexual stimulation, but that didn’t work. I would touch human skin but feel no warmth. I would kiss lips but only pick up the scent of air and dirt. My experience with people in sex is as if I’m alone; There’s no connection, just body contact. I see them either above or below me, and I think about what they could possibly be feeling and why.

I get nothing from connecting with another human being, so what does everyone else get?

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