Hustling isn’t easy. It takes mental and physical grit to be able to deliver a satisfying sexual experience night after night. I know this better than anyone. Many young hustlers think it’s easy, but it’s only easy when you’re like me. When your feelings are totally cut off, when you can’t experience any connection and be able to completely dissociate yourself from the sexual act; that’s when you’re free, and that’s when you can keep going without causing yourself any psychological damage. But even the best of us can have their own set of lowdowns. Many nights I’ve found myself feeling empty, but the feeling usually passed so quickly I’ve continued doing it for months until I’ve finally decided to stop. I was lost, had no friends and was desperate for money. I never thought I’d survive it.
The world of prostitution is filled with danger. Sometimes the danger can come from the client, however, most of the crimes committed are by the hustlers themselves. While most of them are physically attractive and are just looking to have a good time or to make some cash, others are angry, depressed, psychotic even. They’ll sleep with you, then rob you, scam you, beat you or even kill you. The idea of hustling can be arousing, and people think it’s harmless and glamorous. It’s not. I’ve been there. I was lured into a trap the year I started which turned into a murderous rampage. You can detach yourself from sexual intercourse, convince yourself you’re fearless, but when the real danger comes, you won’t be ready for it.
I met a younger version of myself when I decided to go out for drinks a couple of nights ago at this cheap night club I haven’t been to in ages, to try and put myself out there and see where the night would take me. I had no expectations and just hoped to be surprised. Hours passed, and no one had even bothered to approach me. I keep wondering if people could actually pick up on my pessimism, extreme loneliness and despair. Then this young boy, a hustler who looked like he just turned twenty-one came and sat next to me at the bar; he started checking me out. I looked at him and caught him sensually biting his lower lip as if he was trying to seduce me. He was cute, but I wasn’t interested. Before I could turn him down, he took out a pillbox from his pocket and opened it. It was filled with drugs, mainly MDMA. That’s when I got excited. I never saw the appeal in taking drugs because the effect they cause is temporary and sometimes the side effects can be devastating; really not worth it. But being exposed to them again kind of got my attention.
The first time I experienced the thrill of ecstasy was a long time ago, when I first met Kristofer. Being a rebel looking to gain as much experience as possible, I did it to experiment and discover the effect it had. Ecstacy is the answer to a lot of people. It keeps you dancing all night and makes you feel like you can do anything. You feel happier and you experience an enormous pleasurable feeling and euphoric sense of being. It makes you feel like you’re on top of the world where everything is possible. But when it’s over and you’re back to reality, you feel worse than you did before you took it. You feel depressed, lethargic and sleepy. If consumed frequently, it can cause brain and organ damage. That kid obviously had no idea about all of that when he recklessly swallowed a couple of pills. For a second, I remember thinking I should be concerned but I barely knew the guy, and he should’ve known better in the first place. He wasn’t my responsibility. As we both danced and briefly made out on the dance floor, I started to drift away, and the anticipation of the vicious comedown started to spoil the high. In the next hour, I was totally dehydrated and spent the rest of the night in the bathroom puking my guts out. Once I was done, I walked over to the sink to clean up. I then turned and saw him sitting in the corner, his back against the wall, his eyes fixated on the ceiling. He wasn’t breathing. When some other guys came in, I asked them to call an ambulance. One of them immediately did so while the other rushed out to ask for help. I stood up and started pacing around in circles. There was panic, but I knew I shouldn’t be scared because I had absolutely nothing to do with it. When his eyes rolled back, I freaked out and walked out of the restroom, bumping into people, eager to get the hell out of there. I don’t know if I was hallucinating; I’m pretty sure I wasn’t. What I desperately want to know now is why the fuck do I keep on putting myself in these situations when it’s not even necessary?
I woke up today feeling horrible. Everything around me felt terrible and I was incapable of pulling myself together. I was drained from all my serotonin and was worried it was going to take me forever to get back into my normal state. I felt dead inside.
Why do I keep making the same mistakes? Why can’t this destructively compulsive behavior just disappear? I have no interest in being profoundly fucked up anymore.