The Cost of Love

The Cost of Love

Shamir Griffin

It’s Friday night and I’m bottoming again. Bottoming is a term coined in the gay community meant to describe a man, being penetrated by another man. Although I use this term I am not gay, and for that matter; I am not bisexual, or heterosexual I am merely an escort. As an escort I can be whoever I want, I can be from any country have any name, have any occupation, I can be whoever they want me to be. I can be someone’s long lost love, I can be their secret love affair, I am their fantasy. Today I play Tommy; Tommy is the best friend of my client’s son. I was told to stop by and innocently walk into the house looking for his son, and accidentally walk into the living room where he would be naked. It was then my job had begun, I had to play coy, something I was very good at, something he had requested.

            He has now just gotten off of me and like that, another day has gone by and another 800 dollars into my pocket. As I take a shower in his house I relieve myself of Tommy; of his name, his deeds, and his sins all of these things washed away under the hot water. As I leave his home satisfied with my earnings he hugs me and tells me he loves me, and in the voice I use for Tommy I say “I love you too.” My work day has ended; I return to the streets my home.

            In reality my name is Michael, I am 20 years old, and the streets have been my home for almost three years. I have stayed in over fifty places, from hotel rooms to friend houses, but no matter where I stay none of these places are home. To me home had died somewhere around my sixteenth birthday, more than anything I had wanted in the world for that day, I had wanted acceptance. I had admitted the day before that I found my thoughts of women to be fading from my mind, but that my thoughts of men had increased, and in his rage and 1950’s since of American machismo I was kicked out and made homeless by my father.

            My first year on the streets I didn’t know what to do, I had ended up staying in a half way house. It was there I met Ricardo, he had told me he was just like me another exiled soul living in the void of an inner city. He showed me how to survive the house, how to navigate myself through the streets, and how to fall in love. Ricardo had been my first boyfriend, and seemingly my savior. Soon enough we were seemingly inseparable, and lived happily together in our little state mandated prison. Our Eden had lasted up until his eighteenth birthday and he had to leave, he was one year older than me and I didn’t want to lose him in a year’s time so I went off with him. The first few weeks were hard, it was difficult to find a place to sleep and eat, we slept under bridges, in parks, and parking lots together; all that mattered was that we were together. Eventually we found a small whole in the wall apartment and it became our residence.

 A week had passed by and we had both gotten cell phones, his would always seem to ring more often than mine, and whenever it rang he would leave our home. When he returned he had lots of money, and would bring home food, he had become the bread winner, and I had become his wife. Although I resented how this had emasculated me, I could not help but find happiness stitched into the fabric of our existence. He’d often come home and say things like

“Honey I’m home.” And I couldn’t help but think that we were in a day time sitcom. I’d always reply “Welcome back dearest, how was your day?” and his replies would always be detailed, but he only described the small things and never talked about work.

            Everything had changed one day when he had come home with bruises. Now I had never questioned the work he did, and I think secretly I didn’t want to taint the image of our home. It was then that he had told me that he was selling himself, and that a client had gotten very rough with him. He had been so badly beaten that he would not be able to work for days; his obligation to his clients wasn’t only to be pleasurable but also aesthetically pleasing as well. I knew our rent was coming up and with his injuries he wouldn’t be able to work, I offered myself in his place to save our home.