admitted to it, I was sure they, nonetheless, occasionally overlooked this for the sake of receiving extra cash. I assumed they were like me in that respect. If you can believe it, despite having worked in this line of business for many years, I have rarely been the receiver of anal sex; more often than not in fact, I was the giver. How I managed to get away with this while still getting regular, long-term clients astonishes me.
My first attempt at being a ‘bottom man’ was neither pleasant nor consensual. I went back to a client’s room after we’d spent the evening wining and dining. I ended up drunkenly crashing out face-down on his large bed. I was awoken from a deep sleep by a stabbing pain in my behind. The client had taken advantage of my inebriated state and had penetrated me. Despite the fact he used lubricant, it was still horrendously painful. The worst part of all was his violating me without a condom: for all I knew, he could have had AIDS. I struggled to free myself but he was on top, bearing down on me with his full weight, with one hand clasped around my neck to secure me. I thrashed about wildly causing him to penetrate me deeper while he pushed my head further into the pillow to stifle any resistance. I was gasping for air and groaning painfully as my legs and arms flailed about wildly. I began to curse intermittently between pleas for him to stop, but my resistance coupled with his obvious domination only heightened his pleasure as he panted harder and faster. I prayed he’d ejaculate quickly so the horror would end. My powerlessness obviously aroused him, and he thrust wildly as if to hurt me even more until finally unloading inside of me. After dismounting, he walked away as if I was a crumpled rag he’d just discarded. I was stunned. Yet I managed to quickly dress and escape without even a thought of being paid. When I returned to my apartment I scrubbed and headed to the safety of my bed. I lay there miserable; in pain and shock, hoping I hadn’t caught a disease. I’d been raped, but as a bar boy I didn’t feel I had a right to complain—it was part of the job.
Over the next few days I was scared to have a bowel movement in case I worsened the damage. I eventually went to a VD clinic to get my blood tested: fortunately, I tested negative.
Afterwards, and only once in a blue moon if I really liked a client, I had no qualms about sitting on his penis, but I always insisted he wear a condom. Occasionally, clients inserted dildos into my rectum, which although was not very pleasant, was still better than the real thing. I found being the giver of anal sex far less complicated; and once I got past the odour, I didn’t mind playing an active role. If both parties are attracted to one another then sex with a male client becomes less of a chore, and can even be enjoyable.
After an endless catalogue of clients, and hours spent in gay bars, I began to develop a slightly effeminate persona. This manifested itself especially in the way that I walked and talked, which was a total U-turn as compared with the aggressive and masculine front I projected when living the life of a gangster and thug. I hadn’t quite bought into the myth that bar boys could be turned gay once penetrated, yet I caught myself mimicking the behaviour of my effeminate co-workers. At first, I’d been consciously doing so for comic value, but when these mannerisms became natural, a habit even, I grew worried. I knew a few co-workers who, after receiving anal sex, had become kathoeys (transgender males), or turned gay, despite fiercely asserting their heterosexuality previously. They went from being husbands and fathers to being make-up wearing, female caricatures of their former selves. I was afraid that perhaps the myth was actually true after all. I tried to allay my fears by telling myself that I was flexible; able to play for both teams rather than just limiting myself to one.
A friend even took me aside and pointed out
My first attempt at being a ‘bottom man’ was neither pleasant nor consensual. I went back to a client’s room after we’d spent the evening wining and dining. I ended up drunkenly crashing out face-down on his large bed. I was awoken from a deep sleep by a stabbing pain in my behind. The client had taken advantage of my inebriated state and had penetrated me. Despite the fact he used lubricant, it was still horrendously painful. The worst part of all was his violating me without a condom: for all I knew, he could have had AIDS. I struggled to free myself but he was on top, bearing down on me with his full weight, with one hand clasped around my neck to secure me. I thrashed about wildly causing him to penetrate me deeper while he pushed my head further into the pillow to stifle any resistance. I was gasping for air and groaning painfully as my legs and arms flailed about wildly. I began to curse intermittently between pleas for him to stop, but my resistance coupled with his obvious domination only heightened his pleasure as he panted harder and faster. I prayed he’d ejaculate quickly so the horror would end. My powerlessness obviously aroused him, and he thrust wildly as if to hurt me even more until finally unloading inside of me. After dismounting, he walked away as if I was a crumpled rag he’d just discarded. I was stunned. Yet I managed to quickly dress and escape without even a thought of being paid. When I returned to my apartment I scrubbed and headed to the safety of my bed. I lay there miserable; in pain and shock, hoping I hadn’t caught a disease. I’d been raped, but as a bar boy I didn’t feel I had a right to complain—it was part of the job.
Over the next few days I was scared to have a bowel movement in case I worsened the damage. I eventually went to a VD clinic to get my blood tested: fortunately, I tested negative.
Afterwards, and only once in a blue moon if I really liked a client, I had no qualms about sitting on his penis, but I always insisted he wear a condom. Occasionally, clients inserted dildos into my rectum, which although was not very pleasant, was still better than the real thing. I found being the giver of anal sex far less complicated; and once I got past the odour, I didn’t mind playing an active role. If both parties are attracted to one another then sex with a male client becomes less of a chore, and can even be enjoyable.
After an endless catalogue of clients, and hours spent in gay bars, I began to develop a slightly effeminate persona. This manifested itself especially in the way that I walked and talked, which was a total U-turn as compared with the aggressive and masculine front I projected when living the life of a gangster and thug. I hadn’t quite bought into the myth that bar boys could be turned gay once penetrated, yet I caught myself mimicking the behaviour of my effeminate co-workers. At first, I’d been consciously doing so for comic value, but when these mannerisms became natural, a habit even, I grew worried. I knew a few co-workers who, after receiving anal sex, had become kathoeys (transgender males), or turned gay, despite fiercely asserting their heterosexuality previously. They went from being husbands and fathers to being make-up wearing, female caricatures of their former selves. I was afraid that perhaps the myth was actually true after all. I tried to allay my fears by telling myself that I was flexible; able to play for both teams rather than just limiting myself to one.
A friend even took me aside and pointed out
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