garbled. “Sprakie, what am I going
to do? My father threw me out of the house and told me . . .”
“Out. You mean he didn’t know?” Philip shook his
head and shrugged, puzzled by such assumptions. “Parents always
know.” Sprakie unwrapped his turban, and then began to dry Philip’s
hair. “They’re usually in permanent denial, until they hear those
words.” He performed a small pirouette, and then sang: “I’m Gay”.
He dried Philip’s arms. “Did you fall in the river?”
“The weather . . .”
“Don’t mind me. Of course, you’ve been out roaming
the streets and that’s a horrible prospect. Parents can be so
cruel. Even the liberal ones are in shock when you come out to
them. Like they didn’t know. It’s always; build the new highway
through someone else’s backyard, but not ours .”
“They were violent. At least my Dad was. My mom . .
. she cried. My Dad called me . . .” Philip poured his head into
the terry cloth.
“Calm down,” Sprakie said. “He called you a faggot.
I’m sure you’ve been called that before. Sticks and stones. I know
it sounds awful when a parent says it, but remember . . . oh shit.
I’m on the clock.”
“On the clock?” Philip murmured.
“I have something baking in the next room.”
“Baking?”
“Baking. Panting. Sighing for my ass,” Sprakie said.
“A trick!”
“Oh, I’ll leave.”
“No, you sit here, dearie. I’ll get rid of him .”
Sprakie marched into the bedroom. His voice
trumpeted like an archangel. Times up. You were very fine, as
usual. Leave the cash on the nightstand as you leave — but leave
you must.
There was some resistance, and then a shuffling
sound. Philip expected some shouting and thought to leave. He had
had enough shouting for the evening. However, the trick rushed past, semi-dressed and hopping mad, but Sprakie ushered him
through the door and applied the three locks — probably with good
reason. He turned to Philip.
“He’ll be all right. He’s repeat trade. If he wants
another ride down Mount Morgan, he’d best look to his manners.”
“You’re a . . . I mean . . .”
“A hustler. Not a prostitute. I don’t go out for
pizza. I have it delivered. Now, enough about me. I suppose you
have no cash or any way to make some. That’s the general rule when
you’re tossed out on your ass in the middle of a raging storm.”
Philip went into his pocket and presented the
wallet, but only a glimpse of the content before stowing it away.
“It’s not much,” he said. “My mom . . .”
“Oh, don’t start crying again. You can weep all you
want on your own time, but on mine, you must stiffen up and fly
right. Now, what can you do for a living?”
“I live at home,” Philip said.
“Not any more you don’t.” Sprakie approached this
youngster who sobbed on his couch. He stroked the soft cheek with
the back of his hand, and then smiled. “With that baby face and
body you certainly could get work. Dancing even.”
Philip swallowed hard. He wasn’t stupid. He knew the
game here.
“I don’t know whether I could just . . . do
anyone.”
“I think you could,” Sprakie said. “I don’t mean
everyone, but you have the freedom of choice when you hustle.”
“I don’t think that’s who I am.”
“Listen, lambikins, you may have been my customer,
but no matter how much you are, you can always be more.” He kissed
Philip’s forehead. “You’re so sweet. Where did I pick you up?”
“At the Monster ,” Philip said.
“And we came here?” He hit his head with his palm.
“Duh. We must have. How else would you have known to come here? But
that’s a good question. Why did you come knocking at my door?”
“I liked you. Other men, you know my first few, were
rough. You were gentle and funny and made me laugh. I knew . .
.”
“You knew I was a soft touch and that I have an
apartment.” Sprakie tapped Philip’s head. “Smart thinking. I like
that.”
“Well, when the rain stops, I can
to do? My father threw me out of the house and told me . . .”
“Out. You mean he didn’t know?” Philip shook his
head and shrugged, puzzled by such assumptions. “Parents always
know.” Sprakie unwrapped his turban, and then began to dry Philip’s
hair. “They’re usually in permanent denial, until they hear those
words.” He performed a small pirouette, and then sang: “I’m Gay”.
He dried Philip’s arms. “Did you fall in the river?”
“The weather . . .”
“Don’t mind me. Of course, you’ve been out roaming
the streets and that’s a horrible prospect. Parents can be so
cruel. Even the liberal ones are in shock when you come out to
them. Like they didn’t know. It’s always; build the new highway
through someone else’s backyard, but not ours .”
“They were violent. At least my Dad was. My mom . .
. she cried. My Dad called me . . .” Philip poured his head into
the terry cloth.
“Calm down,” Sprakie said. “He called you a faggot.
I’m sure you’ve been called that before. Sticks and stones. I know
it sounds awful when a parent says it, but remember . . . oh shit.
I’m on the clock.”
“On the clock?” Philip murmured.
“I have something baking in the next room.”
“Baking?”
“Baking. Panting. Sighing for my ass,” Sprakie said.
“A trick!”
“Oh, I’ll leave.”
“No, you sit here, dearie. I’ll get rid of him .”
Sprakie marched into the bedroom. His voice
trumpeted like an archangel. Times up. You were very fine, as
usual. Leave the cash on the nightstand as you leave — but leave
you must.
There was some resistance, and then a shuffling
sound. Philip expected some shouting and thought to leave. He had
had enough shouting for the evening. However, the trick rushed past, semi-dressed and hopping mad, but Sprakie ushered him
through the door and applied the three locks — probably with good
reason. He turned to Philip.
“He’ll be all right. He’s repeat trade. If he wants
another ride down Mount Morgan, he’d best look to his manners.”
“You’re a . . . I mean . . .”
“A hustler. Not a prostitute. I don’t go out for
pizza. I have it delivered. Now, enough about me. I suppose you
have no cash or any way to make some. That’s the general rule when
you’re tossed out on your ass in the middle of a raging storm.”
Philip went into his pocket and presented the
wallet, but only a glimpse of the content before stowing it away.
“It’s not much,” he said. “My mom . . .”
“Oh, don’t start crying again. You can weep all you
want on your own time, but on mine, you must stiffen up and fly
right. Now, what can you do for a living?”
“I live at home,” Philip said.
“Not any more you don’t.” Sprakie approached this
youngster who sobbed on his couch. He stroked the soft cheek with
the back of his hand, and then smiled. “With that baby face and
body you certainly could get work. Dancing even.”
Philip swallowed hard. He wasn’t stupid. He knew the
game here.
“I don’t know whether I could just . . . do
anyone.”
“I think you could,” Sprakie said. “I don’t mean
everyone, but you have the freedom of choice when you hustle.”
“I don’t think that’s who I am.”
“Listen, lambikins, you may have been my customer,
but no matter how much you are, you can always be more.” He kissed
Philip’s forehead. “You’re so sweet. Where did I pick you up?”
“At the Monster ,” Philip said.
“And we came here?” He hit his head with his palm.
“Duh. We must have. How else would you have known to come here? But
that’s a good question. Why did you come knocking at my door?”
“I liked you. Other men, you know my first few, were
rough. You were gentle and funny and made me laugh. I knew . .
.”
“You knew I was a soft touch and that I have an
apartment.” Sprakie tapped Philip’s head. “Smart thinking. I like
that.”
“Well, when the rain stops, I can
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