Craigslist for gays

There are plenty of ways to make money as a broke student in London, but I decided that allowing older men to fellate me for money was the easiest. Most importantly, it met my for requirements for a job, being something that: a I could organize from my laptop b paid well, and c required little skill. Despite never having a homosexual experience in my life, my decision to begin hustling older gay men seemed natural.

I grew up in a small town and pretty much always figured that this was the sort of thing that went down in London Town. Once on the site, if you wade through the bog of requests for incest, bestiality, and every other bizarre fetish you can imagine, and ads so lonely they make you want to weep, you find a surprising amount of gay guys who are turned on by the idea of pleasuring straight men.

After a half-dozen emails back and forth, I finally had a date set. The guy I had chosen seemed nice enough; a chubby Indian guy in his mids who was firmly in the gay and lived alone. As I followed incremental directions texted to me every five minutes my certainty of the brilliance of my get-rich-quick scheme did start to wobble.

I arrived on craigslist street and, after being texted his address, made my way up to his door. Excusing the mess in his house and offering some awkward hellos, he ushered me upstairs.

Anti-Gay Craigslist Ad a Hoax

The house was absolutely filthy. Seriously, there were stacks of cutlery in the hallway that were only a little shorter than me. As I was pushed towards his bedroom my heart sank—this was not quite the no-strings-attached situation that I had pictured. There were tea-light candles, Heart FM was playing, a towel lay on the bed, and a strong scent of lube was craigslist my way.

A distorted sense of romance lay far too heavy in the air for my comfort. Despite my creeping sense of dread, the following 40 minutes or so went surprisingly well. I followed the directions of my client, moving about as he said, and the arrangement seemed to go without a hitch. I lay down on the bed and tried to relax.

However, I did balk when he tried to creep a sneaking gay into my ass—that was NOT part of our agreement. But a slap on his wrist sorted that out. Apart from this, our date passed without major incident. I left and, despite repeatedly trying to convince myself that I was comfortable with it all, managed to spend a large amount of my new cash on comfort food, drinks, and cigarettes on the way for.

I have yet to see that first man again, but an awkward relationship seems to have developed between the two of us. As the weeks followed, I received a number of texts from him, all of which demanded my immediate appearance at his house. As time went on, as I continued to reject him, my one and only client grew more and more frustrated.

Eventually, not long before I wrote this, he wrote me a depressing text message… he was… breaking up with me. He was ending it. He was sweet about it.