There’s a show on HBO, Hung, where reality and fantasy coincide.
In one of the episodes, a pregnant woman, has hired the protagonist, Ray, a male prostitute, to be her companion.
In the beginning, it’s working for both parties. Ray, is getting paid on the regular and she is getting the fucks of her life.
One day, Ray pays her a visit at her home. The phone rings. She doesn’t want to take it because she believes it’s the baby’s father and Ray, having a similar miscommunication in his own past relationship, tries to convince her to pick up the phone.
The altercation hilariously ends with, “Ray, this is not sexy!”
The episode ends with Ray properly fulfilling his role as the “escape” on reality that he’s getting paid to do.
It’s his job right? He needs to leave his personal baggage at the door.
Now, I’m no male prostitute…(God, the possibilities of a sentence with those beginning words)
But I do know what it feels like to be the “other” man.
All the good ones are already taken right?
I used to take quite a bit of pride from being what tempted young women away from their boyfriends. I still remember some of the texts…my God some of you are absolutely disgusting with words. Guys are more disgusting visually, but girls have the words department.
I remember the rushes of the guessing game. “What does that look mean?” “She lingered longer than she had to.”
I remember the thrill when I know I had someone hooked.
Then it was all easy after that.
I could take whatever time I needed…
Some people label it “plausible deniability.”
In other words, it’s just “coincidence” we ended up being at the same event.
Oh what fun nights.
…I remember none of them.
But it was cool to be the “other guy.”
There’s something nice knowing that if you set an objective, you can reach it.
…totally worth it…
Well I’m 26 now…not so cool anymore being a typical “sleazebag.”
It’s rather amazing how quickly the optics of something can change throughout a lifetime.
I remember when this game called Pokemon was cool…
But maybe the optics didn’t change.
Maybe they were always the same.
Maybe “bad” for a five year old can mean the same thing for a twenty-six year old.
A guy who doesn’t have it together for longer than one night.
None of the girls would date him.
..For all all the exact same qualities that tempted them in the first place.
He’s an asshole.
Every conversation is a game.
Every “date” is a rendezvous in a car or a park at night.
Every face is forgettable.
And he’s the one at the end of the day asking,
“Why do I have shallow relationships?”
Life is ironic if anything else.
“Treat others how you want to be treated.”
“Respect the law.”
“Think outside yourself.”
Maybe the golden rules were made not by an overworked mother to keep her children at bay.
Maybe they were made by a group of monks trying to make sense of this world.
The dark side is tempting.
And yes, it does repay…
for the beginning.
…and that’s it