The Purple Onion in Atlanta
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Between leaving the gay newspaper and escort businesses and the first trip to San Francisco I hung out mainly with drug addicts and felons. Most of them I met through Charles Ray.
Ray had taken over Party Boys from its original owner who moved back to Miami. We used to swap stories about clients and boys. When I ran into him later he was out of the trade as well. He wanted to start a new escort service with as partner. I didn't a high school diploma, no c.v. of any worth. He offered to pay my living expenses until we could get started. Sure beat doing more telephone interviewing.
Much of the time I lounged around in the restaurant he was running for a yuppie. He and a Young Republican had some pot dealing going on as a sideline. Much safer ways of earning a living than robbing loan companies as he'd done when young. He liked 'fine dining' so we'd go to a nice restaurant in the evening.
Late at night we hit Plaza Drugs a favorite spot for hustlers and hookers. I was pretty comfortable with 'street trash.' It was lots of fun.
On the less cheerful side I wound up with boys Ray wanted to fuck and junkie acquaintances as room mates. I didn't mind killing time while he was with a cute boy but one speed freak passed out in bed with a lit cigarette almost burning the house down.
The guy I shared the room with longest was a con man. I've mentioned him before. He could walk into a bank or liquor store and cash any check. Typical of his trade he was likable but a bit of an egomaniac.
He took me to The Purple Onion. A strip joint in one of Atlanta's redneck fringes. The clientele appeared to be mostly banausic: truckers, mechanics. The place was huge, smokey, a trifle dingy.
The drinks were the worst I've ever had. Ssweeter than soda, they must've added table sugar. To make you gulp them down faster I guess. Same reason bars have popcorn and peanuts.
Our waitress was a pretty black woman with lots of well-shaped silicon. She wriggled frequently setting of the jingle bells attached to her front. Kind of unnerving.
The strippers were a surprise. Fat. On the homely side of plain.
Are straight men less demanding of a potential sex partner's, even a paid one's, physical appearance?
I've idly speculated about this on and off for years. There is no gay male equivalent to BBW.
Do straight men need merely for someone else to induce an orgasm? Do gay men require additional aesthetic or fetish satisfaction?