Sairi Wolfe, a pseudonym, joined an escort agency at 22 after graduating with a sizable debt. She quit 11 months later.
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| May. 5, 01:00 EDT | |
| My client decided to die of AIDS | |
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One of the most emotionally challenging experiences of my professional or even my personal life occurred during an appointment with a client.I clearly remember my telephone conversation with Joey to book our date. He sounded friendly, agreed to the $275 fee without any complaints. Yet I felt a strange vibe. I wasn't sure whether he was a prank caller.Joey's final question during our call left me perplexed. Did I have well-manicured hands and nice feet? As my driver took me to Joey's downtown loft, I considered the matter. Some men did have foot and hand fetishes, but their questions were more specific: What type of footwear was I wearing? Did I have stockings on? What colour was my pedicure? What size were my feet?Fresh out of the shower, Joey answered the door wrapped in a fluffy white bathrobe. His dark brown hair was spiked into wet little clumps. He took my coat and offered me a drink. We sat on leather furniture in his open-concept living room, making small talk. Smoking a cigarette and sipping a beer, I admired his living space, his artwork, his huge CD collection.Joey was not bad looking at all — athletic and cozy. He gave me some basic information about himself: He was a 31-year-old Aquarius. He collected vintage Cartier and Rolex watches. As I butted out my cigarette, he asked me to dance with him, to some Tony Bennett number.The music was soothing, our dance was nice and I was having a good time — feeling mellow and relaxed. Joey was non-aggressive, behaving like a gentleman. Expecting our date to proceed to the next stage and into the bedroom, I began to strip off my clothes. Naked, I approached Joey as he sat in an armchair. I tugged at the belt of his bathrobe, intending to undress him. He asked me to stop. Holding me by the elbow, he guided me to the sofa. We sat down and Joey began to tell me his story.He was gay. Joey had never been intimate with a woman. He was also rich. He was the only child of a wealthy businessman who passed away a few years ago, leaving Joey with a sizable inheritance. Joey had watched and supported his father through his battle with cancer, which took over his mind, body and ultimately his life.Joey had decided to take control of his own life, or rather his own death. Without a committed partner or children, orphaned at the age of 29, he had decided to die of AIDS.After making this monumental decision, Joey set out to experiment with new things before taking the plunge into HIV-positive culture. He went snorkelling in the Philippines, tried raw fish — sushi — for the first time in his life, and now he wanted to experience sex with a woman.I was dumbstruck. Joey had his plan to purposely contract HIV all set up: He had a network of buddies who would take care of him as his symptoms worsened. He said he could expect to live for another 10 or 20 years, dying at around 50 years of age, well before old age and senility would set in. He did not want to be tucked away and forgotten in an old-age home.Joey was very serious; I believed he was telling me the truth. And I felt helpless, as though he was a suicidal man about to jump off a bridge and being a witness.My mind raced, trying to find a rebuttal to his argument. What was wrong with living a long and natural life? If Joey was set on dying before old age, why not commit suicide as he neared 50? Wasn't he afraid of the agony of living with AIDS for the next 20 years or so? Maybe his life would take a turn for the better and he'd enter into a long-term, committed relationship. What did his friends think of his suicidal plans?Joey responded that there no longer was a stigma attached to being HIV-positive in the gay community. With new drug cocktails, one could expect to be active and vital for a long time. It was acceptable in his circle of friends and acquaintances to die of AIDS; suicide was frowned upon. As for giving the matter further consideration, Joey told me he had been thinking seriously about acquiring the "gift," as it was called in this new cultural world he had discovered, for well over a year.I asked Joey who was willing to infect him with the virus. He had approached some HIV-positive acquaintances but was rebuffed. So he had decided to meet a donor through the Internet.He led me to his computer. We saw the Web pages of several sites and newsgroups that advocated or encouraged getting "pozzed," or acquiring HIV. There were men who were "gift givers" — HIV-positive men — and those, like Joey, who were "bug chasers," who sought to contract AIDS. I was stunned as I scrolled down some of the pages. It seemed as though there were hundreds of participants in this surreal world, where men embraced the possibility of a disease most of us regard with dread and horror.Some men, I was informed, frequent the "gift" chat rooms for fantasy purposes only. Joey speculated they were attracted by the buff images of HIV-positive men, or they found the idea of giving up control, submitting to the virus, erotic.We attempted becoming sexual with each other. Joey was not physically attracted to me and could not produce an erection. I was upset and could not invest enough energy to seduce him. We held hands. I looked at his face. An hour before, I had thought this man extremely lucky. He was attractive, wealthy, with good health, good taste and good manners.Afterward, in the car with my driver, I couldn't share Joey's story with anyone. I could neither communicate nor fully understand the sorrow and anger I felt for him.I had set out to become a prostitute for money and adventure. I cast myself in the role of an observer: physically present yet emotionally distant from the scenarios I found myself participating in. Most of my dates with clients were predictable, easily slotted into one of the categories of classification I had constructed.But Joey was a landmark in my emotional landscape, an encounter I still recall with tightness in my chest.— Sairi Wolfe Sairi Wolfe, a pseudonym, joined an escort agency at 22 after graduating with a sizable debt. She quit 11 months later. | |
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