Jimmy the Porno King Vs. The Hooker with a Heart of Gold

Jimmy the Porno King Vs. The Hooker with a Heart of Gold

In the strictest sense, I am not dating the Hooker with a Heart of Gold. Dating consists of getting to know someone in several parallel ways simultaneously, perhaps in the bedroom, in the kitchen and in the study. Figure out how a person fucks, how a person cooks and what or if a person reads and you can fairly well determine your base level of compatibility. If you are cooking Rock Shrimp with a light white wine sauce over a warm spinach and feta cheese salad, and he is cooking something that comes in box labeled at least, in part, ‘ A - Roni’ then you are probably not entirely compatible. If you are reading a non-fiction book about General Relativity Theory and how it relates to the quantum world, he should not be reading Maxim; better that he didn’t read at all.

The Hooker with a Heart of Gold (HHG) and I initially met two months ago over the Internet. The gay Internet is like a gay bar without all the cumbersome dialogue involving things like whether one smokes or not and first names. When I first met HHG, we decided our relationship was best explored through naked fun and not much else. The problem arose directly after our first encounter; it was clear only minutes after the smoke cleared that we had set some kind of record, won some kind of award, been nominated for something. High fives were exchanged (straight guys – do not attempt this in a similarly victorious situation; your female counterpart will hardly appreciate it) and then names and phone numbers. We decided that our naked fun status had been elevated and we would no longer be able to compete in the Olympics due to our professional standing. Needless to say, we have been getting together regularly to practice.

We played out several scenarios involving dim lighting, mood music and a massage table which I will be more than willing to gloss over. Being supportive of your ‘Mo friend is one thing; picturing him in a compromising position is quite another.

And this is where the trouble started; but before I take you over the edge, let me give you some description of the HHG so you can keep it in your mind.

HHG stands 6 feet tall and weighs in somewhere around 180. He is between 35-40. He is Cuban or something similar. I know it sounds like I am describing a liquor store robbery suspect, but from here on out I have more information. If we were dating I would inquire further; as we are not, I am content to guestimate. He is a personal trainer. This is to say his body should be used to advertise all sorts of home gym equipment. On more than one occasion, I have had to pinch myself to make sure I hadn’t imagined his physique. Dark hair, darker eyes, you get the picture.

The trouble is, he tried to date me. Imagine. My booty call trying to date me. He started inviting me to MOVIES, and out for drinks IN PUBLIC. He HELD MY HAND and asked me to SPEND THE NIGHT ON SEVERAL OCCASSIONS. Obviously, this threw me for a considerable loop. Under different circumstances I wouldn’t have thought twice about dating HHG, but when first names and ages come after giving up your amateur status in the bedroom, one must think about ‘How Far This Thing Should Be Taken’

How Far This Thing Should Be Taken

I am willing to go out on movie dates and ask all the questions about family life and favorite color, but I expect a modicum of reciprocity. On several occasions I have called HHG and left a message that was not returned for 3 days or more. In a Bedroom-only relationship, this is not a problem. On or about the third day I decide ‘we are just fooling around and no more should be thought about it. But then HHG will call to ask me HOW MY DAY WAS, and invite me over for A GLASS OF WINE. Neither of those phrases contain the verb ‘disrobe’ and therefore are inadmissible in a Bedroom-only relationship. And so just when I think I can ask a little bit more of HHG, he decides to be unavailable for days at a time. I would dismiss the whole thing were it not for the awards we are currently up for in the bedroom. Once you finish a project, it is only ethical to market it all the way through red carpet season.

You must be wondering through all this, “Jimmy, we understand your plight, but why do you call him The Hooker with a Heart of Gold? Surely he’s not a hooker, I mean, not a real one!’ The answer to your question is, unfortunately, I’M PRETTY SURE HE’S NOT. He is after all a personal trainer with a ridiculous body, a massage table in his house, a private gym and sketchy scheduling. Anyone who has seen the back pages of a gay publication knows that dozens of ‘Massage Therapists’ are really just fancy titles for Working Boys. But here I am, two months into a strange non-relationship with HHG. If we ever decide to have some real conversation, maybe I’ll ask. Then again, maybe not. I suppose if HHG really is a hooker, I should be flattered; he hasn’t asked me to pay for it once.

Jimmy