Welcome to Confessions of a Rentboy. Thanks for reading, sharing etc. If this is your first time reading, check out my archive for past posts and sign up to receive 2-3 posts per month in your inbox.
Just an FYI, this post is about fucking a racist who said some fucked up shit. So feel free to skip if that’s not something you want to read. These kinds of encounters don’t happen to me often, thankfully, but I know a few guys who have been driven out of sex work by racism.
Art this week by lav.eart.
Encounter (2)
He was the closest to a German Nazi I’d never met and ever had the misfortune to fuck.
“Suck that big white cock. You like that big Northern European cock, don’t you?”
His hands were firmly wrapped around the sides of my face and he pumped his dick into my mouth while he held my head steady. When he felt the back of my throat he pushed further until I choked and my eyes welled with tears.
I rarely feel bad about myself when I’m with a client, but I had never felt more vulnerable.
Cloaked in privilege and performance, vulnerability was not something I commonly feel when working.
He liked to talk dirty, and the longer he talked the more his dirty-talk veered toward white supremacist filth.
He told me he used to live in New York City and he liked to fuck big black guys. He said he liked how they fucked him “with their big black cocks and then went home to fuck their n—— wives.”
He told me this as he was inside of me with his hand clutching my jaw and two of his fingers inside my mouth, uncomfortably pressing down on my tongue.
Then he wanted to flip. He wanted me to be rough with him too. Force him to choke on my dick. Talk dirty.
I thought about leaving, but I was afraid of confronting him. He was bigger than me. Stronger. Relatively young and rich and white—no, “Northern European”—that’s code-word for “master race.”
I stayed because I was too cowardly to confront him and because I didn’t want to leave without getting paid.
That made me feel shame.
He refused to cum. Or he was too high to cum. I don’t remember the end clearly.
I came, because I always cum; and because I figured that cumming was the easiest and safest way to end it. It had already been an hour. That’s how long he said he wanted.
He said I had to stay longer because he hadn’t cum yet.
I said no, I already gave him extra time. I said I came for him, and I had to get going.
He wasn’t happy but he paid me and I left.
In the elevator I blocked his number and profile. I was shaking by the time I was in the street. My face was hot. I was furious, but mostly I was ashamed that I hadn’t stood up to him. I wondered if I could of held my own had we physically fought.
I needed to pee. I walked to a coffee shop, ordered a cappuccino and asked to use the bathroom. My voice was shaky and the barista was very nice. In the bathroom I wasn’t sure what to do. Cry maybe? I sobbed a few times but it didn’t feel right. I felt like I was overreacting. I calmed my breath, splashed cold water on my face and looked at myself in the mirror for a while.
There was nobody else in the coffee shop so my cappuccino was ready and waiting for me by the time I left the bathroom.
The barista smiled at me. I said thank you, dropped more coins into the tip jar than I paid for the coffee, and went home.