Body for sale

It feels so mercantile. Selling (trying to anyway) yourself to a room with hundreds of strangers with no faces and no real names. It's worse than a masquerade, because you won't even know if the person is wearing a mask. You introduce your vital statistics, as if they were a mere set of numbers that you rattle off by rote. The other person reciprocates. You hardly bother making small talk, this isn't really the place for it. Do you have a place? Do you have a picture? It's all a game, and you never know when someone is playing you (and they usually are). The picture bit's usually the biggest hurdle, because everyone there is superficial and most don't bother trying to hide it. If you're lucky and meet someone who wants to fuck you, you ask for his number and arrange to meet. And then you have meaningless sex devoid of any semblance of love or passion. It's completely dehumanizing.

And yet I keep going back, day after day, whenever I find myself bored (read horny) and feel like getting laid. I haven't had sex in months and it's really starting to get to me. What kind of fabulous queer doesn't have sex for more than half a year??

It's a tricky business, and evidently I'm a mere panhandler. We'll leave the soliciting and hot sex to the professionals. I'm just sick and tired of it all. For now.