In a complete nonsequitur, the Gentleman turns his laser-sharp focus to me. "So you're straight. What do you like to do with guys?" Immediately I begin confabulating, saying that I only date girls (lie) but that I've done most everything with guys (truth) and that I enjoy it (partial truth) and throw in the fact that I have been told on numerous occasions, most recently by my boyfriend (I don't mention that part, love you /u/heroinking), that I give the best head anyone has ever had, ever. I state that I could be considered bi (gay gay gay gay GAY, long live the king).
Having passed his half-assed test, the Gentleman tells me I've done well and asks what the oldest guy I've ever been with is, and whether HK is comfortable with being the grapefruit at a lemon party. Again, I gently reassure him that we have nothing against older guys and that while we have not exactly been checking IDs, we've probably gotten down on some cock that existed during the Great Depression and had no serious troubles with it aside from the purely logistic (I don't tell him that much even).
The Gentleman responds thusly: "let me think, I have had bad experiences with young guys lately saying they were good and not... and not sure I would be comfortable with two guys.... but your brother has such a cute body and I assume you do also... and you are asking more than I am used to..."
Sigh. Now what? Do I undercut my own brother and offer him up for the equivalent price of a steak dinner and a craft beer? Not yet. I respond so:
"Well, neither one of us are the type to judge anyone or to be critical. I really hope you do decide to visit at least one of us, as it would be helping us out greatly as well. And like I said, there's no pressure to request both of us if you're not comfortable with that-we're perfectly fine hanging out together or separately. As a matter of fact, I could even go for a walk or something if you'd rather me not be in the house haha. I don't think that our asking rate is too high for an hour of someone's time and of course if you did request both of us we give a slightly discounted rate (100 for both of us as opposed to 60 each), but like I said, it's not necessary to hire us both.
We consider what we do for people to be a valuable service and rather than ask next to nothing and see a lot of people we'd rather ask a small bit more and provide quality attention and companionship in return. We are certainly worth it, and you would not be disappointed at all. :) Hope to see you, and please let me know either way."
The discount obviously is bullshit, as is the entire paragraph, the entire point of which is to try and drive home the point to this obviously deluded and possibly retarded man that he DOESN'T HAVE TO HIRE BOTH OF US AT ONCE.
After some small amount of time, I receive an email, the tone of which is deferential while being slightly aggressive, and accusatory in that we obviously are trying to overcharge him in his attempted purchase of a human life for an hour or so. After a quick consultation with HK, my sun and stars, we determine that heroin is more important than personal pride at this point, so I respond to the Gentleman and say that my sweet, innocent younger brother is willing to lower himself to receive a massage, and no more, for a mere forty dollars, but only for the Gentleman and only this once, as our compassion has gotten the better of us and we deeply feel his need to wrap his gnarled hands around some boycock before he dies.
"no sorry"
Now I'm pissed. I respond to the Gentleman that anything less than that would be insulting to the both of us, and that I hope he finds what he is looking for, the implication being that he find it somewhere else and stop fucking bothering us. I fucked up my wording a bit, as what I meant to impart was that any lower offer would be insulting to the Gentleman as well as my brother and myself, as he is obviously an upstanding man who cannot bear to allow a young boy to sell himself at such a rate, even if it were able to make it such that he could afford it--no, he will nobly go off into the night with an unpainted chin and no faint taste of fresh mushrooms and bleach on his lips, just to preserve the dignity of America's boyhood. (Its 30 year old, heroin addict boyhood, if I may reiterate.) I am surprised to receive another email saying that he plans to enjoy the holiday by drinking some wine and watching the fireworks. Okay, great. Leave me alone. I tell him to enjoy his holiday.
Twenty minutes later, like a bolt from the goddam blue, I get another email from the Gentleman asking if my brother lived with me. I said "yes," even though I had made that clear at least five times before. At this time, I leave the house to go watch the fireworks with my ex-girlfriend who is a solid gold thread throughout the hollowed-out, bloodstained steel wire that circumscribes what I have made of my life.