Rent Boy Read online

  He staggers upstairs to his room and sat on the edge of his bed looking into nothing. He felt like a void. But fuck did he have a good time.

  “So…..that was another weekend…..that’s it……just another one……down and out…..so now what?” he whispers to himself as he looks into thin air.

  He felt like it was the end of the world, yet he tries to cheer himself up he tells himself not to worry, as they would do it all again next weekend. But that really didn’t make him happy. He felt like an idiot.

  His life at that moment felt like a mask; like he was hiding a secret that nobody knew. He was not ‘all-that’. He was not ‘Mr Universe’ as he pretended to be. His life suddenly became a realization that he was in denial of a secret that he has been in denial for years. All these nights and days of partying was an excuse to deny the fact that he had been traumatized.

  He was twenty six years old. Handsome and intelligent some would say. But he really had no idea about his future. He lived for the weekend as he felt free and got the attention that he had been craving for all his life. Suddenly during this time he was admired. He could not go on like this forever and one day the party is going to end; but when?

  All this attention was manifested into an ego that nobody could understand. Even his so-called friends, that is, his clubbing friends, tell him that he has an attitude problem. He knew he did but he always verbally denied it. He sits on his bed and thinks about his childhood to try and make sense of why he is, and what he is at that point.

  Is he gay, straight, bi-sexual or just plain confused?

  Is he really ashamed to have gay tendencies? He feels like a total contradiction. He knew he wanted to have sex with men, hot straight-acting men, and women, but he want to be considered just a typical Aussie bloke.

  But most of all…….

  Why is his life at this point all sex, drugs and rock n’ roll? What is he hiding or denying?

  He loathed the pain his father put him through and he cannot understand why he never had the courage to speak up about it. He yearns for the day that he could get his ultimate revenge against him as he has never been legally charged as he had no witnesses or evidence to prove it. He guesses that it was his own fault.

  There are so many unanswered questions about why he did some of things he did in his life. Mostly as a result of his traumatic past and the hell his so-called ‘dad’ put him though. He had real dad though. A naturalized father but never really knew him well enough though.

  This first chapter was just a sample of ten years of hard-core partying and a high point in one man’s life with full force. But it was also the point in his life that he was living in denial and masking his internal pain.

  That man; he was a drug-fucked clubber that once had the looks, the body, the sexy dance moves and knows underground house music like the back of his hand. Personally I really admire him and his courage and really wished I had his looks, his admiration from others. That is why I wrote about him as I envied and idolized him. He was someone I dreamed to be like all my life. I was superficially in love with him but inside I loathed him

  Now, that is.

  The guy that once had the washboard abs, and bulging chest that got the attention of almost everyone in every club. The young guy, once handsome, that lived for the weekend, with no future in sight. All that has gone now for him. Those were the days when life was just so superficial and just one big hell of a party and friends with no substance. But the one thing that this guy will never understand is why he has never experienced a true father.

  But seriously, you have been reading about a totally shallow guy that was acting like a real ‘wanker’.

  That guy was me.

  Welcome to my life and as it was. I am now past my thirties and no longer am that ‘hot party-boy’ that everyone admired; all that has gone now. I am just another face in the crowd.

  But I do look back at those memories of partying I cannot deny that they were probably the happiest time of my life. It was the first time I had attention and could get anything I wanted. But something was happening inside of me.

  It may become clearer if we start from the beginning when I was six years old and was just an innocent little boy.

  ………………………………………………………………………………………………..

  Chapter two…….Sugar & spice and all things nice

  Christmas Day, 1980;

  I was at the innocent age of six. My brother Samuel was three. My mother was picking the lint off my shirt as we were preparing to be picked up by our father. We both lined up by the door with my baby brother by my side; and waiting. I don’t know why, but I was nervous. I kept thinking about kindergarten when the other boy’s dad’s dropped them off at kinder. They hug their dad’s so tenderly and then they say;

  “I love you daddy”.

  The amount of envy I felt was immense. But that is not to be confused with jealousy though. It looked so beautiful but strange that a father could show such affection to their son. Is this normal? I didn’t understand it. I could never express my feelings to my dad. I don’t know why. Perhaps it was because my mother loved her two boys with all her heart that it was overwhelming? Either way, I envied the kids with daddy’s at kinder. I just wanted to be like them. I Just wanted someone to call ‘daddy’; and with pride.

  My mother suddenly looked directly at me, holding both my shoulders and spoke words that changed my life forever.

  “You don’t have to see him anymore, you know?”

  I was confused. Her loving stare into my eyes almost hypnotized, and excoriated some part of love from my soul.

  “If you don’t want to see your dad anymore, then don’t......you live with me now......we are the three musketeers, you, me and Sam; we will be a better family that way” she said in a convincing, confident and soothing voice.

  Again, I was confused, but convinced, in a curious sort of way. Parallel to my confusion, I was thinking why my mother would say something like that. I was too young to really understand the concept of a separated family through divorce.

  Suddenly I hear the roar of my dad’s V8 rolling up the driveway, ready to pick up his two boys. He jumped put the car, leaving the engine running and bolted up to the door with enthusiasm. My mother slowly opened the creaking fly-wire door with a neutral look on her face, trying to avoid eye contact with my father. Then she slowly opened the door slightly with apprehension but knowing that her two boys would obey her. She wanted to eradicate every sign of our father; to wipe him out of our lives. My father looked directly at me with a smile so big that he glowed. It made me nervous and so very guilty that it overwhelmed me with feeling of numbness. Without a second to spare I just opened my mouth like I was on auto-pilot, and spoke those words my mother wanted me to say.

  “I don’t want to see you anymore!” I yelled whilst holding my breath.

  I said it; just as my mother wanted me to. I said it like I was not even thinking about what I have just said. It just came out like I was programmed. My mother had a smirk on her face and looked at me as if to say;

  “Good Boy, Well done”.

  My father’s excited facial reaction dissolved into an obvious feeling of internal rage. He instantly turned to look at my mother. My dad knew why I said what I said, but he said nothing. The silence was deafening. My brother remained silent but innocent.

  My dad with a pile of Christmas presents in his arms shoved them into my chest and said in an eerie, but soft voice directly to my face:

  “MERRY BLOODY CHRISTMAS THEN!”

  Then he walked way and sped off in his V8. That was the last I saw of him; Ever.

  My little brother looked up to me with pride after our father had left. I wondered why. I don’t even think I knew the real meaning of what I had just said to my dad. He’s my dad, yet I said goodbye. I just wanted to make my mother happy. I didn’t understand the real concept of the word ‘goodbye’. I was too young and too innocent. My mother
was in charge of our little family now.

  ……………………………..

  My mum loved her boys. She really did, and it showed. I was the first born in the family and I was spoilt rotten. I had two bedrooms when I was a toddler. One was where I slept and the other room was my toys room. It was totally jam packed of toys, all the best toys money could buy at that time. I also vaguely remember the love of my real dad. He treasured his two boys. I was the first born I the family and being his first son, it really made him shine with such pride. I still have the photos to prove it. But I don’t remember a lot about my dad, I was too young. I was also too young to understand what really led to the divorce of my parents. I felt responsible though. I felt it was my fault that I was so spoilt. The question still lingers in my mind to this day.

  “Oh god, please tell me why I said goodbye to my father?”

  I hate myself for that. I am totally ashamed of it. To this day I am still searching for him. He seems to have vanished into air as I, and close friends, have exhausted every avenue to seek answers.

  So in retrospect, I think to myself; “did I really not want a father figure in my life? Or was I was seeking something else? I think I was seeking the approval of my mother. I became a mummy’s boy. My mum was my world. But there was a missing piece, obviously the father figure. But I don’t know why, I saw a man as being intimidating, almost threatening. Is that why I did not want to see my father? Or was I beginning to realise I was different to any other boys and I did not want my father to see that side for the terror of rejection? I always wondered why I preferred painting games to playing with toy cars. I knew I was not normal to any other little boy, there was something about me that I was not sure about and yet to discover.

  My aunties and uncles, and of course my parents, constantly showered me with toys, toys and more toys. My Aunty Mary was my mum’s sister and she absolutely adored me like I was her own son. She is also my godmother and I always saw that as a significant title, like she was a special part in my life. My Aunty Mary was a hairdresser and very good one at that. She is also a very innovative business woman and I still see her as an inspiration. Aunty Mary is no longer part of our lives. Her disappearance was not suspicious. She simply wanted no more to do with our family. We do not know the real reason. But someone does, and it is not me. To this day it is still a mystery but for some reason she has a grudge against my mother and there are so many unanswered questions as to why she cut herself away from our family, that it actually hurts me. I had such a fondness for her and it was reciprocal. I never did anything to upset her, but obviously someone did which is why she is no longer part of our family. It is sad but true.

  Naturally she always cut mine and my brother’s hair which was very generous. She was also a very attractive woman winning beauty pageants as a girl. She was also very stylish and I always looked forward to our shopping trips with our aunty Mary. I remember mum dropped my brother and I at aunty Mary’s during school holidays and she took us and her son, our cousin, Brendon, shopping down Toorak road and Chapel Streets in South Yarra to all the designer boutiques. I loved those moments as a child. She also used to take my brother and I to the Myers’s Christmas windows on Bourke Street in Melbourne and I loved those days.

  But still, I’m not sure and nobody is really talking about Aunty Mary’s dissociation with the rest of the family. It feels like she is rejecting us. But why? I’m not afraid to say it, but I actually do miss her and my cousin. I wonder what they are doing now, and if they are okay? It is strange how family’s can drift apart and you can’t find any real answers. But you can’t dwell on it, you just move on.

  I was also quite close to my aunty Jenny. She was great and had a fantastic fiery personality having an Italian background. I loved her and she also adored me and my brother. I think I was her favourite which if true, is very flattering however I don’t think I deserve that title. I remember one day when I was about 17 or 18, she said to me;

  “If my boys could turn out to me half the young man you are; I would be so thankful”.

  Her boy’s, were my cousins, and that comment I will remember for the rest of my life. It was beyond flattering. I was so proud. Now though, we do keep in minimal contact but mainly Christmas. They live in the countryside so keeping close family ties like we did when I was a child is hard nowadays. But I don’t forget them, they will always be family.

  …………………………………….

  Back to when I was child and our father had disappeared from our lives, we became a family of three and mum was the breadwinner. However we struggled for years. But we never went without anything. My mother always put her boys before herself. I will never forget the day she was giving my brother and me our usual lunch money from her purse and I noticed that after she gave my brother and me our two dollars each for lunch. I noticed that there was only a small handful of coins left.

  “Where’s all your other money mummy...?” I asked with genuine concern

  She paused, gave a slight sigh of bravery, and whilst holding back her tears she replied,

  “Don’t worry about me...... I will get some more money next week”.

  Pay day for my mother was a whole week away. I looked at my mum with both admiration and sorrow. God knows how my mother handled bringing up two boys and supporting herself on her wage. I was young but I understood that we did not have a lot of money and my mum always put on a brave face for her boys. I will never forget that. I still think of that moment of significant poverty and see my mother as a fighter; fighting for the survival of her boys. That night I cried myself to sleep in silence and prayed to god that she will care for my mummy.

  …………………………….

  As a family now of just my brother, myself and my mum as the breadwinner, we went from flat to flat, unit to unit, suburb to suburb. For some reason we just could not find a stable long term place to live, although we always had somewhere to call home. We were also always close to our grandmother, we call Oma, which means grandmother in German, and our aunties and uncles. My Oma always looked after me and my brother whilst mum was at work all day and she picked us up from primary school. They were fond memories for me as I loved my Oma dearly and she adored my brother and I. I used to remember the times I used to play my Oma’s German pop records from the 1960’s and ABBA vinyl records after school and danced around to them. Embarrassing as I think about it now, but at the time, it was pure joy. And yes, some of those records were ABBA records! I also gave myself a lesson in German by singing to German records. They were German popstars that were big in the sixties named ‘Lolita’ and ‘Freddy’ and I used to sing along to their songs. In their songs included yodelling and if I think back at it now, “oh how embarrassing”, but I was just a kid having fun. It was a good way too to learn a foreign language and I was very proud and eager to learn German and my Oma used to teach us, mainly me, in some German too. My brother just sat there watching TV whilst I was singing and dancing the ‘knickerbocker thigh slapping dance’ and Oma watched me with delight. I don’t know how my brother kept a straight face if I think about it now!

  With the absence of a father in my life I remember back in kindergarten which was around about the time my father left, I used to envy the other kids in my kinder group that were dropped off by their daddy’s. They looked like they cherished their children and wondered what it was like to have a dad like that. I loved my mum but I felt like there was a missing piece and wished I could turn back time to get him back. I was so used to have been loved and cared for by a mother that I just did not understand the role of a father but seeing how a male figure was so caring towards his children at kinder it made me wonder. My idea of a father was somehow kind of hardened. What I mean is that I saw a father as being the strong masculine figure of the family but seeing the love these father’s at kinder made me so curious about this tender side of a man. It was a beautiful sight and really missed out on the love of a father.

  I also remember
one day at kinder when we had a photo day. I recall after the kinder group shoot, the photographer, a male, wanted to photograph all the kinder kids individually. When it was my turn he asked me climb the monkey bars in the yard as he photographs me. But then after a few clicks of the camera, whilst politely asking me to pose and look at the lens, the kinder teacher, watching alongside when back indoors to do something.

  The photographer took a quick look over his shoulder, then asked me something, which in retrospect feels creepy.

  “Let me be your daddy for a few moments?” he said as he put his camera calmly on the floor. His eyes fixated on me as I remain still on the monkey bars.

  I didn’t reply, not did I know how to at the time.

  “C’mon down from there matey” he insisted in a friendly tone.

  I didn’t feel scared or anything, but I do recall feeling a bit vulnerable. Did I have really have any choice not to do something an adult asks me to do? So I walked up to him, he sat on the dry green grass, and I simply say on his lap. As soon as I sat down I felt awkward but said nothing due to my shy nature. Then he kind of titled his head to look at me and I remained frozen, yet not totally scared, just strange.

  “You’re very easy to photograph Jamie”, he said to me as he stroked my shiny blonde hair.

  “What does that mean?” I replied softly but immediately with curiosity.

  For a brief second he ribbed my right chest nipple, but very softly. So softly that it was barely noticeable, yet when I think about it now, it feels more than it did. It sickens me. He was moving his head closer to mine and I really now wanted to jump off but was just static. Then he said into my left ear, “You are very photogenic….” And suddenly the kinder teacher burst out and said loudly but calmly, “That will be all for today thank sir!” I was relieved and just simply stood up. The photographer had did odd look of disappointment on his face. I looked into his eyes with disgust but at that time I did not know what to make of it or name it.