A Dying Man’s Desire

Tonight, as I approached my studio, a black lab ran toward me and gave me an abdominal high-five with his paws. I looked around for an owner, found none, and given the proximity of high velocity traffic, decided to bring him into the building. I only had ten minutes to get my room set up (set up massage table, plug in electric blanket, turn on towel warmer, etc), so I let young Fido investigate downstairs while I ran upstairs. Fido was a youthful, athletic ball of love and I didn’t want him to get flattened on College Avenue. In the alley that backs up to my studio, I heard someone call, “Jack, Jack.” With a couple minutes to spare, I went downstairs to get the dog and go out to the alley and when I opened the door, I saw my 4 o’clock.

I greeted him, took him upstairs, explained that I needed to run out to the alley…and um, go ahead and get undressed and I’ll be right in. This is a bit unconventional, I assume. Get naked, while I take a random dog out to the alley, and geez, Fido, can you stop smelling his crotch?

My 4 o’clock was quite understanding and had an easy-breezy nature about him. After a quick dash outdoors, wave to the owner, gallop by Fido towards presumed owner and another dash inside my building and up the stairs, I was breathless, apologetic and then undressed. He was a new client; a rather unusual occurrence these days as I’ve opted to stick with regulars. Face down and naked, he turned on his side and said, “Pleased to meet you,” and then told me he had something he needed to tell me about himself.

I get this a lot. Clients share incredibly personal details. Until tonight, I thought I had heard it all. And then he told me that four days ago, he found out that he had six to nine months to live. Kidney cancer that spread. And he was only 57. I was out of breath from the dog and now I was completely breathless.

It had been nearly five years since he had experienced touch from a female and after his doctor gave him the news, he decided he’d spend his days doing what he wanted, including the touch he craved. “Travel?” his friends asked. No, he decided he’d rather stay put. But he regretted the years he’d held off, still married to a woman who had long ago transferred to an assisted-living facility from a work-related condition that caused neurological damage at a relatively young age. The five-years-ago touch he referred to was a mere cuddle from her. He described her as “one of his favorite people on the planet,” but they were friends now. Who knows why he never divorced her before. Perhaps he was trying to be a nice guy. Perhaps he figured he had oodles of time left for another relationship. With a full life of work, hobbies, friends, and grown children, maybe he felt there was no reason to rush. With his life defined though, he said he wasn’t going to waste time. Touch is a basic need, you know?

My handsome 4′ o’clock looked as healthy as can be: exercise, diet, and a balanced life. He was even a certified yoga instructor, which is no small feat. In a sense, it was strange to massage his back and think underneath, unruly cells were killing him. A second opinion? No, he had a background in medicine so he understood all too well his prognosis.

One of his favorite aspects of given time to die, versus being hit be a bus, was the ability to give things away. He would come across an item, think of a friend who might like it and then schedule a lunch with him or her. He recently gave away a fedora to his financial advisor and friend. Apparently, fedoras were his thing and it made him happy to think of his friend wearing it.

My 4 o’clock really enjoyed our session and I wished I could have given him more time but I had another appointment booked. It’s generally easy to satisfy men who haven’t been touched in years. Unfortunately, it’s not that uncommon….even when the guys are married.

Our session also gave me time to think about what I would do given a similar prognosis. What nonsense would be forgotten if I knew how limited my time was?

As I’ve communicated here and in my book, at times, I feel conflicted about what I do. I don’t feel it’s my place to judge, but at times I feel guilty that I might be participating in the deception of a significant other. In addition, I have been called a variety of things by blog readers (mostly TOB readers)- “a quasi-hooker, a worthless bitch, a faggot, a creep, a narcissist, a drug addict, a scammer, etc.” I knew these comments were a possibility when I chose to write an honest blog about making a living as a sex worker.

However, to feel that I could be part of what a dying man desires, is a pleasure and an honor. I was humbled that I could be part of his final to-do list. How many people can say that?