Candid Account: A Conversation with Casanova

by Kris Kingsland

Not so long ago, I was a finalist in a ´Supermodel´ contest. It had been a long day rehearsing and the on-stage high had left me feeling like company. I lived outside of the city and hurried to catch the last tube; on the way I met... Well, let's call him 'Eros'. He was another runner-up, who´d flown in; it seemed unfair that he´d not done better. He was dark, had chiseled features, and moved with the liquid grace of an exotic dancer. His height probably held him back - he was about 5´8", but a lean, muscular frame made him appear taller.

We´d barely spoken after our initial meeting, so it was surprising to find that we got on well. We walked to the station together and chance had it that we followed similar routes. A bizarre conversation ensued. I was genuinely surprised that he´d not done better and told him so. Maybe he was being nice, but he said the same of me and added "You´ve got great features." It was said with such enthusiasm, that I wondered if he was making a pass at me. I wasn't bothered, but neither was I interested. As if sensing my momentary unease he continued "Women love these - err..."

"Cheekbones," I supplied. His English was good but not perfect. We then talked about his home in northern Europe, until he again backtracked. "Don´t ever lose these..." He pointed to his own face. "They´re really good! And your eyes..."

<Hmm...> In fashion you soon get used to skin-deep beauty, and then inured to it. In my experience, flattery often serves only to grease the path to that which the payer of the compliment wants... This guy (gay or not) sure sounded like he was after something! Time to drop a hint - I was tired, had had half the lighting crew making crude passes at me all day and so was less than subtle: "I do a lot of martial arts - I think it has brought out the definition." I regretted saying this almost immediately.

Fortunately he was more graceful than I and unfazed, continued, "With features like this you can really make a lot of money."

<Perhaps I was being overly cynical?> "You mean advertising - being photogenic?" Was he talking from experience? He wasn´t tall, but the lens loved him no less.

He grinned mischievously "Not exactly..." The conversation took a conspirational twist.

I tried to look puzzled. I´ve had some bizarre conversations on the last tube, late at night.

"I´m not sure about the English, but women sometimes like - how do you say - gigolo, I think?" He shot me a questioning look.

"You mean sleeping with women for money? Un tombeur?" He nodded, smiling infectiously.

I laughed. "Wow - like, you do this? That must be some job!"

I tried not to smile too broadly. For some uncertain reason I have been approached on several occasions with a view to becoming a gigolo - in France, India, and Holland. Maybe I look like a bit tarty? Whatever. Irrespective of currency, a good going rate seems about £100 to £200 a time for services rendered. An evening costs between £500 and £1000. Though many may charge less, even larger sums have been proffered...

He was really beaming now - a blazing smile more addictive than opium. "Yeah! But there´re times, you know... You´re there with this strange woman. You´ve got to do everything: massage her, go down and eat pussy - everything."

His face lost none of it´s sparkle as he confided "Sometimes I say to myself 'What the fuck am I doing?' My mother was furious when she found out!"

"How did she find out?"

"One of her friends saw me in action. She came into the same bar..."

<Whoops!> "What sort of women avail of your services anyway?"

"Rich ones!" he laughed. "Usually mature and confident, they think they know what they want. Some do. From their late twenties to late fifties, but mostly thirties and forties. Some are bored and want excitement - egoboosters. Others are lonely and need intimacy. Some just want a little fun and treat themselves. And their girlfriends!"

"How does it work? Do you approach them, or they you?"

"There are places you can go - clubs and such - no one cares what anyone else does. You can ask or say what you like, and if you like it, you can talk and reach an agreement. If you don´t, you can disappear into the crowd, safely. I also maintain good working relations with clients."

My experience of nightclubs on the continent, were that they catered to a wider range of the population and were more salubrious as a result. In any case, he was a nice guy and came across as non-threatening. He liked women; tried to make them feel confident, cherished, and at ease. He took pride in his work. He probably brought a whole new meaning to customer care...

"Well hey - it´s a job and you provide a service. Like a masseur. It pays the rent. But surely you must earn more by modelling?"

He smiled again "Modelling doesn´t pay as much back home - I earn three or four times as much doing this. It´s more regular and more rewarding. I know it´s a job well done since I´m obliged to give customer satisfaction! Besides, I´m putting myself through law school."

I started laughing again! Here was a charming and intelligent guy doing what it took to achieve his desires - by fulfilling others´. It took... Balls! And joking aside, he had character. There was an air of respect about him. I could empathise - the concept did not seem so strange - in a certain light.

He grew thoughtful and reflected, "My girlfriend doesn´t like it, but she understands... When I get back I am going to try a business venture with a friend. If it doesn´t work, I´ll do this again." As a professional, he had no problem keeping his work separate from his private life. He didn´t get emotionally involved with clients, and seemed to have a clear conscience as a result.

"Doesn´t worry over VD ever put you off? And are the women always to your taste?"

"I´m very careful. This is not the sort of thing that you can take risks in. Some of the women aren´t so nice, but you´ve still got to perform... There´s a lot you can do - but if it really is a problem, there´s a drug you can inject. I´ve been reading up on it. I´ll get some and use it if I have to." Apparently you shot your shaft full of todgerine and stayed ramrod stiff for hours... Sounds rather extreme; I wouldn´t play amateur acupuncturist with my Wand of Authority! Although I didn't know it at the time, Eros was using a Viagra-like substance that was on trial before Viagra hit the market. So he was benefiting science too!

The train rumbled on - the end near. We chatted until it was time for me to go; parting like old-friends. He gave me his mother´s number - call, she´d know where he could be found. His enthusiasm knew no bounds and as I got up to go, he called out "You´d be great! Just remember to call!"

I wanted to learn more but my stop came and I went... Glancing back, I waved casually and he flashed that gigawatt grin; a real giga-lo. I just had to smile.

Want his number?

© Kris Kingsland 1996

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