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Excerpt from the Diary of a Sydney Rent Boy by Christopher Jackson-Ash
The four of them switched between their apartments. They all lived close to Oxford Street, so they didn’t have to walk very far. Each of them fussed about tidiness and cleanliness, though Frank was the worst. No sooner was a cup empty, than I had to remove it, wash it, and put it away in its appointed place. The slightest crumb on the floor required me to get down on my hands and knees. I made sure they all got a good view of my smooth cheeks and shaved crack. I knew that Terry could never resist letting his fingers do the walking. I suspect he crumbed on Frank’s carpet on purpose. I was never allowed to speak, unless spoken to, which suited me fine. We had very little in common. I did have a soft spot for Winnie; he reminded me of my grandfather. Until the coffee incident that is. Their conversation usually concerned who was doing what to whom and how often they were doing it; the outrageous things people were wearing; and who in public life would be outed next. I sometimes wished they would take up bridge or knitting. There was only one time when I couldn’t hold my tongue. A young couple with a baby had moved in next door to Edgar. “The brat keeps me awake all night.” “You’d think they’d know better than to move into a gay area,” Frank tutted. “Perhaps he’s a bisexual,” Winnie said. “He’s as ugly as sin and she’s no Venus de Milo,” Edgar sighed. Terry laughed. “Being ugly never stopped you having fun.” “Having arms like the Venus would soon stop you,” Edgar spat. “Did you hear that the gay couple in number 27 have commissioned a surrogate child?” Frank asked. “Even worse, there’s a couple I know who have signed an agreement with a couple of lesbians to produce two babies and each couple will have one.” Winnie’s disapproving tone shocked me. “It shouldn’t be allowed.” Frank agreed. “Turkey basters,” Terry said. “It’s not natural,” Edgar said. “There are two main benefits to being gay – one you don’t have to live with hormonal nagging women and two you don’t have to live with crying shitting babies.” The others all nodded sagely. I had been drying the cups and saucers, trying not to listen to the old farts, but with my background, it was difficult to ignore it. I dropped a saucer and it smashed into a hundred pieces on the tiled floor. Frank was up faster than a double dose of Viagra. “Get the dustpan and brush from the hall cupboard. Watch your feet; you’ll carry bits onto the carpet. What’s wrong with you? I’ll deduct that from your fee!” They expected an apology, I suppose. I was angry, though. “If you’d had your way, I wouldn’t be here for you to order around, ogle, and grope. You’re just a mob of old bigoted perverts. My parents are lesbians and a gay man donated the sperm that created me.” I could feel that my face was bright red by now and I wasn’t far away from bursting into tears. “My partner and I want to have a family of our own, but we are not allowed to adopt and there’s no way we can afford surrogacy. It’s not fair.” The tears were flowing now and I picked up a cup and tempestuously smashed it on the floor too. Frank was apoplectic and could only splutter meaningless sounds. “You go girl, that’s the best entertainment we’ve had in weeks. I’ll tip in an extra ten bucks,” Terry said laughing. “I’m happy to be called a bigoted pervert, but less of the old, if you please,” Winnie smiled. Edgar just shook his head and sighed. “I suppose he’s right enough about one thing Frank; you know you wouldn’t keep a cup without its matching saucer.” I stormed out of the kitchen, grabbed my clothes and quickly dressed. I was prepared to go without being paid and never come back. As I was leaving, Frank was on his hands and knees cleaning the kitchen floor. He still hadn’t managed a cognisant word. Winnie pressed 300 dollars into my hands and whispered in my ear, “Put this in the surrogacy fund, lad. My place next week. Don’t worry about Frank, he’ll get over it.” I had been wrong about Winnie; he was like my grandfather. I opened a special bank account that day. It’s been growing steadily ever since. Whenever a client upsets me and I want to say something nasty, I bite my tongue and think about my surrogacy fund and what it might buy us one day. © 2008 Christopher Jackson-Ash
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