Parting Glances: Up pops what pops up

By |2006-10-05T09:00:00-04:00October 5th, 2006|Opinions|

Life has its odd juxtapositions. I clicked Gay Chicago magazine online to see what’s going on in the Windy City. And as a why-not? after thought checked out that publication’s generous escort subheading.
If, indeed, I’m to be escorted about during my next visit (there’s every possibility) I want the services of someone who’s a looker, intelligent, anecdotally amusing, non-Log Cabin Republican, reasonably “unsaved,” and whose table manners are finger-bowl impeccable.
After all: what’s an escort for anyway?
I’ll admit that over the years I have on occasions of special celebration (my birthday, Guy Fawkes Day, Halloween, Feast of the Circumcision) had recourse to the services of these enterprising young – reasonably eager, financially astute – gentlemen affiliated with Chicago’s unheralded, sub-rosa branch of Traveler’s Aide.
At my advanced age it’s important to have someone much, much, much younger – much, much, much shipshape – to remind me of what it was once like in my tossed Caesar salad days to have been ravishing (and occasionally ravished).
The patriotic, truly democratic, economically upwardly mobile thing about escorts is that they’re everywhere. God knows they’re in most major cities across America, several enterprising towns, and many of our better ‘burbs. (Little traveled Zug Island, for example, has three.)
As a career, escorting has much to recommend it. It’s one of the few tax-exempt professions that I know of. (I suspect that’s why churches – also tax exempt – frown upon the competition.) I know of two Ferndale escorts whose BTL advertisements now carry BBB and Good Housekeeping recommends (both guys offer maid service).
Escorting’s a great way to meet people. All shapes. All ages. All sizes! Gay, straight, married, bi, whatever! (And on occasion being chased around the playing field’s good for the collective hearts, limbs, loins, egos, of all concerned. Catch me if you can. Let’s just hold hands and chat. Got pictures of your kids?)
Anyway, back to the odd juxtaposition that introduces this PG Mary-go-around. As I scrolled down the Gay Chicago packinghouse menu of escorts I ignored those whose 25-cents-a-word descriptions of attitude, come on, and asset(s) were a little out of kink or kilter with my high standards of social and public etiquette.
After all, there’s little credibility in being seen about Chicago with a 25-inch-bicep’d bodybuilder. Everybody knows that biceps lack a certain je ne sais quoi when it comes to proving credible IQ or requisite decorum while dining upscale with candlelight and strolling Pizza Uno musicians. (Besides bodybuilders make me look punier than ever.)
Finally I clicked on to one 24-year-old escort whose name, Austin Wichita (or was it Austin Texas?) had a certain, wholesome, red-blooded, WASP ring to it. (Catholics make the worst escorts.) His website was modesty itself.
Mr. Wichita, blond, acne-free, looked fetching in denim cutoffs; had a pleasant Christian-looking face. And an in-the-buff backside shot of him was, from my point of view, quite gregarious. (I like people with dimples.) I was tempted to e-mail his AOL address (he said he had “other” pictures to share) but I hesitated.
Yes, life does have it’s odd-bodkins moments. Here I am, sitting at my laptop, exploring the world as lived 275 miles away, and lo-and-behold (I swear on a RSV annotated Bible) up pops a banner headline, VOTE FOR DICK DEVOS FOR GOVERNOR OF MICHIGAN! The promo was accompanied with a rather winsome, smiling picture of Dick DeVos (he’s actually not bad looking).
I don’t know if it was nickname or money shot, but I forgot about uncouth Austin Wichita. (Fickle ol’ me.)

About the Author:

BTL Staff
Between The Lines has been publishing LGBTQ-related content in Southeast Michigan since the early '90s. This year marks the publication's 27th anniversary.