Confessions of a Call Bear

[HoseMaster]

Interesting article I ran across...

 

http://www.salon.com/2010/03/12/confessions_of_call_bear/

 

Dig if you will the picture: A middle-aged man stands in an elevator on the 26th floor of the Palazzo, one of the most luxurious (well, expensive) casino/resorts on the Las Vegas strip. At 6-foot-3 and 245 pounds, he’s a pretty big guy, though he “carries it well.” His red hair is cut in a flattop, and he has a closely cropped beard, but he doesn’t look particularly imposing. He’s dressed in a faded sea foam green Banana Republic polo shirt, khaki shorts from Target, and Birkenstock sandals. Over one shoulder is a small messenger bag. He stands in the corner and tries to look like everyone else; he may or may not be checking messages on his PDA, but he’s pushing buttons on it and appears busy.

 

The doors open and three women step on: a blonde, a brunette and one whose hair has been bleached and blown dry so many times it’s not a discernible color. All of the women could stand to have a good 3 inches cut off their hair. They wear slight variations on the Little Black Slut Dress. They wear too much makeup, a pair of shoes that doesn’t quite match the dress, towering heels.

 

The man in the corner rolls his eyes and thinks to himself, “And I’m the hooker.”

 

That’s right: I’m 47 years old, I’m a good 30 pounds overweight, and I make my living by taking care of men who come to Las Vegas hoping for some skin time with other men — for a fee. And in case you’re ready to dismiss me as someone clinging onto the last shreds of his faded beauty, you should know that I was well into my 40s before I started hooking.

 

If you find it hard to believe that anyone would pay the likes of me for sex, you’re not alone. I get lots of hate e-mail telling me how pathetic it is for a “fat old queen” like me to be charging for his company. About half of it comes from skinny smooth-skinned rent boys who were never going to be my competition, and the rest is from 40-something men with bodies similar to mine, probably mad because they don’t have the balls to hang out a shingle for themselves. And almost all of them include a variation of same question: “There are actually guys who pay you?!”

 

Allow me to let you in on one of the dirty little secrets of human sexuality: Hardly anyone (except for the very stupid and very lazy) has ever accepted the ideals of beauty and/or desirability as set forth by their respective cultures’ Fashionable Intelligence. And for every type of attraction, there is a market to be tapped.

advertisement

 

In gay culture I am what is known as a “bear”: bigger, hairier men who favor some kind of facial hair and tend to embody a jeans-and-shirt version of masculinity. Of course there are also metrosexual bears who groom their eyebrows and wear black tie to the opera. Some of us are stocky but in generally good shape; others are what the American Medical Association considers morbidly obese. There are leather bears, muscle bears and polar bears (men whose beards or body hair are white). I myself have been called a “ginger bear” (a British expression, from their term for redheads) and, when I had shoulder-length hair, a “lion.”

 

Because there are other woodland creatures to be found among the “bear community.” (I strongly resist the ideas “of “community” among gays in general and bears specifically, but for the sake of expediency let’s just roll with it.) Probably the most interesting sub-category of bear is that of “cub,” because it has so many variations. For some, the term cub designates someone younger, who may or may not want to be mentored in the way of the bear; for others, it’s more about relative stature or lack thereof, regardless of the guy’s age; and for still others, it simply indicates a strong identification with the bear “culture” without such physical trappings as a furry chest.

 

Tall skinny guys with lots of body hair are “otters”; average-size men who are relatively hairy and, often, exceptionally horny consider themselves “wolves.” In the old days, before we got all politically correct about everything, guys who were attracted to bigger men were called “chubby chasers,” but no more. Nowadays, men who don’t fit into any of the above categories who enjoy ursine company are called, simply, “admirers.”

 

And that’s just the Anglos. Many Asian bears like to be called “pandas,” regardless of where their ancestors were born, though just as many find the term offensive. Smooth-skinned Latinos with short, compact physiques are often referred to as “toros” (or bulls), which also suggests a testicular prowess. The bear scenes in Spain and Italy are so popular that I’m sure they have their own lists of sub-categories. It’s like how the Inuits have a million words for snow.

 

So, yes: I’m a Las Vegas call bear. But don’t be fooled into assuming that all my clients come from the world of the bears. Far from it. The men who hire me run the gamut from 18-year-olds who want their first male-male experience to be with a man who knows what he’s doing to men in their 80s who just want to be held by a lumberjack type for an hour. They might be fat, they might be average, or they might have bodies so perfectly sculpted they should be underwear models.

 

Among my regular clients are Jaime and Luis, 28-year-old Mexican boyfriends who barely speak enough English to make the appointment and spend the whole session crying “Ay! Papi rico!” Two or three times a year I spend a night with Nicholas, a charming Canadian businessman who discovered his homosexuality later in life and wants to get “caught up” on the basics of sex with men before he puts himself out there. And when I go to San Diego I love getting together with Bobby, a black mechanic with a beautifully muscled body and a smile that could put Tom Cruise to shame. He likes me to put on construction boots and stomp on his chest. Lucky for Bobby I earned a first aid merit badge in the Boy Scouts, so I know exactly where not to step to keep from breaking off his sternum and killing him.

 

This is the part where people ask me for the sordid details of my life on the edge of society, and the strange requests I must constantly get in my seedy little demimonde. But the boring truth is that those dark dabblings are few and far between. There was this one time in Phoenix when I was called to the far edges of the suburbs very late at night. When I pulled in the driveway the entire house was dark, including the doorbell. After a few knocks, someone looking like Gollum came to the door and brought me to the only room in the house with furniture or light. He poured Welch’s grape soda into the chamber of a clear glass water pipe and started smoking either crack or crystal meth.

 

All I remember of that session is how he kept telling me to pull on his nipples as hard as I could and then barking, “Don’t leave marks! My kids don’t know I’m gay!” After as much time as I thought I could reasonably call an hour, I told him I needed to get going. I let myself out while he smoked another bowl and returned to the porn that he’d been watching when I came in.

 

Creepy? Yes, but not once was I afraid for my own safety. More than anything I felt sorry for the guy. I spent most of my time debating whether or not to suggest he get some help.

 

But these wacko incidents make up a small percentage of what I deal with on a regular basis. A good deal of that, I think, has to do with how and where I operate: Guys see my ad and get a chance to think about it before giving me a call, a process that seems to do a fair amount of screening for me. Now if I were walking up and down the Strip offering unsolicited $50 blow jobs to drunken fraternity types, I would expect to be beaten up on a regular basis. Instead, I’m amazed at how “normal” most of these guys are.

 

Some are boyishly cute, some are movie star handsome, and many are the kinds of guys you probably wouldn’t notice in line at the supermarket. What over 90 percent of the men who hire me have in common, though, is that I’d probably have sex with them in other circumstances. If my experience is any indication of the world at large, the idea that men who hire escorts can’t get dates in other ways is a myth. Men have hired me for all kinds of reasons, but never — not even once — has anyone hired me out of desperation. Maybe I wasn’t his first choice of escort, but he certainly could have picked up a guy at a bar, or a bathhouse, or from any of the dozens of hookup Web sites out there.

 

So why do they hire? There are as many different answers to that question as there are men with sex drives, but among those who hire me, the fetish of red pubic hair figures prominently in the decision. Take your time and read that sentence again, because it says exactly what you thought it did: The fascination with red pubic hair is as much of a fetish as bondage or voyeurism. For some the fascination stops with the hair on the top of my head, and for others the beard really does it for them (as I started getting more white hair in my beard, a friend started calling it cinnamon-sugar). But most men who want to know “if the carpet matches the drapes” get very excited at the possibility of getting all up-close and personal with my “fire crotch.” Apparently we redheads smell and taste different, too.

 

Actually, the red hair fascination was what got me started hooking in the first place. I had posted pictures of myself on a gay dating site, and they caught the attention of a wealthy doctor in Beverly Hills. No matter how many e-mails he sent me about his medical accomplishments and his acquisitions of blue-chip art, I just wasn’t attracted to him. Then, out of nowhere, he asked me, “Do you ever do massage?” I’d already told him what I did for a living, so there was pretty much only one thing he could have meant.

 

...to continue reading, please click on the link. Apparently, you can only post 10,000 characters or less.

[adriano46]

Great story -- too bad no photos!!!

[Scorpio]

too bad no photos!!!

 

I know who it is based solely on the description. But it wouldn't take much effort to find loads of pictures in his current ad on on one of the three major sites. How many escorts match that description in Vegas? And you might also discover, he's traveling on the east this week through Jan 9th.

 

Then you can venture to the review section on Daddy's.

[+ Robster]

He's a great writer. I enjoyed reading that article, and this one, from the same site:

http://www.salon.com/2012/04/17/my_favorite_john_my_very_own_pretty_woman/

 

Rob

[+ azdr0710]

Then you can venture to the review section on Daddy's.

 

 

ok, that was easy....thanks for the hints, Scorp......

[hornytwells]

he actually signs the article with his escort name, so not that hard to find…….

[+ Chris Eisenhower]

he actually signs the article with his escort name, so not that hard to find…….

 

Well there's also this:

 

Confessions of a call bear

I'm just an average, slightly paunchy 40-something guy. And you might be surprised at how I make a living

RUSTY MCMANN

[Scorpio]

he actually signs the article with his escort name, so not that hard to find…….

 

I didn't follow the link to the article to the byline, which is why I just gave hints...

[hornytwells]

Scorpio I am surprised, you are usually the Hercule Poirot of the board! lol

[adriano46]

I know who it is based solely on the description. But it wouldn't take much effort to find loads of pictures in his current ad on on one of the three major sites. How many escorts match that description in Vegas? And you might also discover, he's traveling on the east this week through Jan 9th.

 

Then you can venture to the review section on Daddy's.

 

Sort of pegged him as the guy! Thanks.

[+ Charlie]

Rusty McCann is distinctive enough that I had identified him by the fourth paragraph.

[tyro]

Same here.

T

[Scorpio]

Rusty McCann is distinctive enough that I had identified him by the fourth paragraph.

 

Same here.

T

 

I had it in the first 3 lines and that's about where I stopped reading.

[+ FreshFluff]

Rusty McCann is distinctive enough that I had identified him by the fourth paragraph.

 

You mean that he's the only older bear escort in Vegas? It must be a hard niche to survive in, especially if there's competition from guys who are mature AND in great shape (like Ace).

[+ Charlie]

You mean that he's the only older bear escort in Vegas? It must be a hard niche to survive in, especially if there's competition from guys who are mature AND in great shape (like Ace).

 

As Rusty pointed out, he is a ginger redhead, and red-headed escorts are rare enough in themselves, but a mature red-headed bear in Las Vegas in unique.