Money’s on the Dresser: Escorting, Porn and Promiscuity in Las Vegas by Christopher Daniels

met anyone with multiple sclerosis, except the wife of a pastor at the church I went to growing up. She was always in good spirits and could walk and seemed in relatively good health. I knew there were different types of multiple sclerosis, but I didn’t realize there was one that left you bedridden, paralyzed, and attached to tubes and machines. Craig’s nurse put out his cigarette, gathered his laptop, smiled, and excused himself. I wanted to say to him, Please don’t leave. I have no clue how to handle any of this stuff, let alone try to be sexy, calm, and have sex with a man who can’t move.

    The door closed behind him and we were alone. I smiled at Craig and he offered me a seat.

    “How’s it going?” I asked, trying to sound relaxed, in control, and completely okay with the situation, even though I was completely freaked out by the machines everywhere.

    “Really good. Thanks for coming,” he said.

    “Of course. I am glad I was able to make it.”

    “So, I sort of told you a little bit about my condition.”

    “Right, you have multiple sclerosis?”

    “Yes.”

    “When did this happen? Were you born with it?”

    “I have a disease called primary progressive multiple sclerosis. I was diagnosed with it at the age of twenty and went from a ‘normal’ twenty-year-old to a quadriplegic in a little under seven years. My condition is related to multiple sclerosis, which a lot of people are familiar with, but mine is a bit different. While both the standard MS and the primary progressive versions share the same disease process of one’s own immune system, attacking the thin layer of fat insulating nerves allowing them to properly transmit their signals called the myelin sheath.” It sounded like he was reciting a textbook, and I’m sure he was. He must have gone through explaining his condition to a lot of people over the years, but most likely I was the first escort he was explaining it to.

    “I hope I’m not boring you,” he said.

    “Not at all. I don’t really understand a lot of what you are saying, but it’s all very interesting.”

    He laughed, smiled, and continued explaining. “Primary progressive attacks are much quicker, whereas standard relapsing, or remitting, as it is properly called, can take literally decades to cause the kind of damage I experienced in a few short years. But I still have many blessings in my life, such as the disease essentially stopping its progression for close to ten years now after turning me into a quadriplegic, which means my brain is unaffected and I still have many other pretty much unimpeded functions... and I guess sex is one of them, which is why I called you.”

    “So your condition hasn’t affected your ability to have an orgasm or feel things?”

    “Exactly... and I didn’t actually come out of the closet until I was twenty-three. By then, I had lost all mobility of my lower body and couldn’t move. You remind me of this guy I knew in high school, which is why I contacted you. He was so gorgeous and I used to fantasize about him and jerk off to him all the time. I’ve never actually been with a guy before, so this will be my first experience.”

    “You’ve never been with a guy ever?”

    “Nope, never,” he laughed.

    “So you mean you’ve never kissed a guy, blew a friend, or jerked off with another guy as a teenager?”

    “Nope, sorry,” he laughed.

    I thought I was a late bloomer sexually, especially compared to most gay men I knew. By the time I was sixteen, I had at least kissed a guy, made out with another, sucked a guy off, and given at least half a dozen hand-jobs at random sleepovers or drunken parties in high school. It was hard for me to comprehend how a guy could know he was gay his whole life but never act on it once.

    “Funny story, though: I used to be a phone sex operator.”

    “After you couldn’t move anymore?”

    “Yup,” he laughed.

    Wow, this meeting was definitely not what I was