Four—Arriving
I had a business. It was a different kind of business, though not entirely unrelated in what it required of me—presence, patience, a body comfortable being looked at, an honest relationship with male desire.
Over the years, alongside that work and then beyond it, something else kept emerging. Men who wanted something I couldn’t quite name and neither could they. Who stayed longer than the transaction required. Who asked questions that had nothing to do with why they’d come and everything to do with why they’d actually come.
I paid attention. That’s all.
Decades passed. The men kept arriving with the same unspoken cargo—the curiosity, the wanting, the body held at arm’s length from its own life, the question that had been waiting years for the right room. And I kept noticing that nobody else seemed to be offering what they were circling around. Not in any form I could find. Not with the combination of frankness and ease and genuine interest in men that the thing seemed to require.
So I kept the door open. Widened it slightly. Made it clearer, for the men who were already finding their way there, what they were actually walking into.
It wasn’t a plan. It was just what happened when you pay attention long enough to what’s needed and are honest enough to provide it.
The need was always there. Submerged, unnamed, carefully managed by the men who felt it. It still is, in most places.
Just not here.
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