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Sorry, I Only Buy Drinks

Went into London's very own Townhouse last night, just to see if it was half as fun as last week.

There was one cute tall boy, buoyed amidst a sea of tragedy. We made eye contact and then I went downstairs to the den of dance.

After taking in my recommended daily dosage of senior disco (the old guys had their shirts off, which was charming and repulsive all at the same time), we wandered back up, where CTB was now sitting at the bar. After a little more eye contact, and given the lack of anything else to chat up, I walked over and said hi after Larry headed off to the gents.

His name is Philipe. He's from Brazil. I nodded and said of course you are.

"Why 'of course'?"

I explained that in the last several months of coming to England, I seemed to have met a good number of Brazilians.

We exchanged some more pleasantries, with him apologizing for his English ... he'd only been here for a few months. Doesn't come to this bar very often, has a flat just down the road from me. I asked him what he was doing in London.

"I'm an escort."

No problem with English there.

So I proceeded to ask him how work's been going, where he met clients, etc.

"Do you advertise in the local magazines?"

"Yes, but under a different name."

I asked which one and he said Vitor. He was going by his real name, but everyone expected him to be French, so he chose something more in tune with his homeland.

"Vitor?? No way. Do you have ads running now?"

He said yes, but it looked a little different because of a new tattoo peeking out of his waistband.

"That's kinda hot. Let me see the rest." He did.

:: :: ::

Just a couple weeks ago, I was thumbing through the escort ads, as one does on a Saturday afternoon. I ran across an ad for Vitor, "a new young Brazilian in town", who had a most intriguing endowment.

One of the Prince's flatmate is named Vitor ... he is also young and Brazilian, and although I've never seen him undressed, could have possibly fit the bill here, were he not straight and not selling his junk in the back of a gay rag. Nonetheless, I cut out the ad and gave it to him last week, complementing him on his entrepreneurial spirit.

He assured me that it was not him, I expressed my disappointment, and we all had a good laugh.

:: :: ::

Meanwhile, back at the troll bar, I'm going through the ads, looking for the one I gave to the real Vitor last week. Finding it, I asked my new friend, "Is this you?"

He nodded.

"No way," I said.

He handed me his cell phone, er, mobile (I keep forgetting), and told me to call the number. So I whipped mine out (my mobile, that is) and dialed the number in the ad. The phone that CTB had just given me rang.

Cool. I've met my first real hooker in London.

We talked some more, and I became all full of questions about visas, work permits, and immigration. My other Brazilian friends have issues with that, so I was naturally curious. He reminded me the work thing wasn't much of an issue with him, as he had a "cash business." Ahh, yes, of course.

It became time to go, and I shook his and told him he had my number now, so give me a call if he wants to go have a beer.

He just smiled and said something about he only goes out for business. I reminded him everybody needs a night off once in a while. He just shook his head.

Apparently, has a very strong work ethic. Too bad. He would have been fun to hang out with, and as much as I like spending money on my friends, I think we've got to draw a line somewhere.