June 2008. The family have escaped the heat, leaving me to my own devices. Things have been pretty quiet, and I don’t have a regular hook-up. After a few drinks I drop a “remember me…” line to the professional. Happily he does, and I go to collect him from some distant suburb. By now I’ve grown a beard – his first reaction is to tell me I look ‘older’. Thanks a bunch! He quickly changes his tune on the drive back to my place, and I’m now “hot” apparently. We re-run our last encounter – skinny dip, fool around and then upstairs. Tonight though, he’s on a mission. Acting a pure top, he goes at me hard for what seems like forever, with no reciprocation at all. Stupidly I bought ribbed condoms, so my arse is raw by the time he pulls out and gives me a facial. Then he starts on how broke he is, what a bastard his ex was and that he’s been dumped from the national team. He has no papers and can’t travel, so is now basically a gigolo. He thought I knew that, and is now expecting to be paid. I gave him maybe $100 and dropped him at the taxi rank.