I’m nine months into my second attempt at living permanently in Europe, having fled a comparatively normal gay life in Chicago. If anything, this second attempt has been even more stressful and unlucky (and ill-planned) than the first, after which I returned to Chicago with only 50 bucks in my pocket after coming to Prague with 12,000 USD—all of it blown within 6 months.
This time, in less than 60 days, I was mugged and pickpocketed – all my money, my debit cards, my driver’s license, everything, was stolen from me. I was in Romania, not the Czech Republic, at the time, and if I hadn’t met some really kind people and if I hadn’t had a very nice digital camera to sell, a Canon Digital Rebel, I would have been on the streets of Cluj-Napoca without support of any kind. As it was, I had to borrow money from an American friend to even pay my hotel bill.
When I got through all of that and went back to my old apartment in Prague, I found that the millionaire heir to the Kodak fortune, to whom I had rented my apartment for a month (for a cheap $850 USD), had let rent boys spend the night with him, and they had stolen my printer, broken my washing machine, and damaged my parquet floors. There went my security deposit, and I had to replace the lock on my front door. Did I get an apology or any compensation from this guy? No. He didn’t even buy me a beer when a bunch of gay expats went out for pivo the next time he was in town.
But anyway I’m getting ahead of myself.
This is the third blog I’ve begun while living abroad. The first one, called The Rent Boys of Prague, documented in detail my adventures among the young male prostitutes here in the City of a Thousand Spires. It was well-received but is now offline.
I continued writing while I was back in the States, but because nothing interesting really happened to me there, the blog was filled with movie and music reviews and some personal crap. It wasn’t until I returned to Prague in September 2004, exactly one year to the day when I’d arrived the first time, that the liveliness of the writing and of my life took over the blog again. Once again, if you searched for “Prague rent boys,” or any combination thereof, on Google, I was number one. And number two. And number three, usually.
However, because of the theft in Romania, and the subsequent loss of my Powerbook (I tell everyone I lost it in a bet, but it actually went to an electronics bazaar so I could pay my rent; where it went after that will have to wait for the telling), and the crushing theft of my external hard drive, which contained 20 years of music as well as all my programs, back-ups of my blogs and Web sites, digital photos, prose and poetry, and pretty much everything else I owned, that could be stored digitally, I was unable to maintain the second blog, now lost except for three posts salvaged from the Wayback Machine, having neither money to pay for hosting nor any debit card with which to pay for it,
Since then, I’ve been running for my life, moving from one apartment to another without paying the full rent, teaching English, giving gay tourists tours, and yes, even pimping a little — anything to get by until I finish the fucking first book and hopefully get it published, or until my friends open that fucking bar they’re always talking about and hire me, or until I’m deported.
So much has happened since I stopped posting on the first blog that a lot of background will have to be filled in as I go along. I’ve been with, um, let’s see, about five young men, not all of them for pay, one of the originals is now back with me and helping me out; and I’m meeting a young gypsy or Romany guy tonight at a bar for drinks. He’s a nice guy, but I’ve generally found that sex is better with rent boys than with your average Czech or Slovak gay The word "boys" doesn't mean little kids. Instead, it's a common way to talk about any young man. In gay male culture, an early thirty-something... Více na. In addition, I’m four months behind on rent, although somehow I have not been kicked out. I’m anxious to find out what happens next.