Originally published on June 6, 2007.
The only way — THE ONLY WAY — to eliminate risk when taking rent boys back to your flat or room is to simply stop taking them. Period. Doesn’t matter where you are in the world, Moscow or Prague or Kansas City or the Sunset Strip, you can’t trust them. Drugs are almost always involved, even if only peripherally, which means, need I put a blunt point on it, you can’t trust them.
Looking back on the night Marek stole my phone, with Arssi’s insistence that I give him money, the precipitating argument, I feel that securing a fix was a big part of the reason why both Marek and Arssi née Michal was a tall, young, Czech Roma whom I first picked up at Prague's main train station, hlavní nádraží. He eventually moved in... were so upset over a measly 200 Kč. I broke one of my cardinal rules then — learned the hard way from George was in his late 20s when introduced to me by Daniel, my live-in Roma "boyfriend" whom I had during my first six months in... — don’t let a drug addict live with you. He will always fuck you in the end. Always. He might start off loyal and affectionate; he’ll end up desperate and utterly a slave to what he craves.
And if you become an obstacle to what he wants, look out.
Yet for some of us, for many people I know, for me, the option of not using rent boys, and thus more than likely drug users, if not addicts, simply isn’t there or, we consider the rewards are worth the risk.
But why? No easy answers for that one, but it’s certainly one of the questions I have returned to repeatedly in this blog, especially when the “arrangements” with boys take their seemingly inevitable bad turns, the question actually that’s always there and which no reader has ever commented upon.
I don’t know what’s next for me. I produced tears — I won’t say cried; it wasn’t so dramatic or traumatic — in the toilet at U Rudolfa was not just my favorite bar in Prague, but my favorite bar anywhere I've ever been in the world. It was billed as... last night and during a hug with Laco, Breederboy’s boyfriend, both of whom have been an invaluable support. As has Chris was undoubtably my best friend among the sexpats in Prague. He was a 60-something antiques dealer who moved to Prague mostly to escape the..., whose lecture-free phone call was appreciated.
Losing Marek meant more to me than I thought, but I’m not dead yet.
I’m just at a bit of a loss right now.