The male-to-male escort industry is booming, servicing clients who are typically middle- aged, affluent, white – and most often married. Charl Blignaut spends time at a whorehouse
In the quiet street of a leafy suburb in the east of Johannesburg not even the next-door neighbours know that the house next door is a brothel. Why should they?
The apparently normal gang of polite, barefoot, handsome young men who live in the house behind the wrought-iron fence, the one with the waterfall cascading down to the front door, could just as well be the inhabitants of some sort of upmarket student digs. And the affluent, pot- bellied, balding men who pull up to visit in their BMWs every day could just as well be their fathers.
Except for a crafty little doormat that reads “Come Again at Highwaymen” there is no sign, from the outside, that these young men, aged between 19 and 21, specialise in what is euphemistically referred to as the “male-to-male massage industry”.
Should a neighbour pop inside to borrow a cup of sugar, they would still not know what it is that “highwaymen” do. The boys amble around, lazing in front of a TV, taking turns to answer the incessantly ringing telephone. Even the porn books on the table are deceptive. High class erotica, River Rafters by Dook, nothing dirty.
It would only be if one of the distinguished fifty-something visitors were to knock on the door, be introduced to the unassuming 32-year-old owner, Wayne, and be ushered into the lounge to take his place on the couch, a whisky on the rocks coming right up sir, that the neighbour would begin to get the uneasy feeling that all is not well in suburbia. That daddy is acting a bit out of sorts this afternoon.
That is, of course, assuming that the visitor has requested “a fishbowl”, otherwise he will move right along to one of the four tastefully decorated bedrooms in the house to visit with his boy. A fishbowl, however, is what happens when he has asked Wayne if he can view the merchandise.
Don’t get him wrong, he’s more often than not “not looking for any gay shit”, he just wants to try something a little different. Maybe, of course, he is one of the 20% of Highwaymen’s clients who are gay.
Either way, if he is the average age and shape of a caller at the house he will be older than 40, balding and greying, his well-cut, imported suit no longer managing to keep his waistline checked. Seventy per cent of the callers at the house will be all that as well as married, most likely with children.
That’s the reality of male-to-male rent in South Africa – when the transaction is taking place in the relative safety of an agency and not on the street. On the street you can never be sure you’re going to emerge from your fantasy with your wallet and/or your neck intact.
It’s not too difficult to figure out how he came to step across the mildly suggestive mat at the front door. Either he is one of Highwaymen’s 40% regular weekly customers, or else he has called the agency up after reading its advert in the classified section of The Star.
In three-quarters of the cases he passes up the travel option and comes to the house. And he does so for a reason. It’s discreet, upmarket, easier than trying to pick someone up in a bar, and he gets to choose.
Most likely of all is that he has come to visit late on a Friday, after the match on Saturday evenings, or Monday mornings as early as 7am – the rush hours at Highwaymen. And generally, during the week, lunch times are busiest. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why Monday is so popular.
That the male-to-male sex industry in the new South Africa is one of the country’s fastest-growing small business sectors should hardly come as a surprise. What is a tad more surprising is that the industry serves a predominantly heterosexual clientele.
Come Monday morning, it would appear, the average heterosexual South African male, let’s call him Neil, opts for different strokes.
Had Neil been paging through the classifieds and ended up at Highwaymen, the following advert would most likely have caught his eye: “A bagful of male to male at Highwaymen. Eight of the best! Heated luxury! Free drinks! New faces weekly! 24hrs. In/out. C/cards. Duos. S&M.”
He would by now most likely know the adverts in section 754 – massage services – almost by heart. Section 754 is generally for male masseurs. Sections 250 (entertainment) and 252 (escorts) are generally for the girls. If Yolanda, “dark, busty, naughty and sexy in a school uniform”, or Angel, “kinky lesbian voyeur”, are not what he’s after, then he will move right along to section 754.
Just reading through the 200-odd adverts in sections 250, 252 and 754 is already a turn-on for Neil; just the suggestion of what fate may hold in store should he choose to manipulate it; just the range of possibilities.
By now Neil will know that in section 754 there are six or seven agencies like Wayne’s outside the 50-odd solo rents working the Johannesburg scene independently of an agency. That’s a considerable choice of flesh, taking into account the fact that the first male-to- male agency in Johannesburg, The Executive Club, opened its doors in 1991 in Hillbrow. Within seven years a new marketplace has been established and, according to Wayne, who opened Highwaymen in January 1997, profits are increasing annually.
If Neil has frequented Highwaymen before he will know that Wayne lives up to his adverts. Uncommonly in this industry, what you read is what you get at Highwaymen. Neil will know that aside from the main advert there are also eight individual adverts in section 754 with his phone numbers. These are smaller adverts paid for by each of Wayne’s boys. He most likely knows before he has arrived that what he’s most interested in is Alonzo: “A darker shade of male delight! Moroccan meat- eater!”
But even so, he still wants to see each one of the fish in the sea. He’s paying, right?
There are, according to Wayne, three stereotypes clients like. Firstly, there’s the “cute, blond, smooth, young little surfer-boy, the most frequently requested”. Then there’s the “very masculine, muscular body builder, the type who will take the lead and do the fucking”. Thirdly, there’s “the hairy, tall, dark boy”.
Outside of that, says Wayne, clients will have specific requests, particularly gay clients. “They will know if they want someone who’s a certain size, if he must be cut or uncut, if he will be versatile or not or get into role-playing or bondage or whatever. Anything extra sexually is up to the boys to negotiate. I absolutely don’t push anything kinky. They know what they can handle.”
And yes, there is a container of condoms next to the bed. Drugs, under-age boys (younger than 19) and unsafe sex are not welcome at Highwaymen, which is not to say that that’s the case at all agencies. Highwaymen, I will come to learn, is something of an exception in the industry.
Meanwhile, back on the couch, Neil may be having some trouble deciding. He will have seen whatever number of boys are available at the time of his visit. There’s Alec, who is 19, smooth, a rugby-player’s build with hairy legs and a fun personality. John is blond, smooth, very slender with narrow hips.
Tim is a shy boerseun, charmingly clumsy, typically young, dumb and full of come. But he takes charge. He’s there for the older, English client – one who likes to be taken.
Troy is passionate and cute. He is openly gay, his dark hair hanging in a bob and an intellect to match his considerable in- seam measurement. Chris is the muscleman. Hard body, masculine, hung.
Alonzo is the only non-white boy at Wayne’s. He is of Indian and coloured stock, but finds it pays better to sell himself as Moroccan. He’s 19, has a slender, muscular build, and is versatile. His strength is his foreplay. “My clients are 97% white,” says Wayne, “that’s the way the industry is comprised. Each agency can support maximum one person of colour, I really don’t know why. There seems to be a bigger demand for black boys from white females.”
Finally, there’s Des, the model-type. Pretty boy, scheming and slightly coy.
Most of Wayne’s boys are gay, one or two bisexual. “The straight boys generally find it easier to cope, they don’t get attached. They can switch off much easier. Gay boys want to be turned on too, they struggle with demanding clients. It’s not easy if you’re not attracted to someone and they insist that you find them adorable and get turned on. You have to play a role.”
The issue of why the bulk of his clients are heterosexual is something that Wayne has given considerable thought to over the years. As far as he can make out, the phenomenon is a combination of factors: “Most married couples seem to suffer a dip in their sex life. There’s a great deal of pressure on men to perform. I think the money factor removes some of that pressure. They have already pleased their partner, he’s getting paid. Also, with two men, the gratification is evident. Women can fake orgasms, men can’t.”
Wayne is not convinced that his clients are all innate closet queens. Sure, there will be some who were pushed into marriage at a young age and only started discovering their sexuality when it was too late.
But for the rest, reckons Wayne, “there’s a fair element of male bonding involved. This is a boys’ club. I think a lot of our clients are either satisfying their curiosity, or else they’re discovering their particular fetishes and this is where they can live them out.
“More importantly, though, I think for a lot of men this is a way of proving their dominance. They can take control, conquer someone. Chances are that in the business world they’re dominated by their boss or have to grovel for clients. In here that changes.”
Wayne has made something of a study of the industry and has come to the conclusion that although his clients are mostly looking for “straight-acting, straight- looking boys”, it is to his advantage to hire gay boys to play that role.
“Straight boys can give problems. There are often girlfriends who can’t cope when they find out where their lover is working; they tend to bring more baggage to the job. And generally the gay boys already know all there is to know about sex. All I have to instruct them on is basic deportment and the art of giving a professional massage. Straight boys have to be taught about gay sex – and don’t you give me that look; I absolutely never test the merchandise.”
Six of the boys live at Wayne’s home, forcing him to don an extraordinary number of caps. “I have to play so many different roles, it can be quite bewildering. I’m businessman, boss, father, mother, brother, adviser. It’s an incredible span of emotions. Each boy will bring his own set of needs when he comes to work here. Some, of course, don’t impose anything at all, but I want them to be able to talk things through if they need to.”
Wayne’s house is different to any other in Johannesburg in that he doesn’t impose a fine system. In other houses, boys will be fined for any of a number of offences – from sleeping late to leaving dirty towels behind in a room to being rude to customers.
It goes without saying that the fine system can be abused and that unscrupulous agency owners can make themselves a tidy sum from imposing ridiculously strict rules. There are also houses, I will learn from research independent of what I glean from Wayne, that are run on drugs – boys paid and manipulated with speed and Ecstasy and cocaine.
I will discover that there are reasons why the industry has a bad name, that there are individuals in Johannesburg who are prone to abusing workers and have been known to bribe customers with exposure. But that’s a whole different story.
It is precisely because of corrupt sex workers that Wayne and the other agency owners in Johannesburg meet once a month in an attempt to set industry standards and to regulate the business without controlling it.
Wayne is also at pains to dispel the myth that agency owners are fat cats, rolling in easy money. He runs his operation like the efficient small business that it is, turning enough profit to make Highwaymen a more lucrative venture than his former life as a star banker, but not the stuff of overnight millionaires.
Meanwhile, the time has come for Neil to make a decision. The clock is ticking. An hour at Highwaymen will cost him R200. That includes a full body massage, “front, back and pelvic”. If there is anything oral required, the hour will cost him, should the boy be willing, R220. Full house costs R250.
Full house is penetrative sex, either giving or receiving. Of that Wayne will take an industry standard R110, the boys also paying a nominal fee for food and lodging.
There are, of course, sleazier agencies in Johannesburg that charge as little as R120 full house. On the street you can receive basic oral gratification for as little as R50, and it goes without saying that there is a virulent strain of class distinction between working the street and operating from a house.
Assuming that Neil has decided to spend some quality time with Moroccan meat-eater Alonzo, they will make themselves comfortable in one of the rooms. Alonzo will heat up the massage oil and wrap a slinky little towel around his trim waist. “Generally they like me to strip them,” says Alonzo, “and then they will lie on the massage table and I’ll give them the full body massage.”
If Neil is a typical client, he will expect Alonzo to get into some light role- playing. “Like if he’s seen a character in a movie that he wants me to be or a scene that he wants me to act out – which I have no problem doing.”
“What’s the most common role you’re expected to play?” I ask.
“Talking dirty and being bitchy excites most of them. They come here to have their fantasies fulfilled.”
There are several myths about rentboys that I will have neatly shattered for me as I conduct interviews over the next few days. The first is that they are so sick of sex by the end of the day that they become hardened and celibate. “Nonsense,” admonishes Alonzo, “I can do it 365 days a year.” Almost all the boys in the house are involved in relationships. At first their lovers are shocked when they learn of their profession, “but they get over it. It’s just a job.”
The highwaymen’s favourite activity is to go dancing together at a well-known gay club at the end of a hard week. And yes, they often pick up boys. They may not be hardened and abused as most people think, but the one clich that remains true of every boy I have spoken with is the Pretty Woman fantasy.
“Oh yes,” enthuses Alonzo, “that’s my biggest fantasy – to fall in love with a regular client. To give all this up and settle down.”
“So why do you do this job?” I ask him in parting.
“Because I have a talent for it,” he shoots back, batting his eyelids, “and obviously for the money.”