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He reveals his fantasy that he would love to be roughed up by a lady cop with her baton. All a mom wants to do is keep her kid from becoming a gigolo.” “You know that Chris Rock joke,” I ask him, “about how all a father wants to do is keep his daughter off the pole? You’re like the male equivalent. “I’ve healed people,” he says of his lovemaking ability, which most recently included his first client - a 45-year-old woman who hadn’t been laid in two years and in Markus’ words “was wild as a bug.” In case it ever comes up, Markus says he’s learned much of his sexual technique from the “Karma Sutra,” and the reason he’s such a good lover is because he was “sensory deprived” by his mother. “I think there was a definite plan,” he says. How funny, I observe, that he became a male prostitute. When I ask Markus why he waited so long to have sex (remember: he lost it at 23), he says it’s because “no one wanted me.” “No Enzyte.” And he says he doesn’t date outside of work.
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His recently shaved body is quite fit (he works out daily at the brothel, where he lives) and covered in tattoos, including a Chinese character meaning “to seek.” He is 5-foot-9, and, um, very well-endowed.
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While Merril Bainbridge’s “When I Kiss Your Mouth” plays embarrassingly in the background (I did not make out with him), we’re interrupted by the sound of an occasional honk from a peacock roaming outside and, from the lobby, the intermittent sounds of giggling female hookers. He repeatedly asks to show me his abilities and flicks out his scarily Gene Simmons-esque tongue which totally turns me off. He says he’s never had an STD and doesn’t worry about getting women pregnant (“because you can feel it when a condom breaks”). “Why don’t you give me a massage?” I say. Then he brings out his little “trick box,” as he calls it, but such is his luck today, he can’t find the lubricant he says is crackerjack for making women climax. “You have a beautiful body,” he tells me. Now, to answer the question on your mind: No. To explain my visit, I tell him I don’t have much luck with men, watch a lot of porn, want to learn more and would be delighted if he simply “put on a show” for me. Before becoming America’s first legal “prosti-dude,” Markus dabbled in porn while he lived in Los Angeles but quit after just two scenes because he found it too degrading to women.Īlso, he was homeless for a few months before he learned about this fantastic opportunity to become a sex-worker pioneer at Shady Lady. In addition to comparing himself to civil rights pioneer Rosa Parks (“I’m breaking through sexual segregation”), he also identifies with Lady Gaga (“I’m a performer”), van Gogh (“I’m an artist”) and Moby (“I’m an eccentric”). (This is why, he says, he got into male prostitution, to find the intimacy that he lacked.) Originally from Hatton, Ala., he felt abandoned by his mother after his parents divorced at an early age. Over the next two hours, Markus shares his personal bits, too. “Yeah,” he murmurs, cooing that I’m “practically” an 8 or a 9. Minutes later, as we’re standing naked in the shower, he’s examining me like a second-rate gynecologist and nodding. Then we can both inspect each other to make sure there are no discrepancies.” “So,” Markus says after leaning over and kissing my knee, “we’re going to get undressed and then take a shower. “First thing we do is visual inspection,” explains the dorky college dropout who later confesses I am only his second client, he has been with a total of six women in his life, and, to be perfectly honest, he lost his virginity at 23. “Markus” (real name: Patrick) greets me in glasses, a satin blue shirt and slacks, and leads me to a bedroom where we sit opposite each other as I fumble for the cash out of my “Precious Moments” pocketbook. That, and the occasional sign about the importance of using latex condoms. The scene: mostly dust, sunlight and sadness. And sorry, ladies - he can’t go back to back “because he puts so much into it”). Because truly: Nothing gets you in the mood for a legal male hooker like “Wind Beneath My Wings.”Īt 3 p.m., I arrive at the appropriately titled Shady Lady Ranch for my two-hour booking (Prices: $200 for 40 minutes, $300 for one hour. I’m sweaty, stinky and pumped from listening to “lite-romance” radio.
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The Post had to have a go at this gigolo.Ī $500 cash advance, an overnight flight to Vegas and a 2 1/2-hour car ride later, I arrive at the brothel. This month, as Nevada anointed the country’s first-ever legal male prostitute - in the form of “Markus,” a 25-year-old beefy ex-Marine - it became incredibly clear that one thing had to happen immediately. Who would hire the first legal male hooker in the country?Ī desperate spinster? A lonely divorcee? A New York Post reporter on undercover assignment?Īnswer: All of the above.