2002-07-12 - 3:03 a.m.

Over anything else, my defense mechanisms make me who I am.

That's why I get quiet when things don't go my way.

This is where it pays to be a smoker.

Let's just put things bluntly�it�s very emotionally taxing to be the male escort. To be there to perform that function. To have that be your job.

In the apartment of a guy you like. And to watch him strike out.

When he doesn't want you there. When he wants you to leave.

And you also actually want to leave anyway.

But you're the male escort. And you can't leave.

And you wanna be on both sides, in a way.

And not be Mr. "Happy-to-be-of-use," AKA J. Alfred Proofrock.

Next time, I won't get sucked into the male escort, the unic, role.

I'm not going to be the water-bucketed fall guy that patiently watches over the the jubilant crowd dancing over fire.