On Hiring a Houseboy

Houseboys are the quintessential decorative touch for any gay household. Most often, these domestic demigods are depicted as being accessible to only the most affluent of gays. While I’ve always been intrigued by the concept, I never really thought I’d be able to secure one for myself, at least not in the near term. But it’s easier than you’d expect.

Several months back, I checked out houseboy.com, just for kicks. The results were less than stellar. The site is mainly a ploy to pay for their service, the selection is limited (although tantalizing) and the majority are quite a distance away and want some serious financial compensation.

I recently mused about having a houseboy again as I stared at a pile of unwashed dishes in my sink and, on a whim, posted a quick ad with my old friend, Craigslist.

Much to my surprise, within the hour I received a few responses.

The clear winner was a strapping 20-year-old, who wrote succinctly and attached some enticing photos of himself. When he revealed his face, things got even more exciting. Suspecting fraud, I continued to interact with him about potential times when we could meet and have his first interview. As it turned out, he was available the very same evening. We set a time. I cautiously broached the topic of compensation as we continued to converse. To my surprise, he wanted nothing in return. Win.

I was still suspicious. I mean, this was a bit of a nefarious position I was hiring for, so I wasn’t expecting the brightest minds of Philadelphia to come rolling up to my doorstep, especially with no compensation. But he did. He had given me his number earlier in the day and kept me abreast of his whereabouts before his arrival. He arrived on time, and sure enough, he was the very same boy whose pictures I’d seen hours earlier. I let him in and sat him on the couch.

This is where things broke down a bit. Having never hired a.. domestic assistant.. before, I wasn’t really prepared to conduct the interview. I somewhat awkwardly sat on the chair next to the sofa and rattled off a few questions about where he goes to school, what he was studying and why on earth he was in my apartment volunteering to clean it for me. He was clearly nervous, but appeared to be intelligent and genuine.

After asking a few more questions about timing and frequency, I ran out of things to ask. So I went for it. “Well.. um.. I guess.. why don’t you show me your body?” It was a bit tense. We both knew it was coming– it’s part of the job, but it just sounds weird coming out. However, at my command, he stood up, removed his shirt and pants and displayed his body to me. That was too easy. I was hooked.

He sat back down and we talked a bit more. I got a bit more specific as I asked him about what he would and wouldn’t be willing to do. Serve drinks to my friends. Check. Wash the dishes. Check. Do my laundry. Check. He was extremely accommodating, so I led him to my bedroom to see how things would go in a different context. We stood by my bedside, where I touched his body. He didn’t protest. I began to remove his underwear, and he asked me, “So does this mean I get the position?” I said yes, and put him to work.

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