Funny, this wasn't Jezebel's reaction at all: "This month, as Nevada anointed the country's first-ever legal male prostitute...it became incredibly clear that one thing had to happen immediately: The Post had to have a go at this gigolo." And...?
Yes, the NY Post's Mandy Stadtmiller ponied up $500 (presumably on Murdoch's dime) and hightailed it to Nevada's Shady Lady Ranch, where she was greeted by the much-hyped first legal male hooker, Markus. Before you get too excited, spoiler alert: she doesn't sleep with him, although they do get naked and he inspects her for "discrepancies" (which is, I guess, the new lingo for crabs and other readily apparent genital plagues, and which I will obviously now use in lieu of any other terminology.) And, although he's predictably well-endowed, it's...less than hot.
"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.
While Markus is obviously somewhat risible (the comparison's to Rosa Parks, the psychobabble, the "surrogate lover" shenanigans, comments like "women can be a prostitute. But not men,") the reporter's tone starts to make me uncomfortable.
He tells me that if you can "pronunciate" words well, it means you are great at pleasuring a woman...He's half Irish, a quarter Native American, a quarter Scandinavian and all lover. Favorite book: "1984." Favorite movie: "Braveheart." Actor he's like: "Steve-O." Musician he's like: "Moby," or - wait for it - "Choppin" (meaning Chopin).
I understand I may be alone in finding this whole story vaguely tragic and definitely depressing. The man is trying to be a legal hooker, not a therapist (okay, maybe he's trying to do both.) It seems unfair to pass on his actual paid skill-set (as such) and critique his intellect. Who was she expecting here? Also: to advertise a "night" with a male hooker in a headline and present us with a lackluster Q&A. Overhyping? Um, pot meet kettle - not that, in either of these cases, we're terribly disappointed.
My Night With A Prosti-Dude [NY Post]