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May 6, 2002
REMINISCES OF A GAY HUSTLER.

My second client was a handsome, square jawed jarhead named Brad. When I made inquiries regarding his desires, he leaned towards me and whispered into my ear.

“Sing ‘The Marine’s Hymn,’” Brad hissed, as if he had asked me to perform something incredibly salacious. I began warbling with patriotic fervor, “From the Halls of Montezuma, to the shores of Tripoli…”

All the while Brad worked himself into a tumescent, lustful frenzy. During my seventh rendition, Brad unexpectedly screamed like a woman and shot an impressive spray that actually hit the ceiling with an audible SPLAT.