“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. 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.