Rick Whitaker is not a typical hustler. He's college educated, a
classical musician, and reads philosophy for fun. So what possessed him
to sell his body to men who, for the most part, repulsed him? The money,
he's honest enough to admit. And a growing cocaine habit, which required
a lot of it.
Whitaker's memoir is an entertaining behind-the-scenes look at the world
of high-end prostitution, alternating between scenes from the boudoir and
reflections on the psychology and power structure of the john/hustler
relationship. Don't expect much salacious detail --
Whitaker is pretty stingy in his descriptions of sex -- but the
commentary, though occasionally veering toward the pretentious, is
generally insightful. And it's fun to try figure out who the high-profile
johns were.
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