One 19-year-old’s crazy lifestyle as a male prostitute with Escape to Paradise, off Wenceslas Square

by Sam Corbett

At a table at Radost Fx, a trendy vegetarian restaurant in Prague 2, a tall, blond 19 year-old scans the room for friends. Stylishly dressed in distressed faux-vintage clothes, it would be easy to assume that he is just one of the many beautiful people who frequent this restaurant.

But this boy’s beauty is not simply a source of pride; it is the cornerstone of his career. He is a male prostitute, and within two hours, he will be heading off to work.

Jan (name changed for privacy), has worked as a “rent boy,” as he describes his profession, for a little over a year. He got his start in the industry as soon as he was legally able to, shortly after his 18th birthday.

Currently, he works at Escape to Paradise, a bar located in a basement a few blocks off Wenceslas Square. He is one of over a dozen rent boys employed there.

The bar does not take any cut of the money the prostitutes earn from the customers they pick up there, which for Jan averages around 6000 Kc per encounter (around $300). Instead, the boys are encouraged to get their customers to buy them exorbitantly priced drinks from the bar before they head off to their hotel rooms or apartments.

“I’m sick of Escape,” he says over coffee. “There are so many rules that it takes all the fun out of the job.”

The boys at Escape are required to work six nights a week, every week. The night they choose to take off is up to them, but it can never be a Friday or Saturday. Additionally, there are regulations regarding personal grooming and dress code.

On weekend nights, they must wear themed outfits. These range from a Mexican-inspired poncho and sombrero combination to, on “naked night,” as little as a hairnet over their genitals.

However, despite the seemingly excessive rules, Jan is aware that having a safe zone in which to negotiate transactions is a luxury that not all of Prague’s prostitutes have.

Before he came to Escape, Jan began his career as a rent boy simply picking up customers on his own in any of Prague’s surprisingly prevalent gay bars. On one such encounter, he says he nearly became the victim of sexual violence.

“He was gross, and I just didn’t want to do anything with him,” he says, shuddering. “He held me down and wouldn’t say no.” Brightening, he adds, “I kicked his ass, though. He was too old to really try anything.”

Walking along Prague’s cobblestone streets, Jan often turns his head sharply, as if he is being followed. He walks slowly, with a slight limp, which he knows makes him an easier target for a mugging. However, he is actually lucky to be walking at all.

Seven years ago, at age 12, Jan had a sudden brain aneurysm. The entire left side of his body was paralyzed, and for the next four years he was confined to a wheelchair. Though he is able to walk today, even something as simple as sitting in a crowded restaurant is an immense hassle, as he must maneuver his legs into place with his arms.

“It sucks, being a cripple,” he says, stressing the derogatory term sardonically. “But considering what my life could be, and has been, I can’t complain. You’d be surprised how little it affects my customers.”

As he speaks, his eyes roam the room. His left eye is just a hair slower at moving than the right, almost imperceptibly so.

At a friend’s 18th birthday party in an underground tearoom, Jan is affectionate with the guests (nearly all old friends from school) almost to a fault. Everyone is greeted with a purred “Hey, gorgeous!” In any conversation, with either sex, contact plays a major role, from playful taps on the shoulder to quick hugs and pecks on the cheek.

Despite his job as a sex worker, his views on relationships are unusually traditional for a boy of his age.

“Sometimes I think I was born in the wrong century,” he says. “When I am dating someone, the one thing I hate most is when they date other people.”

But Jan has had a remarkably colorful romantic life for his young age.

He has been in two serious relationships, each lasting over six months, along with a series of shorter flings. His last relationship ended just a few weeks ago.

“He tried, but in the end we were just too different,” he says. He shrugs, toying with his cell phone. “Some people think I come on a little strong. I think I just know when I like someone and I go after that. Is that so wrong?”

Jan has lived alone with his mother for the past several years. She is the only member of his immediate family he is in contact with. He has not spoken to his father, about his choice of career or anything else, since 2001.

In that year, his mother divorced his father after discovering he was having an affair with his secretary. Jan has a nine-year-old half-sister who he has never met.

However, his father is a constant presence in his life, wanted or otherwise. His lawyer, who handled the drawn-out divorce case, has an office directly next door to the hotel where Jan brings most of his customers. He lives in fear of running into her one night while on the job.

Prague has historically had a fairly low rate of sexually transmitted infections (STIs), but following the fall of Communism in 1989 and the burgeoning sex tourism industry has seen infection rates skyrocket. In the decade after Communism’s demise, syphilis rates increased by 864%, according to the National Institute of Public Health.

Jan has never had an STI. He always uses a condom with his customers and gets tested regularly, but acknowledges that condoms cannot protect against all diseases.

The risk is part of the reason that he is looking forward to the time when he can stop working as a prostitute and start a different career.

“I am happy with my job, but I know it can’t go on forever,” he says. “People don’t want to pay for sex when you get older and uglier. And I can’t stay in Prague much longer. I love the city, but I feel like I don’t belong here.”

Eventually, he would like to become a stylist. He likes nothing better than taking friends to the mall, giving them hair and clothing makeovers, and taking pictures of his handiwork. However, he is unsure how to break into that business. For now, he will continue being a rent boy as long as he can.

“This is what I know how to do,” Jan says, forcing a grin. “For better or worse, it’s a job like any other. When it’s over… I guess I’ll figure out what to do then.”

But now it is nearly 8 p.m.: time to go to work. Sighing resignedly, he walks slowly off into the night.

Sam Corbett is a third-year student at New York University studying journalism and sociology. He is from Potomac, Maryland. A version of this article was first created for the Travel Writing class at New York University in Prague.