A decade ago, when I was as young as I was insecure, I wanted a man to pay for sex with me. The thought of it made my dick throb against my jeans. After a night of dancing, my buddy K convinced me to try it out.
“Go,” she said. “Make us some money. Then you can tell me all about it.”
The ‘us’ was meant in jest, but I asked her why she didn’t do the same if she was so interested in the sexual transaction. She replied that it wasn’t as safe for women on the street as it was for men.
Four blocks away, standing on the corner at two o’clock in the morning with only one other guy nearly a block away while the occasional car rolled slowly past me, I wasn’t so sure her argument was sound. I was so scared, my legs shook like a pair of rock and roll drumsticks.
I stood around for an hour trying to look detached and masculine as I built up a sweat chewing my lip. My dick stood erect with fear.
A portly white-haired man came sauntering up the street. As he walked by, he nodded hello. I nodded back. Ten minutes later, he came around the corner again. This time, he stopped to chat. He was surprisingly friendly, which I considered a possible trick to get me somewhere dangerously private. He weighed about 100 pounds more than me. Then again, I reasoned, nearly every man weighed more than me. And friendly seemed a less-likely sign of a psychopath.
He asked how much for a blowjob. I asked if he was a cop. He chuckled and said no. He invited me to his apartment two blocks away, which was less romantic than jumping in a car and speeding off. The kid across the street was still standing there, so I felt lucky.
In his untidy condo (piled with magazines and videos but nearly devoid of furniture), he paid me up-front. We undressed on his bed. He was a white rabbit, covered head to toe in coarse fur. He lay back on the pillow with an arm under his neck. I blew him on the bed for nearly an hour. He wasn’t interested in anything else, including pleasing me. Either he deliberately refused to come so he’d get his money’s worth or he was almost as turned off as I was. Finally though, just as I thought my jaw would unhinge and hobble home without me, he began to gasp and I beat him off until he came all over his chest.
As we dressed, he asked if I’d like to come back another time, or be introduced to some of his friends who were also in the market for company. I declined. I decided I’d rather have sex I’d enjoy more, than make 50 bucks.
* Miss Cookie performs at Femmes Read Porn, part of Crash: The Indie Writers’ Fest, Apr 29 at Lick.
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