Did I tell you guys about the time I got $50 for having sex with a guy in a motel in New Jersey?

I feel like I did blog about that once... before I told my friends that I had a blog. At which point I erased all kinds of dirty stuff (which pissed Jana off). So, friends, proceed with caution. You've been warned.

It's really not as gross a story as it sounds. Uhm... well, maybe it is. This was almost ten years ago now. I'd just gotten back to New York from a summer waiting tables at a Missouri Steak 'n Shake. So, as you can imagine, I was more than a little sex-starved.

I literally dropped my luggage off on the bare mattress in my dorm room, turned on my heel and went downtown. At that time, there weren't many bars I felt comfortable in, because I was underage and didn't have a fake ID. So while I was walking around on Christopher Street (the only part of gay New York I was familiar with back then) I ran into this really cute guy. We hung out on some random stoop and chatted. He was quiet and sweet and completely my type.

Then he pulled out his wallet and showed me photos of his wife.

Being nineteen and extremely horny, this didn't bother me like it should have. Nor did it bother me when he suggested that I get into his car. However, I did get nervous once we started driving through the Lincoln Tunnel. I didn't say anything, though. In my head I was calculating the risk versus the reward. Just how far was I willing to push it to get naked with a man? At that point in time, pretty damn far.

He took me to a dirty little motel off some NJ freeway. I remember that he was really nervous that someone would follow us. I hoped that it was fear of the wife rather than fear of potential witnesses to my eventual murder. Once we were alone in the room, though, I calmed down. He was very gentle and never pushed me to do things I wasn't comfortable with (which was pretty much everything). I remember two things about the sex: he was really into feet, and he kept asking me to talk dirty (which I was far too shy for). He got me stoned, and after we were done he suggested we go get a pizza.

Once we drove back into the city he asked where I wanted to go, and I said anywhere was fine. "Well that makes it easy for me, but I'd better let you off near a subway station." He had changed his mind about the pizza, I guess. I was still really high, so luckily he knew how to get me to my train. At which point he handed me a wad of money and said "I'm not offending you, am I?"

Now I don't want to say that the pot made me take that money. Frankly, it was poverty that made me take it. But I wasn't proud of myself for it. As I got out of his car, he leaned over and said "I'll be at the same place at the same time next Saturday if you want to do this again."

Fearing that the sex+money combo would prove addictive, I stayed away from Christopher Street for the next month.