The First Time I Got Paid for Sex

Thursdays creep up on me now. Before I know it, it’s noon, and there’s a blank google doc just staring me in the face, and I have no idea what I want to write about. Then all of a sudden, inspiration hits me, and I have to take my watch off so my fingers can fly.

I met Jimmy (not his real name) when I was twenty-two and working at a call-center for a Big Television Company. I was in a relationship at the time with an idiotic boy (like an abuser, he wasn’t a man), and I was young and stupid and thought I was in love. Jimmy and I bonded over our love of odd things, and we became fast friends.

And as fast friendships tend to do in your early twenties, it turned into a flirtationship. Jimmy would often text me about how he wished I was single, how he wanted me to give him a shot, how he was a good guy, you know the spiel. And me, with the remainder of low self-esteem from my teenage years, loved the attention.

Fuck, did I love the attention.

It didn’t take long before I caved.

Paul, the man-boy I was with at the time, had cheated on me, and I wanted revenge. I wanted to hurt him as badly as he had hurt me, but I wanted to enjoy it. So the next time Jimmy asked me if I wanted to go to dinner as friends, I said I would.

And it was fun.

And then it kept happening until it wasn’t just as friends.

I remember exactly when things changed. I’d told Jimmy that I was short on rent money, around $200. I’d already sold my guitar for rent money the previous month (dating an abusive alcoholic and making excuses really will fuck your world up), and he agreed that he would give me money. We’d go to dinner as usual.

We had gone to a restaurant named Cheeseburger in Paradise. Yep, the song by none other than Jimmy Buffett. I’m very original in renaming my lovers, aren’t I? I remember the table where we sat. I remember the songs that played (coincidentally, they were all Jimmy Buffett songs!). I vaguely remember the food, but I had an issue with mine, and Jimmy was upset and told the waiter that his date’s food was wrong, and it needed to be remedied.

Suddenly, it was a date, and suddenly, we were more than friends.

A few drinks later and the knot in my stomach loosened, and then we were on the way to trivia night with his friends at a local hipster bar. I drank more at the hipster bar with Jimmy’s arm around me, smiled at his hipster friends while he kissed my cheek, and watched them all play trivia. I’d never been in a hipster bar before then; it had all been run-down dive bars for me, where Paul had played shitty music for shittier patrons.

After saying goodbye to the hipsters, we departed for Jimmy’s house. My phone hadn’t rung once, to no one’s surprise. We pulled up to the house, and I could feel my heart skip several beats. This wasn’t the kind of person I was. I didn’t cheat on people. I didn’t get paid for sex.

Until I did.

We went to the basement almost immediately to smoke pot and let his corgi outside. The basement had been set like an apartment without a kitchen, complete with a couch, television, and bed. I made myself comfortable on the bed as Jimmy puttered around, turning lights and music on low. It didn’t take long until he was between my knees, staring down at me. Wordlessly, he tugged my jeans down and admired my bare legs as they were exposed.

I didn’t know when the last time someone had looked at me like that.

He took my panties down next and reveled in the sight of my bare flesh. I vividly remember him saying he wanted to eat my pussy until he got lockjaw. It’s been burned into my mind for years now. And no one has ever eaten my pussy like that man. He was the first one to make me squirt on his face from oral alone, and I’ll never forget the satisfied smirk on his face when he pulled away, juices dripping from his face, and he said: “I’m not done with you yet.”

Jimmy fucked me for the entire night. He went fast, he went slow, he contorted me into shapes I never thought I’d fit into. JImmy made me ache in ways I’d never hurt. And when I left early the next morning, he pressed $200 into my hand and smacked my ass. I was that girl now, the girl who had cheated, the girl who was paid for sex.

And I wanted more of it.

I listened to the album Hot Fuss by the Killers the entire way home. Any time I hear Jenny Was a Friend of Mine, I still think about Jimmy and wonder if he’s putting his mouth to good use, and I ache a little more.

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