Flavor of the Week: A Mack Attack

I used Craigslist to have sex more often than I should have, but still less than some. Craigslist is a marvelous creation: I’ve found shitty jobs there, sold furniture and electronics and spent the Mondays after Gay Pride in hysterics over the m4m Missed Connections. But when it came to sex, nothing ever worked out for me the way it did for everyone else. Or they’re liars.

My first sexual encounter on Craigslist was shortly after I had moved into Queens from Westchester. I was browsing the Man for Man section, singing along to show tunes, when I saw the ad. Someone in Midtown wanted to pay $50 for the privilege of blowing a man. Painfully poor from a delayed paycheck and too many nights out, I called my roommate over to read it.

“I’m gonna email him!” I said. “Help me choose a picture.” I didn’t have any dirty photos at the time, but the picture I sent seemed to do the trick, because he replied within five minutes. Turns out that sometimes, even attractive twentysomethings want to feel dirty by paying for cock. My roommate and I looked at each other.

“Am I really going to get paid for a blowjob tonight?” I asked. “What if he’s a cop?” “Ask him!” she said excitedly, getting into the spirit of things. “Email him back and ask. If he is, he’s legally obligated to tell you.”

“No, that’ll scare him off if he isn’t,” I said. “I’ll make him meet me in a public place, and then I’ll ask him.” Knowing what I do now, I grimace at the fact that I ordered someone on Craigslist to meet me at the McDonalds down the street from his apartment. The whole point of Craigslist sex is that it’s a door-to-door delivery service. But whether he had no other takers or he really liked my picture or everyone else was disgusting, Mack agreed.

I was literally shaking with nerves as I got dressed. He lived just east of Grand Central, so at least the commute wouldn’t be nightmarish. “Can I borrow your MetroCard?” I asked my roommate while I chain-smoked and did my hair. “Mine is out and I don’t have that 50 yet.”

She handed me her card and turned on the TV. The premiere of Veronica Mars was airing on UPN, and I had a sudden urge to ignore Mack and stay home to watch. Years later, I’d become obsessed with its first season, but back then, watching Kristin Bell be a tough girl who solves crimes in high school wasn’t going to buy me lunch.

Twenty minutes and a subway transfer later, I was pacing outside the McDonalds, wondering if I should just go home, when I saw him. I just kept walking, but then I turned around. I was going to go through with this, if only for the story of how I got paid for sex that one time. Or of how I got swept up in a Craigslist sting operation.

“That was you!” Mack said after I’d come back. “I thought so.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure if it was you or not,” I lied. “I’m Mark. How are you?” “Good!” he grinned. I don’t remember him being nervous, but surely he was. “Do you want to get something to eat, or do you want to just head back to my apartment?” “Um, first, I have to ask you something.” I took a deep breath, then laughed. “Are you a cop?” “Why do you ask?” he said. Uh-oh. This wasn’t going well.

“Uh. Are you?” He looked at me for a beat, then said, “No, I’m not a cop.”

I felt awkward. This wasn’t who I was, but it was who I thought I should be. I should be able to have sex and not feel ashamed about it. “I just wanted to check,” I said breezily. “You never know.”

We went back to his apartment, making idle small talk. Inside, he asked me if I wanted some water. I was thirsty enough to say yes, but I was also wary enough to follow him into the kitchen to watch him pour my glass. The poor guy was probably wondering what kind of lunatic he’d invited into his apartment, but I decided I’d rather be a little weird than drugged.

“Want to go in the bedroom?” he asked.

“I have horn.”

“What?” I asked, startled. Was this some weird new drug?

“Horn. I have horn.” I still had no clue what he meant. “One more time, please?” Annoyed, he folded his lips into his mouth and over-enunciated. “PORN. I have porn in the bedroom.” I was now embarrassed, nervous and angry with myself. What the hell was I doing?

“Oh, sure!” I said, laughing. “I thought you were telling me you had a horn or something.” He smiled uncertainly, and we marched into his bedroom.

I was so unsure of myself that the one thing I kept repeating in my head was that

I shouldn’t kiss him on the mouth. That’s all I knew about being paid for sex: Prostitutes don’t kiss. He kept coming up from my dick to kiss me, but I kept turning away. Finally, more out of politeness than anything else, I gave up the fight and kissed him, then pushed him back down.

The porn was mediocre, and I just wanted to leave, so I focused intently (Michael Douglas in Basic Instinct always brings me home) and finally came. He fell to one side, breathing heavily.

“That was hot,” he said, more in response to the distance of my load than anything else that had happened.

I smiled. “Do you have a tissue?” I asked.

He stood up, stretching, and grabbed a tissue. As I cleaned myself up, he turned the porn off and went to his dresser. Two 20s and a 10 were lying on top.

“This is for you,” he said, handing them to me. I grinned and slipped them into my pocket as I buckled my belt.

“That was fun!” he said, with more wistfulness than sincerity. “Here’s my number, if you ever want to get together sometime.” I smiled, kissed him on the lips and left as quickly as I could.

In the elevator, I called my roommate. “How do you feel?” she asked. “Um,” I said, almost dancing in place.

“I’ve never felt more alive in my life! The sex was dull, but I just made $50—on my body!” And it was true. I felt positively giddy that my body, something that I had never really spent any time cultivating, had just netted me some much-needed cold hard cash. On the way home, I stopped in the C-Town and treated myself to a Hungry Man fried chicken dinner. I was hungry, and there was no reason not to splurge.

I actually ran into Mack a month or so later, on Craigslist again. He had reposted his ad, and I responded.

“I was wondering what happened to you,” he said. But he didn’t invite me over for a replay of the last time. Maybe he wanted to invest in newer ventures.