  I posted the head for food comment as a joke. I mean I didn't expect anyone to take it too seriously. I am seriously broke at the moment. HR fucked up and I am not getting paychecks. They will resume next Friday but for now, I am screwed. LA totally robbed me of my savings.
It was probably a mistake to spend that money. I thought I would still be ok, but I didn't realize how backed up I was with my bills. I blew through a grand like that keeping the creditors off my back. I still would have been ok, but this lack of paychecks is totally fucking me up. I have dipped so deep into rent money that its a joke to even call it rent money. My landlord is going to have to wait for a while to get paid.
But as I've made clear, I do not except charity or loans. I've already sold off most of what I have to sell. So jokingly, I offered to sell myself. I mean, giving blood, giving head, its all the same. Giving away some part of yourself for the almighty dollar. Money sucks.
Its such a limiting factor no matter how much you try for it not to be. But enough of money. I expected the comments from people offering to take me up on the offer, no doubt, all anonymous and not serious, but one email seemed to blunt to be taken lightly. I tried to find out more from the sender, but she wouldn't tell me anything. I am not just going to agree to anyone. That would creep even me out.
So I was ready to dismiss it when I got another email from someone claiming to be a friend of the first sender, saying it had all been done on a dare. She also said I should do it. That I'd be happy I did. Now I knew it was some girl being dared to test me. A double dare. A dare to the girl, to see if she had the guts to go meet a random guy, and a dare to me, to see if I'd back up my words.
I thought about this. It intrigued me. And really, if I can't stand behind what I write, what right to I have to write anything at all. Did the writers of the Declaration of Independence back down when the redcoats showed up? Sometimes, in order for words to keep their meaning, you have to back them up with physical actions. All this anonymous, you can't touch me in cyberspace BS is complete wimpy shit.
But at the same time, what I was confronting was just that. Anonymous words floating through the internet into my inbox. I was standing up to a ghost. It didn't seem real. Its like those spam messages you get promising cheap valium from Thailand. You don't actually expect valium to show up at your door.
So I accepted and agreed. Me and this email would meet for head and food. Days past and emails went back and forth. I really thought one of us would back out, that we were just sharing a running joke, but as the emails started dealing with the specifics of time and place, it became clear that we were entering a game of sexual chicken, seeing who would take it farther. We made ground rules. No kissing, clothes stay on, she'd wear a skirt and we'd just hike it up, etc.
etc. I found myself walking around the city staring at every girl, thinking, "is that her? Oh, she's cute, I hope its her. Oh god, I hope that isn't her..." Pretty soon any female on the street became someone that I might realistically have to lick. It was creepy, it was dirty, it was intriguing, it made walking to work the most sexually exciting thing in the world. We all stare at cute people everyday, but to think that there was actually a real distinct possibility that one of them could end up in my bed was hot.
I will not deny my perverted nature and my sex drive. Its true. You have sexual thoughts too. By this time I had forgotten about the food. I didn't care if she brought any or not. I told her as much.
As the day in question approached, my nerves went haywire. Could I actually do this? Could I, moments after meeting a stranger, sight unseen, actually sexually service them? I mean, I could back out at the last minute, but at this point in the game of chicken, I didn't want to be the one who backed out. I emailed her and admitted my nerves and told her that I would have to be really drunk to actually go through with something so absurd. She said she felt the same way.
So we agreed. We'd both be trashed. Work ended and I came home. I realized, holy fucking shit, this is real. This email is about to turn into a person. I distracted myself with washing my sheets and cleaning my room and drinking vodka.
Lots and lots of vodka. I showered, made my self presentable, and headed across the street to face reality. I walked into the bar and much to my dismay, there were more than a few girls sitting there wearing skirts. I sat there checking them all out, wondering who's crotch was about to be in my face. If it wasn't for the vodka I would have puked from nervousness. No one was approaching me.
I started trying to catch their eyes one girl at a time, giving my best "so are you the stranger I am eating out? " look. No one seemed to be responding. I looked at my watch and it was past the designated time. I got an all too uncomfortable realization that maybe one of these girls was the girl but that she didn't like the looks of me. I mean, the few photos of me out there are more flattering than real life.
I became embarrassed and went to sit outside. She rounded the corner, saw me, sat down and told me I didn't look like my picture. I think thats a bad thing, but at least it wasn't bad enough to flee. She was drunk as promised. I had a drink in my hand and I drank it and made nervous conversation, rambling about something or another. She looked at me and told me she thought I'd back out.
Taking a big gulp and pulling in all my drunken confidence, I slid my hand up her skirt and lightly rubbed her panties. She didn't flinch. She wasn't backing down. I slipped my fingers inside of her. I didn't even know her real name. She was wet.
Wet pussies are a fucking turn on. She looked at me and said that it was making her want to makeout. We said no kissing. We through that rule out the window and kissed. It was going to happen. Neither of us were going to back down.
We headed across the street to my place and entered my room. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled up her skirt. I started. I enjoyed it. She enjoyed it. Sarah said there were only two realistic possibilities.
Either one of us would back down and nothing would happen, or we'd both be into it and we'd end up fucking. So Sarah demanded I buy condoms beforehand. Sarah is always right. It wasn't long before we were a mess of flesh and sex. Hours past. She missed the band she was going to see.
I was surprisingly at ease and comfortable. I had never sex before where there was no fear or concern for the future. Where no one is nervous about how this will affect things tomorrow. Will this person like me more or less? All of those feelings associated with first times. It had none of that.
It was an absolute capsule of the present. It was as if you said, if all your life is just this moment and nothing more, what would you do? You'd do it all. But eventually, we both collapsed from exhaustion and smoked a cigarette. I offered to let her spend the night. She declined, got dressed, and just as suddenly as she had come into my life, she left.
Sadly, there is a tomorrow and I was really weirded out by the whole thing when I woke up sober this morning, but I've sinced normalized for the most part and don't really have any regrets. I don't think I'd do something like that again. I'm just glad my first (and probably last) venture into the world of premeditated loveless sexual encounters with a stranger was that pleasant. As for her, she wrote me an email saying that she was glad she followed through on the dare. I was too. She was really nice and sweet and I probably would have backed out had it been anyone else. 
