Hola hookers!
I'm home from Mexico.
It was...stupendous.
Remember how I said I was going to post from Mexico?
Remember that?
Well, it turns out that the one internet cafe in town had Mexican keyboards.
How. dare. they.
I couldn't figure out how to make symbols like "@", "?", and "n" without the little squiggly over it.
Harumph.
I was disgruntled for almost 3 minutes.
Then...I took advantage of the fact that I couldn't work the computers.
I actually fucking relaxed.
I drank coconut juice from a coconut shell. I went swimming in the ocean and marvelled at how good saltwater makes your hair look. I went barefoot. I laid in the sun like an iguana.
I ate fish tacos.
So many fish tacos, actually, that I never want to see a fish taco again.
But enough about Mexico!
Weren't we talking about something last week?
Yes we were. I promised a full rundown of The Week of Debauchery.
Starting with...
The Tuesday of Terror.
I had two dates on Tuesday, to make up for the sad lack-of-action that was Monday. So here we go!
Date #1
One of the very first people to respond to my Craigslist ad was a very cute lil' boi we'll call Taylor.
Taylor had excellent Craigslist etiquette.
She emailed me two pictures of herself and attached a note that simply said:
"I'm down. This is what I look like. Want to?"
She put her phone number at the bottom and told me to feel free to text her.
Mysterious bois get me every time.
We texted. She seemed normal.
I called her, just to make sure she was indeed a woman.
She was.
Taylor also told me:
1) She was raised on a horse ranch in eastern Washington.
2) She was in school and wanted to be a surveyor.
3) She thought Slipknot was a good band.
That sealed the deal.
I needed to meet a lesbian who liked Slipknot.
We agreed to meet at 2 p.m., in front of the carousel in Seattle Center (home of the Space Needle.)
What an auspicious start to The Week of Debauchery! Meeting in front of the effing Space Needle??
Obviously.
I chose my outfit with care.
Sex-worker-tight black dress, rolled-up jeans on underneath, shitkicker boots, no bra, big hoops. Alright that's what I wear everyday but fuck off I shaved.
I drove to the Space Needle and parked.
I was a little early, which suited me fine. I needed to do last-minute things, like buy mints and apply lip gloss in front of the mirror.
I went to the carousel. I got a big pink cotton candy and tore pieces off it while I waited.
It was raining.
I was nervous.
Then Taylor showed up.
It had to be her. She looked exactly like her pictures - tall, skinny, short brown hair and wearing a green "I'm gay/I'm also funny" t-shirt.
Hee hee.
I watched her approach, chortling over my good fortune.
It was going to be an awesome week. Why didn't I think of this sooner?
But wait. Taylor was heading towards me.
And... she looked cute. She looked gangly.
She looked...um...really young.
Wow.
REALLY YOUNG.
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Really really young, you guys.
Taylor had said she was 24.
She did not look 24. She looked maybe eighteen.
Maybe.
Maybe eighteen and like she had run away from home that morning.
She loped right up to me.
Her eyes were huge. Her face was wet from the rain.
"Hi," she said. She had a high voice.
"Hi," I said. "You must be Taylor."
She laughed nervously. "How'd you know?"
"You look just like your pictures. You're really cute."
She blushed. Her ears got all red. Adorable.
"Thanks. Um, you too."
We walked inside to the food court and got some coffee.
That is, I got coffee and she got a Monster Energy Drink.
We chatted for a while about nothing in particular.
Taylor seemed incredibly nervous.
She was kind of acting like we were on a first date. She kept asking what sort of music I was into, where I grew up, what I was doing for the rest of the week.
This continued for over an hour.
It was like I had never posted a Craigslist ad that said, "I want to fuck."
I didn't like how this felt.
Something about Taylor wasn't sitting right.
She looked, sounded, and acted really fucking young.
I was thinking pervy thoughts about her and starting to feel like a child molester.
I suspected she was underage.
I decided to cut to the chase.
Me: Taylor, how old are you really?
Taylor: (examining her coffee cup) I'm 24.
Me: 'Kay. Really, how old are you?
Taylor: I told you, I'm 24.
Me: What year were you born?
Taylor: Um.
Me: Don't get me wrong - it's fine that you're not 24, but I would like to know how old you are, if you're comfortable with me. You know, for my conscience.
Taylor: I thought you said age doesn't matter.
Me: You're right. I should have put "as long as you're a consenting adult" after that part in the ad.
Taylor: I'm a consenting adult!
Me: Hmmm. Alright, I'm really sorry to even ask you this, but...can you prove that some way? Sorry to be a dick. You must get this a lot, but you seem really young, and I don't want to rape anybody.
Taylor: (smirks) Hard to rape the willing.
Me: Haha. Yeah, um, do you have a driver's license or something? I'm really sorry.
(awkward silence)
Taylor: (small voice) I'm 17.
Me: I KNEW IT!!!
She was a decade younger than me.
She was still in high school.
You know me. I'm all for outrageously cute, young boi-dykes.
All for them.
As long as they aren't actually children.
Taylor was really nice.
She was gut-wrenchingly, stomach-achingly cute.
But what she seemed like she really wanted was a girlfriend.
[via thefloralsofa]
I don't claim to know what's best for her - how could I know that? And maybe Taylor was ready to have a no-strings-attached sexual encounter with me...but I wasn't ready.
I remember being 17.
She's learning Pre-Calculus.
I'm learning how to tie intricate Japanese knots without cutting off circulation.
But hey:
Taylor was 17, cool as hell, and she answered an online ad for anonymous sex.
What is she going to be like when she's 25??
She's going to be a fucking monster.
Props to Taylor.
I bought her lunch. She kissed my hand.
I said, for the first time in my life, "If only I was a few years younger" like a real-ass cougar.
We had a lovely afternoon.
We didn't fuck. Of course not.
Now we're pen-pals.
Okay, Date #2 coming tomorrow!
And there was actual fucking!
Stay tuned!
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