Sun, 19 Nov 2006

illicit
1999. Pamela used to tell me she wanted to become a prostitute, which I thought she talked about the same way I occasionally talk about becoming a convict: in the abstract, it seems a simplifying move, a means of forcibly casting off the complications of everyday life, but not a strategy that really made sense. We were walking down by the river, taking occasional sips of whiskey from the flask she always had in her purse, when she started in on the topic of prostitution again, when I told her I’d give her fifty bucks for a blowjob. It had been years since we’d slept together, and had grown into a weird kind of flirty friendship, so I didn’t think she would take this proposition very seriously, but in the back of my mind I was trying to figure out if I had fifty bucks on me. In the end, I guess, if you want to get technical about it, I did give her the fifty bucks, and she did give me the blowjob in the boathouse on the North Cedar side of the river, but I always thought of it as a weird kinda joke between friends, and the couple times I talked about it with Pamela after the fact seemed to solidify my opinion, but as my peer group is slowly learning, things you do as a joke are still things for which you are responsible, as I told Sarah this story a couple weeks ago, thinking she would, at worst, consider it yet another example of how I used to be a creep before she straightened me out. The actual response was quite different.
(03:25.11.19.2006) [/scrytch] #