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I Paid For Someone To Get Laid

I Paid For Someone To Get Laid

This is the story of a story.

 

So last night I wanted to write my first diary entry about the time I paid for someone to get laid… Then I put too much pressure on myself to make it good. So I froze and couldn’t think of how to write it well. Gah!

 

How difficult can it be to just explain what happened two weeks ago? I would literally be the worst witness in court.

 

“Ma’am, could you explain what you saw last Friday?”

 

“Yes, I saw a man running down the street– but no, he might have been a man. I shouldn’t be assuming his gender. But I’m not saying that he looked gay or anything– not that there’s anything wrong with being gay. I mean, I think anybody can love whoever they want to love. So what if same-sex relationships don’t produce biological children? That’s not the only purpose to life, but…”

 

“Ma’am please stick to the question. What happened last Friday night?”

 

“Oh last Friday? I saw a picture of a gay couple of Instagram and I double-tapped it.”

 

Like… whaaaa?

 

Yesterday I procrastinated forever till I took a nap and woke up at 6:00 a.m.

 

I won’t be able to keep this up if I overthink to the point that I can’t do anything. I mean, diary entries shouldn’t be that deep or that difficult.

 

So here’s the story:

 

A friend of mine came over and he said he needed some Vitamin B. “That’s a weird thing to say though. Hey Nelu, I’m going to have sex.”

 

I’ll be honest I didn’t know that’s what Vitamin B meant.

 

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” I said.

 

He then told me that he was going to see a friend that was his go-to in these times of need (haha!) but wasn’t exactly his boyfriend. A casual hook-up kind of guy.

 

“At least one of us is going to have fun,” I thought.

 

A few hours later he came back. Not exactly in the same mood he was in before. He definitely didn’t look like someone who had just had an orgasm.

 

“I’m so pissed right now!”

 

“Why? What happened?” I was already beginning to suspect that his plans might not have gone the way he wanted. (On a separate note, isn’t it the worst thing ever when you’re looking forward to something, some source of happiness or pleasure, and then you realize it can’t happen? Like when you really can’t wait to get home and eat a piece of that chocolate cake and when you get home you find out someone ate the whole thing already?).

 

“The guy who was supposed to give me money so I can go to [Mr. D] didn’t show up. So now I can’t go anymore.”

 

Then he explained to me how a certain Michael owed him money and he just spent the last little money he had to go to Michael so he can get his money back, but Michael never showed up to hand over the cash. So now he didn’t have enough money to go to his hook-up’s (Mr. D) place.

 

I was disappointed. For him.

 

I wanted him to go get laid. Sex is good. It’s fun. I mean, I’ve never really been with a man myself, but… I know. Who wouldn’t want others to experience it? Who wouldn’t want others to be happy? It’s a special kind of happiness. It’s pleasure. Orgasmic joy. Heavenly.

 

The prospect of him getting to experience it made me happy. In a way. Empathy, vicarious joy, I don’t know, something like that.

 

Now, I felt his disappointment with him.

 

“Nelu can you give me 60 dollars?”

 

I was torn. On the one hand, I was broke (still am). On the other hand, I really wanted him to go.

 

“I’m kind of broke right now… I can borrow you 60 dollars maybe.” Yes, I said borrow because those two words, borrow and lend, always confuse me. It’s supposed to be *lend I know.

 

“I’ll give it back to you after my birthday. My uncle always gives me money for my birthday.”

 

“Oh my God, I will basically be paying for you to go get laid,” I couldn’t hold back the laughter.

 

“Yes.” He laughed along at least.

 

I gave him a 200 dollar note and told him to bring me the change. He said he would immediately… afterwards.

 

So he went and a few hours later he knocked at my door again with my change. And a report on how it went.

 

It was good. So I was told. Mr. D showed him some new tricks.

 

“I asked him where he learned them and he said Pornhub.”

 

“That’s the university of it all.” I know, this wasn’t even a good joke. I should have thought of a better one but I was just stunned at what was happening. Someone was giving me an actual report of the lovemaking he just did!

 

I was happy that he was satisfied. But also, I don’t know… How messed up is it that I actually paid for someone to go have sex? Hahahahahahahaha!



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