Fish Tacos

(I’m sorry about this one, mom)

The other day I was unofficially asked to be someone’s prostitute.

I liked this person very much. So much so that the un-therapized me would have deeply considered it.

But the new me is all “Don’t degrade me, I’m an independent woman!”

Naturally, I went through a grieving period, hours of deep depression followed by this wonderful combination of sadness and fuming anger that involved a lot of agressive Eminem rap music.

This was short-lived after I decided that getting drunk was a better idea.

Full disclaimer, I never drink alcohol. It results in days of physical pain, but there are occasions when I am willing to set this consequence aside and lose the remainder of my self-control that I haven’t already lost deep, deep in the woods.

Give me two shots of whiskey and I am utterly fucked. Drinking an entire bottle of wine seemed like the smarter option.

…So did calling Patrick from Tinder. While I’ve known virtual Patrick for about a month, I hadn’t actually met real-life Patrick. After not responding to his messages for a few weeks, because I was so hung up on someone who just asked me to be his beck-and-call, he was eager to hear from me.

I guess that stupid rule on my previous “A Social Experiment Post” about ignoring people really does work.

Patrick and I talked on the phone for over an hour. He told me I could call him Pat. I talked enough shit to Pat to convince him to cancel his other plans and come over.

When he got to my house, he texted me to tell me he was out front talking to his grandma on the phone.

I brought him a beer and then Claire and I went inside and started talking about our go-to subject, sex toys.

“Claire, you have to come look at my vibrator!” I squealed. “It’s hot pink like my hair straightener and has that funny-looking but magical clit thing!”

We went to my room which is right next to the front door and I pulled it out from under my bed.

“Wooooah,” she said. “That’s insane.”

And then I accidentally clicked the ON button and it started buzzing in my hand right as Pat walks into the house.

“OMG AHHHHHH!” I scream-squealed really loudly, followed by hysterical laughing whilst shoving the hot pink electronic penis back under my bed.

I ran out of my room to drunkenly greet his gorgeous little face.

“Pat, you smell nice,” I said.

He was quite a lovely guest, significantly more respectful to our friends sitting in the kitchen than I was.

I pulled him away before he had the chance to sit down and play Kings.

I monkeyed around his body and seduced him with conversation about things I can’t really remember.

I just wanted to kiss him, so I told him that I was going to kiss him(to ensure consensuality because that’s what adults do).

And then he goes,

“Lauren, I have to tell you something.”

“Lord Jesus,” I’m thinking. “What disease is it?”

“I was supposed to meet up with another girl from Tinder tonight,” he said shamefully.

I started laughing hysterically.

“That’s hilarious!” I said. “Show me her profile!”

So he did.

We swiped through all of her photos and decided that she was probably a very nice girl and had great boobs.

“Ok, well you should probably decide now if you’re going to go see her or not. Or else I’m going to hold you hostage and (not) rape you,” I said. “It’s ok if you need to go. I already(basically) got a request to be someone’s prostitute a few hours ago, so you leaving won’t make this day any worse.”

“Ok, I need to call her and tell her I’m not coming then,” he said back.

“Wow, that’s so nice,” I thought.

(Side note: He wouldn’t let me kiss him until he officially canceled with her.)

He was my fake boyfriend for the night, spoiling me with neck massages outside the bar and letting me sleep with my body pillow.

The best part was when we literally fell asleep on top of each other while making out.

There was no raping involved. It was a great weekend.

I re-convinced myself that I was not a sex slave of any kind.

Then, I spent the next 48 hours in a state of hungover bliss-filled agony, eating fish tacos in my sweatpants and once again thanking the Tinder God for giving me a little more faith in humanity.

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