The First Time I Got Paid for Sex


“Queen and Spadina, 20 minutes?” I proposed, breathing deeply, hoping to somehow mask the fear in my voice.

“My building is on Spadina, just ring the buzzer and come up. I’ll be waiting.” He replied, with a no-nonsense tone, like this was a routine business transaction.

I guess it was a transaction. Money in exchange for service. My service.

Before I left my apartment, I had to take a shot. Two shots, no, maybe it was three. The ice-cold vodka burned my throat on the way down, warming my stomach as it settled, promising to calm my nerves.

I rang the bell on the streetcar, reaching for the silver pole to steady myself down the steps. I walked up to his building and pressed the buzzer. He’d said his name was Tim, and he’d found my number online. It’s good to know that self-promotion works.

He answered the door wearing dark wash denim, bare-chested, gripping a bottle of beer.

“There are favors on the island,” he jutted his chin towards the kitchen. Turing away from the door-from me-he headed towards what I assumed was the bedroom.

“I’m alright, I don’t….” I trailed off. He didn’t care if I took the drugs, his offering was a pleasantly, I was here to suck his cock and fuck him. I was here to make rent.

In the bedroom I stood in front of him, and grabbed his crotch. I pushed him towards the bed, and he sat on the edge of the grey cotton sheets. The bed was unmade, but the room was tidy. Nothing personal was lying around; no photos, ticket stubs, magazines, the surfaces were barren, except for a bottle of cologne and a wrist watch.

I spent the rest of my hour pulling out all the porn-star moves “ohh you like that baby?” I cooed, pulling his cock from my mouth, taking a breath of air.

“Mmm all fours?” I taunted turning over, wincing, with my face hidden from him. He pulled my hair the way I hated. He rammed me back and forth, in a smooth, steady, predictable motion.

When it was over, and he came on my back, he grunted, reached for his bedside table and snatched a manila envelope. My reward.
Before I could process what we had just done I was zipping my jeans and slinging my bag onto my shoulder.

In a daze, twenty minutes later, I was stepping off the streetcar in front of my own apartment still clutching the envelope – I had been carrying it the entire way home.

Upstairs, I counted the contents. It was more than I made all week at my corporate job, and it got me off.
I’d never been paid for sex before tonight. In fact, I’d never fucked a man before tonight.

My phone vibrated.

“Good fuck. Next week, same time?”

“Yeah. Cash up front next time.”

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image – aramolara