Would that the Lounge code had polling functionality, I would write a poll question for readers: Did the events described in this rambling actually happen, or is Bitscape doing one hell of a bullshit mindfuck on the readership today? I myself would actually be curious to see the results of such a hypothetical poll.

WARNING: The events described herein are far and away more sexually explicit than any of the typical fare around here. This rambling will unquestionably bear a rating of NC-17. Yeah, I _could_ gloss over the more graphic parts, which would probably make some people more comfortable (or slightly less uncomfortable, as the case may be), but that would be "compromising my artistic integrity", so to speak.

Furthermore, people who know me .. well... they probably will not believe this. It's just too out of character. If it did happen to be true, I could easily foresee some people not wanting to associate with me anymore after learning of this.

That's fine. Go back home, wake up in your bed, and believe whatever you want to believe. Or take the red pill. But which pill did I take? Red or blue? I'm still not sure. Anyway, enough of this foreplay. Let's get on with the story.

Where to begin? Let's try last week.

One of the many times when I was surfing the land of the "naughty" web sites late at night. I already have more than enough porn on my hard drive, but for some odd reason, there's always a little thrill that comes from looking at something new. I'm sure you can understand. Well, if you're a male, anyway. Jacking off to something you haven't seen before is just more fun.

[Watch as the percentage of readers being alienated skyrockets. We're just barely getting started. Hmmmmm... What is the typical Bitscape's Lounge demographic? I guess I assume it's fairly conservative, since many of the Content Solutions regulars are people I knew from SDA schools. Hmmm...]

So anyway, along the way, I came across a HOWTO of sorts. (Note: While the text in that link is interesting and thought provoking (at least IMO), beware that there are pr0n banners. Might be advisable to turn off image loading if that stuff offends you. Needless to say, don't surf from work. Unless you're testing. Yeah, sure. "Testing." People in the office where I work know all about that. After this bit of "content" gets published, my site is probably gonna get itself blacklisted too. Hahaha!)

For some reason, the info I read in that document stuck in my mind. Days later, I was still having thoughts about it. I questioned my own sanity. Was I truly, seriously thinking about making use of one of these "services"? Was I?

The arguments, both pro and con, circled through my mind as I tried to make sense of my own motivations. What did I want? Where was I going in this life? What paths might I take, and where would each possibility lead?

I'm tempted to try to write up an exhaustive outline, dealing with each argument, both for and agaist the idea of paying someone for a sexual encounter. But this rambling is already going to run waaay long, and I think that sort of thing would be better suited to the Content Collective anyway. Stay tuned.

I considered writing my thoughts about the matter as I was having them, but... well... my sense is that the very mention of such a thing, at least in this circle, is pretty much way "out there". So I held off.

Last night, after having spent a good portion of the weekend playing gamecube (oh yes, there's unbounded intellectual stimuli there), AND reading, I went through the logic of each of my arguments again.

Restate my assumptions.

Eventually, I came to the conclusion that, at this point in my existence, given the loosely defined principles under which I choose to live my life, I logically could not find sufficient reason against, to put it very bluntly, the act of hiring myself a whore.

Fast forward to Monday after work.

Today is/was my birthday.

Rewind a bit again. (Don't you just love this chronology?)

Sunday night, my parents had taken me out to dinner to celebrate, since they would be busy during the actual day. My mom attempted to give me a game for my gamecube. Unfortunately, she had unwittingly purchased a title for N64, a console I do not own. (But my brother does.) Well, it's the thought that counts. It was really nice of her to remember. She said she'd take it back and exchange it for something else.

[Just thought I'd throw that random tidbit in, for the hell of it. And BTW, if I weren't 99.9999999% sure my parents would never read this, I wouldn't be writing it.]

Back to Monday evening. Twilight. Having put in my shift at work, I considered what to do with the rest of the day. At the back of my mind lingered the HOWTO I had read the previous week, combined with the realization that what I really wanted was what most guys seem to get long before they reach my age. Heh. I'm 26 now.

Was this me? Was I seriously thinking what I was thinking? What would it take, practically speaking, to give myself the most daring birthday present in my life? I mentally calculated the steps that would be required.

A stop at the ATM. That would make a dent in my bank balance, but it would be within acceptable parameters. Expensive? Yes. But, I've spent far more money on far stupider shit during the past 2 years. Besides, today was my birthday. A special occassion. What better excuse to splurge?

I'd need to do a little more online research to determine specifics. A phone call or two? Could such an arrangement really be setup on such short notice? Was I really thinking of doing this? Seriously?

I almost turned off at the bank on the way home from work, shocking myself by how near I came to doing so. But decided to head home and think about it for a little while first. I could always come back to the ATM later.

At home. Bitscape, you are literally insane. This cannot be real. I went online and found my way to a website with information aplenty. (Including tips on dodging overzealous law enforcment in the area, which did give me pause, but did not stop me in my little quest. If one knows what to say, and what not to say, it is virtually impossible for a sting operation to gather enough real evidence to prosecute. History has taught us that people living under totalitarian regimes will find a way, going so far as to formunate entire protocols to communinicate exactly what needs to be communicated without actually saying any of it.)

After reading some reviews, I checked out the website [link was her, but after some thought, reluctantly removed to protect the identy of the innocent] of a promising looking candidate. (I think it goes without saying that adult content lies therein.) She was on the expensive side, but hell, if I was going to do this, I decided I may as well go all the way. Everyone who posted a review had said she was excellent, and worth the money. (Yay for the Internet, doing its part to create perfect markets.)

Still, I wasn't completely certain I wanted to go through with it. Not certain? I am completely out of it to even be considering at all. As a character in Eternal Darkness might say, "This is not happening."

While I thought about it, I decided to work on cleaning my apartment. It needed cleaning anyway, but if I was going to be inviting someone over to have sex with me, it should certainly not be a trash heap. (Yes, I remembered what I had read in the HOWTO guide.) In the event that I decided not to go through with it, well, all the better anyway. At least I would get to have a clean apartment to live in for a while. lol.

Started with the kitchin, resolving to focus my mind on the task at hand. Cleaned the bathroom. Got the bedroom in a little bit better shape. Changed the sheets that have been on my bed for, like, 6 months. Took out the garbage. It definitely looks better now.

With the place at least somewhat partially done, I decided it was time to actually make the big decision. Would I continue this lapse of everything sensible and normal to the point of fucking some stranger? Yes, I would. At least, provided she was available on such short notice. But first, more preparation (and additional chances to back out) was required.

I wanted to have the cash in hand before I even made the call. There would be nothing more pitiful to setup an appointment, then go to the ATM, only to find that for only-Murphy-knows-what reason, no cash could be retrieved. So I took my cellphone and drove to the bank. Once there, I came closer to the pre-determined "if I withdraw more cash than this during a single 24 hour period then assume it's not me" limit than ever before. This was unreal.

But I had one more stop to make. Following the HOWTO to the letter, I proceeded to the drug store to buy condemns. Yes, generally the girls carry them, but just in case they forget or run out, it never hurts to have backup.

Ok, this would be fun. Having never bought condemns before in my life, I wasn't certain exactly where to look, and the thought of asking the clerk really didn't appeal. So I wandered around Walgreens until I eventually located them. Right next to the tampax. Of course. This is not happening.

I found a box that looked suitable. This is NOT happening. Picked it up. Took it to the checkout counter. Paid in cash. There, that wasn't so bad.

I had the phone number with me, since I had wanted to place the call as early as possible to increase the probability of being higher in the queue. But I decided it would be better to wait and make the call from my apartment. Easier that way.

Once back in the lair, I looked at the website again. Picked up my phone. This is it, Bitscape. This is not a joke anymore. Once you pass this point, you know the momentum will be sufficient to send it the rest of the way. No going back. I resolved to myself that if she wouldn't be available tonight, I would put the money away in the drawer and postpone to another evening. One way or another, this would be my present to myself. I dialed the numbers and hit the Connect key.

Busy.

Doh. This gave me a few more minutes to think. A dialog box in my mental interface: "Are you sure, SURE, sure, SURE you want to continue?" I had already performed wakeness tests several times periodically throughout this whole thing. This was not a dream. Whatever happened would be real. I dialed again.

This time, it rang. Four rings, and then someone picked up. Not an answering machine. A female voice.

I said hi, and than I had seen her web site, and wondered if she would be available for tonight. She asked my occupation and location, and asked what time I'd like. I specified 9pm. She instructed me to call back in 5 minutes and she would have an answer.

I paced around until the clock reflected 5 minutes had passed. I called again. This time, she said that she would be available for that time. I smiled. Was this really happening?

She asked if I had a home phone she could call to confirm.

I said that I had my cell phone, but not a home phone landline.

It turned out that this was going to be a problem for her. She explained that she needed to call to a landline in order to confirm that I really lived where I said I lived. Prank calls and idiots in the past who had used cell phones and then stood her up after she drove all the way to Boulder before. So she wasn't willing to make the drive because of that risk. (Especially since she happened to be in Fort Collins at the moment, and didn't know me at all.)

I sympathized (though the pay is good, it must be a tough job sometimes, for reasons which go beyond than the obvious). At the same time, I was also annoyed. "But I'm not gonna do that. I'm here. Really, I am. Not going anywhere. Not joking either." I thought it, but didn't say it. I realized that there was absolutely nothing I could say to convince her. She had good reason to be paranoid.

She suggested I try calling one of the other girls, some of whom might not have had such bad experiences with cell phone users, and be willing to deal with me.

I asked if she had any recommendations.

Not off hand. She used to know a couple of girls who were really good, but neither of them are working anymore.

I thanked her politely, and hung up.

Great. Now what? This is utterly looney. I am nuts. I went back and read some reviews of other professionals in the area. Found one [link was here, but removed to protect identity of the innocent] who had just posted a notice of availablity for the evening, and everyone who had tried her said they liked her a lot. (Did Brave New World have some totally unintended reverse influence on me, the irony of the whole thing lost on my subconscious primal brain? One wonders...)

At this point, I had invested too much emotional energy to NOT continue through to the end. I called the second girl.

She answered in a voice that was sweet and sensual, but quite obviously an act. I asked if I could see her tonight. She said she could do an incall. (Quick terminology primer: Outcall = she comes to your place, Incall = You go to her place. As I see it, each would have advantages and disadvantages, but I was up for either.)

She specified a meeting location. Not being terribly familiar with certain parts of the Denver area, I had to look on a map to find it. Down south a ways.

I told her I could be there at 9:30. She specified meeting instructions at a certain gas station, from which we would proceed to her place.

My normal, sane mind had completely given up hope. Bitscape, you are a complete and total lunatic. But this will certainly be an adventure, one way or another. A learning experience. Hehe, yeah. Learning experience.

I looked at the clock, studied the map a bit more closely, and realized that I would need to hustle. I wanted a shower before leaving. (Also covered in the aforementioned HOWTO. Besides, it's just good common sense.)

I showered off, put on some clean clothes. Gathered everything I would need, including the nice big wad of $20s, and bounded out of the apartment. God, this IS insane.

As I drove down the freeway, I contemplated my choices. I acknowledged that by taking in this action, I was throwing up a nice big, unequivocal "fuck you" middle finger to all the norms of the society in which I live. Fuck the government. Fuck the church. Fuck the puritanical repression of this hypocritical nation. (Going off on my sanctimonious rebel routine.)

The realization also hit me. I would be breaking the law. Certainly the spirit of it, and very arguably the letter. Of couse, I knew years ago that it was a stupid law. It's an obvious and easy target for anyone with libertarian leanings. But up until recently, I would have said, as I do with drugs laws, "Of course it should be legal on pure principle, but I would never engage in such activities, even if they were legal, because I know that drugs are bad, mmmkay?"

Now, I defy this particular bit of bad law in practice, as well as principle.

As I neared the meeting place, I became conscious of the fact that I wasn't feeling horny at all. Not sexy. No drive. Nothing happening in that department. But I was getting very nervous. I was excited in the knowledge that this would be a mememorable experience, regardless of what happened. But I wished, just for the sake of it, that I could have conjured the fantasy wishes that had been going through my head a few hours earlier. Oh well. No matter. There will be plenty of time for that later.

I parked near the gas station. Dug out my phone, and called her to let her know I had arrived. The oh-so-welcoming-you-know-she's-faking voice said she would be there momentarily. I waited in the car, as instructed.

Sure enough, in a few minutes, her car came pulling in. It took her a minute to see mine, since I had parked in the shadows, but when I activated my lights, she drove over immediately.

She instructed me to drive and follow her down the block, and it would be right across the street. The parking in the lot where she parked had reserved spaces, so I had to park across the street. Before pulling out to park, she told me the apartment number where she would meet me. "Ookay. So this is how it works."

Bitscape. You're nuts. Completely and totally NUTS.

As I aproached, the front door on the apartment was ajar. I walked up to it, and she welcomed me in. The big advantage of doing it on her territory came into play. She knew what was needed, and had the environment all setup. Sparsely furnished, the place looked a little too spotless to be housing human inhabitants. (Amidst all my nervousness, it didn't register until she explicitly told me later; no, she didn't live here. This was simply where she conducted her work. Duh.)

She led me into the bedroom. First things first, of course. I gave her the money.

Brief introductions, and "how are you today" stuff. I told her this would be my first time, so I was hella nevrious.

"First time seeing someone in my line of work?"

"Um... first time with a woman. Period." There is truth to the notion that honesty can be much easier in the presence of a stranger, with whom one has no prior emotional ties, obligations, or expectations to meet.

"No way! You mean you've never had sex before?"

I confirmed that this was the case, that today was my 26th birthday, and this was my present to myself.

She smiled, and said she make sure I had a good time. Or something like that. Then proceeded to move up near me, so I could touch her as I wanted. I hugged her in an embrace of gratitude.

[Bitscape reconsiders, contemplating whether NC-17 detail is really necessary here.]

Maybe I don't even want to talk about that part. But I do. I want to express and record in words how it was, but at the same time do so without breaching personal barriers which should remain personal. A contradiction, I know.

It's 3:30 now. I have to work in the morning. Even as I type this rambling, my perception of the experince has evolved as I reflected upon it.

My story is not, nor will it ever be, the Christian cliché of the sinner who suddenly realizes that he needs God, repents from all "wrongdoing", and finds some ultimate eternal salvation. That doesn't work for me. Never has.

I was sort of planning to go into detail, but I don't think I will. Well... I'm conflicted. I want to, but... Well, whatever comes out here.

She turned out to be very eager to please. Ironic as it may be, I think that actually turned out to be something of a barrier to my enjoyment. I know, I'm a wierdo.

She wanted me to undress first, which she was happy to help in doing. (Turn-on? You bet. But at the same time, I was so freakin nervous that savoring the experience was difficult at best. Well, she was very gracious and very professional.)

While we were laying in bed (I am so non-chronological here), she said something that really didn't register immediately, and has only started to sink in during the past few minutes. But I think it's true. She said that my true appreciation for this experience would not form until much later, long after it was over. When it did, I would come to cherish it deeply. (I am paraphrasing, of course.) Yeah.

Moving back to the beginning (doing my worse than Quenten Tarantino storytelling mode)... After undressing me, I "helped" undress her. Letting her guide, I laid on the bed, where she gave me a sensual massage.

Followed by an attempt at a blowjob (despite her coaxings, my penis remained completely limp; still waaay too nervous). She suggested maybe we could relax and drink some fruit punch. We went to the fridge, and she poured our glasses.

Hmmmm... I'm also conflicted about how much info to discuss which she shared with me. I think I better err on the side of confidentiality. Wouldn't be right to talk.

(Here's another silly Matrix quote for ya: "What was said was for you, and you alone.")

Hmmm... Is it even a good idea, legally speaking, to be writing descriptions here? I think the probability of the Men In Black reading or caring about this obscure little page is slim to zero. But still...

I'm just gonna shut up now. Too many stupid words.

Conclusions? Things I've learned? Thoughts about the future?

Getting back to the ribbon principle, I guess at this point, it must be pretty obvious that I didn't make any of this up. I'm just not that good at fiction. Would that I were. I'm still not really believing it myself.

Initially, driving home, I thought I had come to some conclusion. But now I'm second guessing those. This just requires more time to digest.

For what it's worth, here are the initial findings and impressions, some of which might still be evolving and changing:

1. Whether or not I ever decide to patronize this woman or others in her profession again, it was a worthwhile experience to try once, just for the sake of trying. Experimenting. Finding things out about myself, and about the world. I do not regret having taken the plunge.
2. If (and that's a big IF) I decide it's an experience worth repeating, this is not something I can afford to do frequently. (I'm tempted to make a sushi comparison here, but that's just too silly.)
3. In terms of pure mechanical getting off, I can do a better job of pleasuring myself in the privacy of my own room, and even have more fun at it. This is not to say that she didn't do a good job. Far from it. I don't think anyone could have done better. It's just that I know my own body better than anyone else. (And yes, I could envision things being different if I were more experienced and/or less nervous.)
4. As an explanatory device to aid in understanding the above point, I will reveal that I did get an erection, and she made me feel some amazing sensations, But I did not ejaculate. She tried. I tried. We tried. She knew pretty much every trick in the book, which were attempted successively, sometimes repeatedly. (In a way, this was actually kind of fun in and of itself -- learning several methods, even if the supposed "goal" was not achieved.) Eventually, we conceded that it wasn't going to happen. (On a humorous note, I think she was more interested in making me come than I was. Hope I didn't damage her ego. (I strongly doubt that.) I guess customer satisfaction is important.) Since I still had 10 minutes left, we just sort of hung out for a while.
5. Although this was enjoyable, tonight I learned beyond the shadow of a doubt that I am the type of person who wants to really know the person I am having sex with. Deeply. Although it is stimulating, just dropping trou and sticking it in is ultimately not terribly satisfying. Although it might be argued that this perception could be due to lack of experience, my gut instinct is that I need more. This is not a new revelation by any means, but a confirmation of what I always theorized. (I should watch Forces of Nature again, as it illustrates a semi-related theory beautifully, but I'm getting offtopic now.)
6. Sex is good. Sex is fun. Sex is not a cure-all for life's problems. It is not a panacea. I'm still pretty much the same person I was 24 hours ago, albeit with a bit more knowledge and some nice new memories. But is it an earth-shattering, you'll-never-be-the-same event? No. I can live with that.

Alright, now it's 4:30, and this is really getting incoherent. Now that I've completely screwed with everyone's head for a while, time to get a couple hours of sleep before work.

zzzzz.... zzzzz.... zzzz....