The $10,000 Blow Job

George.

Dear George. Oh, dear... where to begin?

George and I go way back. He's been a friend of my father since I was three years old. Of all the guys in my father's gang of friends I've known throughout my growing up, George and I always had a particular affinity for each other and over the years shared many laughs together.

In my twenties and beyond, I saw George every year or so, at miscellaneous gatherings of my father's friends. When I ran into him at a party a few years ago, he asked if I wanted to have dinner sometime? I hadn't yet replied when he added, "But I wouldn't want you to tell your father about it." I found that request a bit unsettling, which swayed my internal decision to "I don't think so." I never took him up on his offer.

The next time we saw each other, George said, "I realized I was wrong the last time I saw you in saying what I did. If we go out to dinner there's no reason to keep it from your father." That said, I felt better. We arranged an evening to meet for dinner.

When I mentioned to my father that George was going to take me out to dinner he immediately expressed concern: there was a side of George not to be trusted. I, too, had heard the stories from years past about how George had done unsavory things like hit on his friends' girlfriends, cop a feel, et cetera. But in the many years of our friendship he had never pulled anything funny with me. I had always thought things were different with us.

George and I met for dinner at JoJo, a swanky, celebrity chef-owned restaurant on the Upper East Side. It's the rare occasion that I get taken out to expensive restaurants, and it was fun to dress up for it. I wore one of my fancier vintage dresses and looked quite chic. When I was deciding what to order George said, "Don't even look at the prices." Sometimes I feel self-conscious when guys spend their money on me, but since it was a well-known fact that George was loaded I wasn't fazed in the least. I ordered the lobster entrée. It was succulent and delicious.

George called six or so months later, asking if I wanted to have dinner again? Sure, why not. It'll be a fun evening out with my "surrogate uncle," and anyway, I thought, no one else was taking me out to nice places. Instead of cabbing it to Parma, an Italian restaurant in the east 70's that George frequents, we met at his apartment and then zipped there on his Harley. After a really great meal, we went for a spin. We cruised down the West Side Drive, around the tip of Manhattan, and then up the FDR to my place. Cruising around Manhattan on the back of a motorcycle was a blast.

A week later I heard from George again. He asked, "Are you free tonight? Do you want to have dinner?"

This took me by surprise. Not from anything he had said, but because I thought it was kind of soon to be calling me again. I hoped he wasn't thinking something was going on between us, because nothing was and it wasn't going to! But then I figured he probably asked because he just wanted some company. In the many years I've known George I ever don't recall him having a steady girlfriend. When women are in meaningful relationships they have all these needs, and issues, and demands. George, well, he couldn't be bothered with such frivolities. He'd rather be single and carefree.

I was free that evening, so met George at his apartment for dinner. Instead of going out we ended up staying in, dining in his sprawling pad on an array of delicious offerings his private chef had prepared. Just the two of you, having dinner together in his apartment, alone? That's correct. But no worries -- there were no passes, nothing improper; just two friends sharing a meal together, because dining with a friend is more fun than dining alone, no?

Over the many times George and I got together, had he wanted to make a move he surely had the opportunity to. This one time, when we were figuring out what to do for dinner that evening he said, "I have a massage at 7:30, but I have an idea: I can ask my masseuse to come an hour earlier so you can get a massage, too. We can order in after that."

Massages in his apartment? Um, that sounded rather... sexy, and I did not want anything sexy going on with George. But then -- well, I decided go for it. It would be criminal to turn down a free professional massage, and no one else was indulging me in any way. Who doesn't like a little indulgence every now and then? P.S. I didn't tell my father about that one.

In George's apartment that night, behold the perfect turn-on scene:

George has just finished getting his massage and is all relaxed and feeling fine. He is lying on his bed, propped up by cushy pillows, facing the massage table that has been positioned perpendicular to the foot of his bed. Laura enters the room with a small towel draped around her --obviously with nothing on underneath. She tiptoes to the massage table and delicately scoots herself up on it. The masseuse instructs her to lay front side down. Her towel is then draped to cover just the swell of her buttocks, leaving little for George's imagination. Laura's massage begins, and George has a front and center view of it all. Oh, how sensuous it was....

He'll surely get a rise, I thought, it's just a matter of time. So what does he do? Fall asleep, in two seconds flat. So much for being hot for me!

Upon purchasing my house in Woodstock, my finances quickly became strained. As soon as George was aware of my cash-strapped situation, he always managed to throw into conversation how much money he had. Poor George -- he said he has so much money that he "doesn't know what to do with it all." With no wife to support, parents to take care of, children to send to college, girlfriend to lavish gifts upon, or even a measly cat to feed, what is good ol' George gonna do with all those greenbacks?

In conversation one evening we were together, I mentioned that I was gearing up to get new floors and a wood-burning stove installed in my house, two significant expenses. George asked, "If you could name one figure of how much it would cost to fix everything in your house, what would it be?"

I took a moment to do some tabulations in my mind, and then replied, "Ten thousand."

"Want a check?"

"Whadda you mean?" I replied with a sly smirk, shrugging it off.

When I next saw George, again I spoke of my upcoming house fixes (as I did with all of my friends). Again he asked the same question of how much it would cost to fix everything, and again I quoted him the figure of $10,000.

This time he said, "I could give you a check, and offer you a sort of 'business arrangement'."

I was nibbling on a biscotti, still partially in its wrapper. Overcome with an overwhelming sense of embarrassment, I shifted my gaze to the wrapper and fiddled with it intently. Oh my gosh, I couldn't even look at him. Seconds felt like forever.

Then, slowly, I tilted my head to the side and peered up at him out of one scrutinizing eye. "Oh, yeah?" I replied. "What kind of 'business arrangement'?" I wasn't dumb. I knew what kind. I just wanted him to lay it on the line.

"Pay for Play," he said unabashedly.

I smiled demurely as I thought, You little shit!

George commented, "You're blushing." I'm sure I am, and I bet you're loving it.

George had told me numerous times that he thought I was cute, but still -- to propose something like this? I had known him practically my whole life. To fool around with George would be like... incest! So, no thanks -- no "Pay for Play" for this girl.

Somehow conversation moved onward and we finished out my evening's visit with nothing more said of it.

A couple of nights later I had dinner with Megan and her boyfriend. Upon telling them about George's indecent proposal, Megan's boyfriend commented, "Are you going to do it?"

"No!" I exclaimed.

"Did you tell him that?"

"No."

"Laura, you've got tell him. By not answering you've left the door open."

"Oh... really? I hadn't thought of that."

Some topics are more easily broached via e-mail than in person. I would say that sex for money amongst friends qualifies as one of them. That said, I e-mailed George the following:

I realized I never did respond to your mention the other night of a possible "business arrangement" between us.

I think of you too much as family, so unfortunately I wouldn't be up for any "business arrangements."

But... if you would like to make a contribution to the "Help Laura Fix Up Her House" fund, I can think of no finer, or more appreciative charity to donate some of your mega millions to.

George called a few days later to say hello. In our conversation he made no reference to my e-mail (and I didn't bring it up), so I assumed the awkward topic was behind us. Several days later he called again. In this conversation he mentioned his Internet was down, and had been for the past two weeks.

His Internet was down, and had been for the past two weeks? Oh, no -- he never got my e-mail! Well, I assumed he would get it eventually.

A week passed. When we spoke I asked if his Internet was back? Yes, it was. Did he get an e-mail from me? No -- he must have deleted it by mistake. "What did it say?" he asked. I told him I would send it again. He read it aloud while we were on the phone. Ugh. Uncomfortable. But at least now the door was closed.

The door was closed, but my feelings toward George had become very conflicted. Part of me was appalled by his lecherous proposition, yet it also made me feel kind of sorry for him. Yeah, George owned a gorgeous apartment and had sports cars, motorcycles and plenty in the bank, but he wasn't happy. He didn't have any truly close friends, and in a heart-to-heart conversation we'd had he told me he hadn't been with a woman for several years. Nothing feels as divine as a languorous morning in bed with a lover. The only touching George had gotten in long time was from his masseuse, in a strictly professional way.

Back in Woodstock, I'd just had my floors redone and a wood-burning stove installed. These were great home improvements, but they virtually depleted my savings account -- and there were so many more house fix-ups I wanted to do. My mind wandered back to George's offer from several months before.

$10,000 is a lot of money. I could really use that money. Do one little thing (probably wouldn't even last five minutes!) and then my savings account will be back, intact.

Granted, the door had been closed, but I knew it would be easy to reopen. In my thoughts I plotted it: the next time George and I get together, I'll have a couple of drinks. My state of intoxication will help me gather the nerve to playfully inquire, "I'm reconsidering. What exactly did your offer entail?"

My plan was good enough, but when it came down to it -- who was I trying to kid? As much as I would have liked to have that chunk of change plunked into my pocket, I'm a good girl, not a hussy. I could never go through with it. I never brought the topic up.

It was a tough first winter for my little house in Woodstock. The roof needed to be fixed ($2,100); I had a bout with a bad contractor, wherein $1,500 worth of work ended up costing twice that; my water pump died ($1,200) and then I inadvertently froze/killed the new one three weeks later (another $1,200). Note to Self: Don't turn down heat in shed housing water pump before winter is completely over.

I could still pay my mortgage after these expenses, but let's just say money wasn't dripping from my palms. In conversation with George he asked, "How's the house?" When I told him about my latest woes, he said, "Well, my offer still stands. I'll give you [voice lowers to mimic narrator in lottery commercials] ten THOUSAND dollars. Think about it. Have a good weekend."

Oh, geez. Why did he have to bring that up again?

I thought about it. Maybe, just maybe, I wasn't so noble after all?

I started to convince myself that I was going to take George up on his offer. Yeah, it would be awkward, but I'd get over it. And then I would have all that money. I reasoned I would be doing it for a good cause, my house, not for inconsequential girlish desires such as clothes or jewelry or an extravagant vacation to a far away land.

I psyched myself up and up and up. I was ready!

But then -- damn. I remembered something. Since George had initially proposed his offer my situation had changed, and now in the picture was this possible glitch: braces. Impatient with the amount of time removable "Invisalign" braces were taking to straighten my bottom teeth, I had switched to the old-fashioned, glued-on metal variety to speed up the process. Metal braces: not so attractive, right?

My braces were actually a point of contention with this extremely good-looking guy named Brace that I had been flirting with. Yes, that's his real name. Since we'd met he had been very up front with where things stood: if anything were to happen between us, it would be strictly casual. Casual encounters aren't my usual cup of tea, so nothing had transpired yet -- and believe it or not my braces were helping to keep it that way. They made us a tad "apprehensive" if you know what I mean. Supposedly we were waiting until I got them off.

If George is going to shell out big bucks for a certain something, that certain something had better be pretty darned good. Will my braces get in the way?

I had told Brace about George's proposal from months before and that I had turned it down. Now that the offer was back, I told him I was seriously considering it. "Don't do it," he warned, "you'll regret it. I assure you." Advice notwithstanding, feeling terribly audacious one afternoon at work, I e-mailed Brace saying, "I really need to know if my braces are going to be a problem while doing a certain something. I need someone to practice on...."

An instant after I clicked "send" of course I thought, Oh my gosh, did I just do that?

But let me tell you, boy did that e-mail stoke him right up. Apprehension? Gone. All of a sudden he was free, free, free, and quite eager to get cozy with me. After months of heavy e-mail and text flirting, with nary a kiss in between, I soon found myself heading to my apartment with my smiling, strapping, and super good-looking test subject beside me. Wow, was I nervous. I'd never had a planned encounter like this before! Brace and My Braces: no need for fiction when this is real life.

There was wine and dimmed lights, massages and making out, and -- something else in addition. It was naughty -- and fun. Perchance I'll do it again, even if it was just a casual thing. And hey, guess what I found out? Braces aren't a problem after all. Hear that, guys?

During my rendezvous, I pretended "the act" was just that: an act. I was detached. No feelings, no emotions. Does being extremely attracted count as a feeling? Because I knew one thing for sure -- I wouldn't be feeling any attraction to George or (his) Willy.

Can I still do it? Sure I can. But I'll insist that he take a shower first. If it's all clean and fresh, how bad could it be? And cash on the table up front. Gee, that'll be a lot of cash -- stacks of hundreds? Yeah, the whole thing will be pretty uncomfortable, but it'll be over with soon enough and then I'll have all that money to do more house fix-ups. I won't tell any of my friends. Not one. Then I won't have to worry they'll think badly of me.

I'm gonna do it.

Checking every ounce of my shyness at the door, on the phone with George I asked, "So what's this 'business arrangement' you had in mind?" All practiced up, now I was the one who was eager -- to cut a deal.

I caught George off guard. Was he the one blushing now? "Well, oh... I'm not exactly sure," he said, "but... I want to make your life easier. I'll take care of you."

"'Take care of me?' What do you mean?"

"I'll help you out -- financially. We can have an arrangement. I'm not going to give you 10,000 or 5,000 or even 1,000 for one time -- no, it wouldn't be anything like that. That would feel too much like I had hired an escort... no, that's not what I want at all. But like I said, I want to help you out and make life easier for you... so, this is my offer: I'll give you a thousand dollars a month and we'll see each other and have 'fun'."

"A thousand dollars a month?" I questioned, taken aback upon being told a substantially different scenario than I had been led to believe... or had I just been incredibly naïve? "And how many times do you want to see me in a month?"

"I don't know -- we'll see how it goes."

A thousand dollars a month? Are you kidding me? A thousand dollars a month to engage in sexual activities for money on a regular basis with a man old enough to be my father whom I'm not attracted to in the least? Are you fucking kidding me? A thousand dollars a month? That would take almost a year to fix everything in my house!

"That's not enough," I said.

"Think about it some more."

"I don't need to." I felt like he was trying to get a cheap deal, like you'd expect from some sleazy used car salesman.

Sensing from my tone the finality of... everything, George said, "Hold on, we're friends. Don't be too hasty. I'll talk to you about this later."

We got off the phone. My mind started reeling. My gosh, how could I have even considered something like this? What's wrong with me? What was I thinking? I'm not desperate. Why did I think I was? Because Pam cheated me out of all that money and I thought this was going to make up for it? Because I lost my mom's love, and now it would be okay for me to do disgraceful things? No, no, no. George's "Pay for Play" offer -- even if it were for the financial payoff I had imagined -- won't replace what I've lost, and is far from being the answer by any stretch of the means.

If we were to go through with it, of course it would ruin our relationship. How could it not?

I called George back. In a firm voice I stated, "This should have never come up between us. It was my fault as well for considering it -- I wanted the money and you knew that. But if you were really my friend you wouldn't dangle your money in front of my face in my time of weakness and then propose 'Pay for Play'. We're done."

"Okay." [Line suddenly goes dead.]

Bye to you, too, George, and no regrets. I came really close to throwing away my dignity, but at the last minute I didn't and I'm really glad about that. And those house fix-ups I thought were so important will just have to wait. All in good time.