That Time I … Prostituted…?

It’s Valentine’s Day and he had just come home from his winter trip the previous night. I came back a month prior from my trip. We would see our separate families in winter each year. So had his city studio apartment to myself for a while, which meant time to reevaluate my life, for the 30th time. I had made up my mind about what was next and wanted to share it with him at an appropriate time.

We wake up and he says he has something for me, for Valentine’s Day. I’m thrown off.

“We don’t celebrate,” I say in confusion.

“Yeah, but I wanted to get you something. Plus it’s not wrapped so…” He responds.

I guess that means we’re not celebrating because it’s not wrapped? I only say this in my head.

I take the gray Amazon shipping bag he gives me and pull out some highlighter colored material… It’s a collection of $2 panties made of cheap ass pink, yellow and gray stretchy lace.

“Um… thank you?” I am now not only confused buy offended! You give me panties for Valentine’s Day, a holiday you know I don’t celebrate. Is this gift for me or for you? But of course I don’t say any of that out loud. It’s not worth it. “Yeah, thanks! Well, I’m going to get ready for work now.”

He makes it clear to me in a short worded conversation that he thinks it’s inconsiderate for me to be working on Valentine’s Day.

“I’m supposed to be moving out! I need money to do that and it’s slow season for catering.”

“Yeah I know but it’s Valentine’s Day” he insists.

I don’t have time and have to go to work. I’ll see you when I get back.

On the walk back to the house, I see these couples, staggering in the streets drunk from their love and stupid red balloons and chocolates. Cursed be Valentine’s Day. What a capitalistic trick of the maaaan!

I get back into the apartment and it’s dark, except the lights flooding in from Times Square. He’s not home. It’s after 10.

Being the Pisces I am, I have mixed feelings. Do I enjoy the peace and quiet, maybe watch a movie he wouldn’t or do I send a passive aggressive text message? To my own surprise, I decide to enjoy the moment alone. I think I have some wine and watch a disgusting documentary about S&M culture.

My movie is over and my eyes are heavy. It’s close to 12. He’s not back yet. The girlfriend in me revs up again, but chooses to quietly go to bed and wait it out.

Maybe a half hour to an hour later, he comes into the house, creeping. I don’t budge, kind of like when ya mama would come into the room in the middle of the night to check if you’re asleep. I was still like a sleeping dragon.

He’s rustling around and then starts to head back out the door.

“Oh noooo this motha fucka ain’t about to give ME a hard time about Valentine’s Day and come in the house creepin like a motha fuckin rat and leave without sayin shit!” Of course all of this in my head.

I turn and say in my most sleep-sounding voice, “You ain’t gonna say anything?”

He closes the door and stands in the dark. This interaction erupts into a teeth gritting conversation. We didn’t shout or get loud in our arguments. We just spoke aggressively.

Eventually the lights go on and he insists on getting an answer to his question: “What’s goin on with you.”

“I don’t want to be with you anymore.” I blurt out with some other words. After I finish my monologue about how it’s not working and how he makes me feel like shit, he says,

“I have high blood pressure.”

“Oh no that’s terrible. Are you okay?” I then proceed to comfort him and it becomes a conversation about his health and what he needs to change to not die any time soon.

Wait, wait, wait. Did he just deflect my break up proposal and jack my shine? Yuuup.

Over the next week or so, we got some clarification about us breaking up. And I needed to move out of course. But in about a month, is what we agreed because it’s New York and I’m a poor ass journalist who works catering jobs and bartends.

Let’s fast forward to about 4 days before my move out date. It’s Sunday and things are going great. We’re not an item anymore and we haven’t had any sex. We’ve been rooming and I’ve never felt freer.

“We need to talk,” he says in the morning.

“Okay let’s do it. I’ll make some brunch and we can chat!”

I make this immaculate brunch with whiskey french toast and mimosas and eggs and things. We eat our fill, have a good time. And at the end of the meal he says, “You need to leave.”

“I am, on the first, remember?”

“Yeah, I mean, right now.”

“Um, okay.” Inside I feel like someone dropped a sack of dead weight on me. My credit cards are maxed out, I have just enough to move, not even a little extra for groceries when I get there. What the hell am I going to do.

I don’t really have any girlfriends in New York to ask for a couch or air mattress to sleep on. And I’m too embarrassed to call or text any of my family for help. While I’m looking for something I can afford, which is nothing, a really attractive yet terribly presumptive and dense guy who had unwarranted, whipped out his dick for me, hits me up.

“What up! What you doing? Let’s hang out.”

I write to him back, “I can’t right now, I’m in a little bit of a crisis. I’m looking for a place to stay for the next three days. I’ll hit you back later.”

Moments after, you can guess what he writes back:

“You can stay with me! I have an extra apartment I only use for Airbnb and no one is in it right now.”

This is one of those moments one has as a woman, reflecting on the lessons mama tried to teach me while I was still impressionable. Always have extra money. Never max out your credit cards. Don’t rely on any man for anything.

Welp, it’s either be homeless forever or rely on this man.

I was out of the door in about an hour with a bag of clothes for about three days. I told my new ex I’d be back on the first for my things. And off I went to be in a very awkward situation.

I’m sad. Hurt actually by the sudden eviction. Disappointed with myself for allowing me to be in this situation. But thankful I had somewhere to go?

I arrive to this brownstone. Dick man opens up and welcomes me in. He’s elated that I’m there. Do you know how long he’s been waiting to have a moment with me and I was always unavailable because I was with Valentine’s boy.

But here I am. Mourning the loss of my dignity and pride, walking into a cave of wonders.

He sets me up. It’s nice and clean. I thank him graciously and say I’ll pay you as soon as I move. He says, don’t worry about it.

“No, I have to pay you.” I don’t want to not give him money! What he doesn’t know is that I have a hard time taking things from people without payment. If he doesn’t take my money, lawd only knows I don’t have much else to offer him in this situation.

We hang that evening, watch a show over some Indian food. I’m a little nervous because now I feel obligated to spend time with him. I have nowhere to go, no one else to call, no money. I hope he goes upstairs to his own bed.

He comes onto me. I’m not really in the mood, obviously. But I entertain it, not really feeling empowered to say no. One thing leads to the next and he even spends the night in the bed.

It happens a second night. I’m starting to feel real… prostitutey. I could say no, but run the risk of being homeless. I suck it up, not literally though.

The last night we don’t have much interaction and I’m so thankful. The next morning I quietly leave to my daily obligation, relieved that I won’t be back there but thankful I wasn’t homeless.