Results: Kris and I worked out the details of our meeting, to take place at a Starbucks in the city. As he was the pro, I let him lead the e-mail conversation. He asked if I wanted to "upskirt" for an extra ten bucks, which meant I would walk up the subway steps in front of him, letting him get a nice "upskirt" view. I declined, and we agreed that for thirty dollars, I would meet him at 8:15 on a Monday morning for an exchange. He requested a dark thong, and gave me his number. He was going to be in a suit.
Sunday night, I was a mess. Having worn the thong all day, I had this nagging feeling that I was doing something wrong — not to the point where I was a bad person, just to the point where a psycho could rationalize killing me or a cop could find a reason to arrest me. I didn't sleep at all. I kept waking up with my heart racing. (The discomfort of sleeping in a thong didn't help.) And then it was morning, and I had to go. Before I knew it I was at a Starbucks in Manhattan. As I stepped outside to call Kris (dialing *67 first to block my number), my bodyguard Megan arrived. I figured we'd pretend not to know each other, but she smiled and waved at me, causing me to briefly panic that she had somehow blown my cover. I ignored her, called Kris and left a voicemail letting him know I was in a black trench and jeans. His voice recording sounded normal. Young. (You know who else was young? The Craigslist Killer.) Then I sat down in the bustling coffee shop and was pretending to read my book, when I saw a guy in a suit get in line — average-looking, probably in his late twenties. We made eye contact. He waved. I smiled and tried not to look like a scared puppy. I walked up to him and we made small talk about needing a cup of coffee first thing in the morning. He asked me if I'd been waiting long, and then there was an awkward pause. "So," I hesitated, "did you want to... see?" "Oh, yeah." There were people all around us, but I thrust my hand down my pants, pulling the waistband of my underwear up into view. "Okay, good." He barely looked, like he was in a hurry to make the exchange. In the bathroom, I put my panties in a plastic baggie and pulled on a new pair. I tried to wrap the baggie in paper to hide the contents. Back outside, Kris was waiting for his coffee. He palmed me some money in a handshake. (Neat — no one had ever done that to me before.)
I tried to palm him the panty bag, but it didn't work as well. And we were done. Total time elapsed: less than five minutes. I left the store, walked a couple blocks, and texted Megan and several other friends letting them know I wasn't dead. Then I pulled the money out to look at it, and he had given me two twenties — ten more than we'd agreed to! The entire exchange had been super-easy; none of the grossness I felt from the negotiating e-mails remained. I was now forty dollars richer, with one fewer pair of panties. I didn't feel dirty at all! (It probably helped that I'd just put on clean underwear.) I was excited to do it all again the next day, this time with a guy named Lucas. Lucas, unlike Kris, was new at buying panties. I could tell because he agreed to my fifty-dollar asking price without question and let me lead where and when to meet. Lucas, like Kris, was an average-looking guy who seemed to be in his late twenties or early thirties. Again, things went off without a hitch, and I was in and out in less than five minutes. The only snag was that I forgot to lock the bathroom door and someone almost walked in on me putting my panties in a Ziploc, my bare ass facing the door. Not so fast. I made ninety dollars in two weeks, four craigslist posts and 166 e-mails. When Kris e-mailed back, suggesting we put the extra ten bucks towards his next purchase, I chose not to respond. All this hassle, for thirty bucks a pop? No thank you. I'm taking my extra ten and running. Lucas e-mailed back too, but again I didn't respond. The legwork of finding a decent buyer was done, but I felt if I met with these guys a second time, I'd be developing a relationship with them, and that seemed equally tiresome. I'd already exchanged nearly twenty e-mails with each of them. Conclusion: Read more I Did It For Science here.
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