I am, in a word, assbroke. Consequently, I troll newyork.craigslist.org for any job that will allow me to supplement my current income at my dayjob, which I kinda dig and don't want to leave for any reason. I'm up for anything except anything that would involve pimping out my girlparts.

That's how I met Joe. I answered one of those "Etc" ads.

"Are you pissed at guys? Bitter at your exboyfriend? Email pic if interested. Immediate reply."

Ah, yes. A dominatrix gig. Sure, I'll give it a whirl. I sent my headshot and my cell phone number. Yes, I realize not the smartest thing to do, thanks. Neither is ingesting eight cups of coffee a day, laughing at tards or mixing booze and anti-depressants and I do all of those things with wild abandon. So you can go suck it, you judgmental teetolaling douchebag.

Joe won't give me any info over email so we swap awkward voicemails and we're destined to meet at a Starbucks on the upper east side.

I reach Starbucks. He could be anyone. He has my pic. I don't have his. He could be the elderly Asian man who smilesat me and walks at a breakneck pace, especially for one so old. I dial Joe's number.

"What are you wearing?"
"Blue shirt, black pants. I have a cane."

Sweet merciful heavens. I find him on the corner. He's short with piercing blue eyes, a quick smile and dark, straight hair. I feel guilty for being a fast walker as he hobbles along beside me. He's maybe 36 and exceedingly happy.

He buys my coffee and we sit down. He's checking me out. I understand. It's part of his job. He's helping out a friend, Mary, who runs two dungeons in the city.

"Do you have any questions for me," he asks.
"I have a list." I pull out a pad.
"Great. Shoot."
"Nudity?"
"None whatsoever. Well, the guys get naked but you don't. You're just tying them up."
"Money?"
"You'll have about three training sessions and then, as you develop a list of clients . . . "
"But you don't know, like exact figures."
"No. You'd have to talk to Mary."
"Clientele."
"Runs the gamut. Construction workers, businessmen, tourists."
"I heard it was mostly Hassidic Jews."
"There are a lot. How did you know that?"
"I don't know."
"I hear they don't shower."
"Naked and smelly?"
"Well, yes," Joe's eyes twinkle. Occasionally, his right one rolls into the back of his head. It's alarming. He's so friekin' happy. If I had a cane and one good eye, I don't know how happy I'd be.
"Anonymity?"
"Of course, we'd come up with a name for you."
"Costume?"
"We have extras. Mary has a ton of stuff so until you develop a wardrobe of your own, you're set."
"Safety?"
"In the eight years that I've been involved in the business, I've only witnessed two questionable acts."
"Is - " I can't believe I'm talking about this in a Starbucks on the Upper East Side. "Excrement involved?"
"No. Never. This is a very clean facility. That's a whole other thing."
"Well, that's all I got."
Joe looks at me admiringly. He's so jolly. I just don't know what to do with him. I thought he was supposed to be interviewing me.
"Um, well, Joe, do you have any questions for me?"
"When can we go out?" His eyes dance and he laughs.
"Ha. Ha. What's the next step here?"
"Is this something you'd be interested in?"
"Sure."
"Well, then, I'll talk to Mary and put you two in touch."
"Cool. Great. Thank you."
Joe considered to look at me with those twinkling eyes. I'd only been mildly uncomfortable until this point. He smiles at me.
"You'll really like Mary. We're supposed to go to Great Adventure this weekend."
"Really. You and other employees?"
"Yeah. She says it'll be fun and if I give 'em any trouble, they'll tie me up and throw me in the trunk."
"Goodness."
"Yeah, she's a blast."

I left the Upper East Side and grabbed a slice, made my way into Central Park to catch the last of Modest Mouse's set.

I thought for sure I'd hear from Joe or Mary but it's been a week and I got nothing. So I'm still broke but I'm also not tying up men who supposedly don't shower.