It's a Tuesday night in late July. New York City's bones feel hollow. Even the Internet is running dry. You tried Williamsburg, but the women all seem to be away, off somewhere you can't see, in bikinis. So what's a thirtysomething East Village man—one with an extremely specific urge involving star tattoos and chunky glasses and a playfully defiant glimpse of a tauntingly bare "female hipster" ass—supposed to do?
Mooned by female hipster
I know, I know. Strangest fetish ever. But I can't successfully talk myself out of it, so I'm hoping to craigslist it into enactment.
What I'm hoping (but not exactly expecting) to find is an attractive-ish female who is either a hipster or who possesses the wardrobe and willingness to fake it, who will consent to moon me for a fee.
I am able to host this encounter at my place in the East Village or willing to travel virtually anywhere else you'd prefer. Chaperones are perfectly welcome. The entire transaction would consist of me handing you cash in advance followed by you mooning me for approximately three seconds. The entire encounter needn't last more than five minutes, awkward introductions included. No photography, no commercial aspect, no contact whatsoever.
I am a thirty-something, appropriately ashamed, unfailingly polite, elaborately grateful male craigslist perv.
Photos are optional but gratefully welcomed. As are any other questions or considerations. Do, please, specify your fee. Thanks (to the hypothetical but unlikely person who decides to reply!)
At first, the post seems satirical. Talent gigs? But then, you figure that the type of people scanning these listings are inclined to be performers, not casual-encounter lurkers, and as you keep reading the open call, it seems increasingly. . . real. A reasonable offer, even. Maybe even endearing. Almost.
Is this real? Fake? Does it matter?
For posterity, a screenshot of the listing, which will probably be removed soon because that's how these things work:
To contact the author of this post, email email@example.com.