Ryan McKee is an Asylum Contributor and unpaid advocate for Craigslist. This is a true story.

Let me be clear, I didn't want a hooker. I only bought one to win back my girlfriend.

I moved to Hollywood wanting to make sweet love to fame. Instead, I slept with Samantha. Quickly I learned a woman doesn't like it when she's the only good thing in your life. Samantha dumped me after four months.

Under the influence of Old Crow bourbon and Elliot Smith songs on repeat, I called my "Bad Advice Friend" for help.

"Take a hot chick to the comedy club she works at," he said immediately. "Samantha will get jealous and want you back." According to him, getting a sexy date is easy. I needed to go where sultry women live ... Craigslist.

Rough transcript of the call placed to Crème de la Crème Escort Service at 6:35 p.m.
Me: Hey, I'm calling to order a girl, but I don't want to have sex with her.
Operator: Sir, our female companions are not prostitutes.
Me: I know you have to say that. But I'm serious. How much just for her to go to a comedy show with me?
Operator: Sir, you'll have to discuss that with our escort when she calls you back. Do you prefer a blonde or brunette?
Me: I don't know. Which one do you think stands out in a crowd?
Operator: Sounds like you're gonna want Aimee.

Rough transcript of incoming call at 3:50 a.m. Aimee sounds hammered, but ready to haggle.
Aimee: You called for a date?
Me: Yeah, but I don't want sex.
Aimee: You ain't gettin' no sex from me!
Me: I know you have to say that. But I'm serious. I just want you to go to a comedy show with me.
Aimee: Why? [Her voice changes.] Are you a manager or agent?
Me: No, my ex-girlfriend works at the club and I want to make her jealous.

Through the phone came a noise that sounded like a girl seeing the cutest puppy in the world mixed with smoker's laughter. She thought it was a great idea, promised to look "f**king bomb hot," and would give me two hours for a discounted $300.

The date
Aimee met me outside the club two nights later. "F**king bomb hot" consisted of a black skirt from the toddlers' section at Hot Topic and a red halter-top that made her breasts look ready to strangle her the moment she wasn't looking.

She seemed excited because she'd never been to a comedy show before. This made me excited ... until the show started. Suddenly, she turned from a 95-lb. platinum blonde into a heckler at Def Comedy Jam (or a joint session of Congress): "Ahhhh, no he didn't ... get outta here!" People stared, but I didn't tell her to be quiet for fear she'd leave. I had already paid her.

Finally, as we were walking out after the show, there stood Samantha. I acted like I forgot she'd be here.

"Oh hey, what's up?" I said.

"Working. How are you?"

"Good. Thanks. This is my date Aimee."

"Nice to meet you," Samantha said. "Sorry, I have to run this stuff backstage."

I felt crushed. She hadn't seemed jealous at all. However, Aimee assured Samantha "was super-jealous." Girls are great at hiding it, but other girls can tell. Aimee felt sure Samantha would call me soon.

At Aimee's car, she asked if I "wanted anything else." I told her I didn't and thanked her for being a great date. She pouted a moment, then gave me the wettest, most erotic open-mouth kiss of my life. A small moan rolled around in the back of her throat like a cat purring. At that moment, I forgot all about Samantha, my failures in Hollywood, my loneliness, and wished I had any money left in my bank account at all. Because I would have given it all to her.

Epilogue
Samantha never did call. On the bright side, I enjoyed a bit of infamy around the open-mic comedy scene as the guy dating the hot stripper. It wasn't much, but it was more than I had before.

Recently, I retold this story to Samantha in person. I thought it would creep her out; however, it seemed to endear me to her more.

"Do you remember the night?" I asked.

"I remember you with a pretty girl. Did she have brown hair?" she asked.

"No."

"I'm sorry. I don't. I feel bad. Can I buy you a drink?"