By Lainie Speiser

The other day I had to go to Craigslist to put out an ad for the podcast I rep, The SDR Show. We are looking for ladies who will walk around Union Square Park topless with The SDR Show logo across their brave boobies, and I got nostalgic for my days when I used CL to satisfy my need for sexual adventure. I did it so often in fact that my friends started to worry that my life would be ended by the Craigslist killer, which I told them that would never happen because I’m not a victim type or a hooker. Nope, even though I should have been paid for my excellent performances I never charged anyone a dime, unless you consider cocktails and the occasional request to bring a large pepperoni pizza to my home payment.

These were the days before everyone started swiping right and left on their phones aka Tinder and when you had to sit at a computer to get some delicious, objectifying sex with a stranger. Now when I hear people talk about Tinder, I point out how I believe 80% of the men and women who are swiping are probably sitting on the toilet taking a big dump while they scan for partners and that idea is not appetizing to me. I don’t know how I started using Craigslist as my own personal single’s bar, but I do know when I left Penthouse Magazine the office manager must have found a lot of dirty emails and dick pics on their hard drive. What can I say? Some people enjoy taking a break by looking at cuddly, cute cat videos on YouTube, but I found my oasis by planning lunch time nookie for myself.

Nothing scary or bad ever happened to me from meeting strangers, like Anne Frank, I have a firm belief that most people are good. I also am good at reading people, even via emails, and never got hurt, conned or catfished, except for the 

one time I was sent a photo of a cute, geeky white guy sitting at his computer, but when I met him at Starbucks I discovered he was a geeky, middle-aged, bad moustache wearing immigrant from India wearing a wedding ring. “Absolutely not,” I said when he introduced himself, and turned around and left. He later sent me an email saying I was even prettier in person and thanked me for not leading him on. “Leading YOU on?” I wrote, “How the heck in god’s green earth did you think you could get away with this? Did you think I’d forget you sent me a photo of someone who was not you?” Now you can take these photos and do a Google search to find out if the person is legit, of course. But even when that happened, I didn’t get angry. It’s all part of the gamble, and the odds for a woman on Craigslist back then were in her favor.

It was a veritable boy buffet, and when I didn’t see anything I liked I would post (without my photo) what I was looking for: a big, blonde corn-fed boy next door, a long hair hippie with an edge, an older, bolder, DILF going through a divorce, whatever I was in the mood for, and I would always get a ton of responses. It was thrilling to see who was going to respond; that was a lot of allure. Of course, I’d meet men organically too, walking down the street, at parties or bars, but those men were no better than the ones I met online, and the experiences tended to be boring, the dates tedious with me at times thinking, “I’d rather be home eating wings and watching True Blood” (to give you a sense of the timeline). Back then people thought all you met were uglies, losers, weirdos, and murderers on such a forum, but except for the weirdos, and I’m just generally a weirdo magnet, none of that was true.

I remember meeting one man during my lunch hour who looked like a movie star, tall, blonde, built, gorgeous face – and he was nice too. He opened the door wearing a Brooks Brothers bathrobe and a big smile, we had a lot of fun, and afterward, his pillow talk was giving me some pointers for doing this. “You have a nice body, you should send photos where we can see it,” he said. “That way they know you’re not a beast and will reply faster.” While women are scared the men they were meeting off Craigslist were serial killers, men worried that the women they were meeting off Craigslist were in real-life 20 years older and 60 pounds heavier, a fate worse than death.

Even now, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve channel surfed and discovered a guy I hooked up with on Craigslist was on The Millionaire Matchmaker or guest starred on 30 Rock, or a chef on the Food Channel or an actor on the soap opera One Life to Live. For quick, horny hookups it’s rare to learn their last name, and it’s even questionable that they were using their real name. Some of these potential paramours would Google my name though, as I had no shame about it, and find out I worked in adult entertainment and think I was a hooker or a scam-artist, while others would email, “Can we have a three-way with a Penthouse Pet?” One French pilot got very angry that I wasn’t into girls and was offended when I said, “If I was looking for a three-way I would have said so right away,” to which he replied, “Okay goodbye, Stupid, goodbye!” Some men who Googled my name didn’t want to meet me when they saw I was a writer. “You’re very cute Lainie, but I don’t want to be the subject of an article.”

Not everyone wanted to meet up and screw, some wanted to have a proper date and see if there’s chemistry for a possible ongoing relationship, although it would always be sexual in nature of course. A New Yorker editor met me at a bar. He was just adorable with that tousled, curly hair I love so much, and a writer, working on a historical novel. I thought we had a pretty good time, there was definitely a lot of flirting, but before I even got home he emailed me that he thought I was attractive and sexy, but he had Googled me before the date, already knew I was in adult entertainment and was disappointed I didn’t tell him about that when we met up. I usually don’t tell people about my job when I first meet them because I don’t want to spend an evening answering questions about it. He emailed, “I think this kind of deception is not the way to begin a possible relationship and besides that, you seem to have a lot of energy, and I’m worried I won’t be able to keep up with you. I’m not a swinger.” I emailed him back, “Neither am I.” and that was that.

I met a cellist who worked for the Broadway musical, Wicked, in the orchestra pit. After some drinks we went back to his place where he asked me to take off my clothes and lie down on the bed. After I did he did the same, laid down next to me, and finger banged me into a decent orgasm, then reached under his bed, produced a bottle of baby oil, ask me to rub him down and jerk him off, which I did, feeling like I worked in a massage parlor. He wouldn’t fuck me. He was afraid of disease even though I brought my Lifestyle condoms, and when I left, it was one of the rare times I felt empty from my sexcapade. I didn’t contact him again, and he didn’t contact me, until six months later when he emailed me saying he jerked off thinking of me that morning and wanted to see me again. I should have left it there. I didn’t want to see him, but instead, I emailed him back that although I found him to be very attractive, he was rather robotic and cold for someone like me, so thanks, but no thanks. He emailed me back that I was a nasty bitch who smelled like cigarettes and told me to go fuck myself. “I already did an hour ago,” I replied. I thought that would be the end of that, but he emailed me again a month later with the same message about jerking off thinking about me, etc. I think he completely forgot our last exchange, but this time I just didn’t reply.

When I was telling my friend, comedian Josh Accardo, the host of The Broken Tailed Podcast about my Craig lusty past he asked me if I was a sex addict and what kind of place was I at during this time.

I could tell you that I was bored and lonely, but mainly I was horny. I wanted dick, and I don’t think love and sex are the same things. While I do think they can exist happily together, and they do with my husband now, I don’t think it’s necessary.

I told the young, beautiful producer Shannon of The SDR Show who hasn’t had sex in two years, “If I waited until I met the right person to have sex, I too would have gone that long without sex, and that is not an idea I could handle to explore.”

“I wanted dick,” I said to Josh during his podcast, “I was a vampire for dick, I needed it, I wanted it, and I was going to have it.” Masturbation is just a snack between well-balanced one-on-one sex meals to me. I don’t see why I have to do without the one thing I love that is free and safe and makes me happy if I don’t have to.

There were, of course, some jackasses here and there. Men who were obviously married or fake and didn’t want to meet up. They just wanted some email sex, 

some masturbation material. I wasn’t going to give that away for free, and as far as I’m concerned that’s as much cheating as having sex in real life. When the emails continue for days with no plan of meeting up, or they keep hedging the subject, do not continue, it’s not going to happen. He’s either a total troll or he’s married and wasting your time. I would engage in a limited amount of emails and if there was no plan being made I stopped engaging. Or if I kept being asked for more and more photos, I would also stop engaging; I see no reason to give away jerk off material and dick picks, for me, like with most women, are boring. I would also get annoyed by the double standard.

One handsome, stacked young man in finance, who turned out, lived in my neighborhood, kept asking me for more photos so he could gauge what I looked like better. But he in turn only sent me one single photo, that was obviously his work ID picture. “I’ll send more photos when you do,” I said when he asked me for more photos of my body. He enjoyed my feisty nature, and we did meet up. When we were making out on his couch, I stopped, removed my top and said, “I’m sorry I hope this is up to your high standards. Should I go?” He laughed and said, “No, no, stay I was an idiot, stay, stay!” I felt better after that, and we hooked up several times after that until he moved to the West Coast.

Of course, there were a whole lot of men who I wouldn’t want to sit next to on a subway much less get busy with. When I got a response from someone I did not find attractive, unless he was a dick or sent me an unsolicited dick pick when I clearly wrote in my post, “No dick picks please,” I would always respond. I think it’s rude not to reply to a person who put themselves out there for you. I would email back, “Thank you for your response, and while you are certainly a nice-looking person, unfortunately, you are not my type. Good luck and have a great day.” And more often, than not, I’d receive a polite thank you, or no response at all. No matter what you’re doing, I always believe in being polite in respectful, whether you’re in a business meeting or buying an eighth of weed, everyone deserves to be treated politely and with kindness.

I can’t remember the last person I met on Craigslist; I just know I abruptly stopped because the pickings were getting slim and I started my own business and didn’t have that kind of time and interest to Tom Cat around the web. The thrill was gone, plain and simple. I had bigger fish to fry, and I had enough “repeat customers” to serve my needs anyway. The last time I went on the web, was when I finally listened to my big sister and made a profile on, where I met my husband David, who was the only man I went on a date with. I posted a pretty but modest photo of myself because my sister said I should project a look that said relationship, not lunchtime dalliance. I received David’s profile on the Match daily “suggestions” and sent him a cute, but short note (never respond with more than a paragraph, or you’ll look like a lonely, sad person). David responded right away with, “Interesting,” which is never a good response. So, I let it go and decided to post the photos I sent on Craigslist which were sexier and the real me, which made David reach out again and email me, “Hey thanks for the new pictures, they are great, I love your cleavo! How about we meet up and kick the tires and see where this can go?” Five years later we got married. The lesson to be learned: don’t be afraid to get what you want, don’t worry about what other people will think of you and always send photos showing your best attribute, which in my case are, my two best attributes, my boobs.

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