Soliciting a prostitute is something else entirely. Sincerely, Captain Obvious.
Now, solicitation in our situation means, on its most basic level, that someone has tried to engage someone else to do something criminal. That can fit more than just prostitution. Asking good old Clancy from the hardware store to murder your neighbor with a weedwacker is solicitation of murder, a serious felony. Smooth-talking your girlfriend’s stepcousin into selling you a bag of weed is also solicitation.
But so is requesting a sex worker whose nom de plume is also an inventive Oreo flavor to let you perform the Angry Dragon—for a reasonable extra fee, of course. It doesn’t even have to be that colorful. Requesting any sort of skin-to-skin shenanigans, even encoded, may end up saddling you with a solicitation charge, Don Juan.
I’m making it sound more straightforward than it usually is. A staggering number of clients facing a solicitation rap didn’t solicit an actual sex worker at all. They propositioned an officer posing as a nimble, long-legged beauty of the night named “Miss Kandy Mountain.” Don’t let cops fool you; those blue rascals are flexible—they can role-play on either the john’s or the trick’s side to nab their targets.
If you insist on paying for your jollies even though the powdered wigs have yet to loosen up about the regulations on this matter, then you’d better make sure that a roll of Magnums aren’t the only prophylactic you’ve got in your pocket and read on…
You’ve probably heard from numerous sources that it’s a bad idea to buy a night out knocking boots. It’s not my business to tell you how to blend your protein shake, but we’ll take that as a given.
What follows can go down more ways these days than ever, because we have the magic miracle machine that is the smart device. Cell, tablet, pager, berry, box, pad, pod, palm—the World Wide Web has a lot of big-kid playgrounds. Sure, there are still streetwalkers out there going old school, trading the information superhighway for actual streets, traversing afoot to offer potential customers a little curbside service. But there are also a slew of online avenues to erotic adventure and less-erotic jail time—or at least a fine.
The conventional way: guy’s headed home, stressing, after a rough day at work. Bill in Accounting called him a scaredy-cat. Gayle in the mailroom lost his mail. He’s a red-blooded American male and he would like to take the over/under on a $60 wager. A perfectly logical progression.
Most of us, if we’ve lived in any city for a reasonable amount of time, know the dark spots. Often the mean streets are all kinds of mean, but I’d guess based on experience that sometimes that’s part of the appeal. The danger, you see.
So Mr. Old-Fashioned heads to a pool of light on a dark street corner where a lone streetwalker waits. She strolls up to his window and they chat. Maybe $50 for a handy-j with a rail-splitter or $100 for an around the world on a tramp steamer bound for Tokyo. I’m making these up—if they’re real sex acts don’t tell me what they really are—I’d like to preserve my innocence (okay, you got me, imagination).
As soon as that money passes from car to glitter-manicured hand, the woman steps back and the next thing you know it’s an uncomfortable bracelet and a bus ticket for the big house, my friend. Your dance card is as full as the chow line, and Butch doing fifteen for aggravated assault has a reservation to ride that steamer with you all the way around the world. A hearty lesson learned: you suck at soliciting prostitutes.
Let’s pause before we get to strategies, to learning how to be allergic to stings, and talk about the thoroughly modern man’s way of seeking paid companionship: online ads.
I don’t really know why folks aren’t automatically suspicious of all online solicitation ads. They kind of follow a template: improbably attractive photograph of a male or female model (depending on which flavor you seek—clients certainly get snagged for seeking both, though cops will still tend to target guys seeking female companionship), with a come-hither message. Something like, “Hey, big man, I know exactly what you want and need and I’m ready to give that exact thing to you,” followed by contact information. Don’t call that number. This is the same shit Santa pulled, and the outcome is gonna be even more traumatic than that unanswered letter you sent to the North Pole in 1989 begging for that Pac-Man watch and a new skateboard for Michelangelo because the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were your real prophets.
Why stuff your childhood trauma inside and focus on the solicitation scenario? Because in a sting, there’s a good chance cops are recording that phone call. They will use that to build the beginning of a case against you. If you discuss costs, specific kinds of frolicking, and when and where to meet up, all those juicy tidbits will be on record before you ever even walk out the door.
Cops set this stuff up nicely, and they aren’t stupid. They’ll usually pick a motel or low-priced hotel. It’ll be a medium-cost place, one of the budget chains, usually. They’ll rent a set of rooms, one for stationing personnel and monitoring the meeting room, where the solicitor will eventually appear in vivid color on video.
The undercover officer responsible for all the flirty talk on the phone will be wearing a wire. There will be a subtle script in play, one with which clients too often play a key role. Once the mark—let’s say that’s you in this case—is in place, the script for the encounter that began online plays out a lot like the old-timey street encounter.
• The undercover officer will make sure she’s talking to the same person who made the “appointment.”
• The undercover officer will try their best to ensure you two are there to trade pillow talk for dollars. Legally, for the police, this part can be pretty important.
• If the covert sex operative manages to establish the bare bones facts before you even reach the room, the other officers on scene will swoop in to nab you. Unless you have a humiliation fetish, this is when the evening will stop being remotely arousing.
Here’s the kicker: even if you arrive and your Spidey sense activates before you enter the building—which happens to plenty of guys—you may still get arrested! The police want that score, so they just might stretch charges into the fairly easily prosecuted “act in furtherance” of prostitution, which is the crime of simply agreeing to engage in sex-for-pay, whether or not you ever show up to do the deed.
You’ve been stung. Is it going to swell a little or will you blow up like one of those weird, spiny fish that inflate to four times normal size to scare off predators? Now it’s time for strategies. Let me be your EpiPen.
First let’s talk intentions. To prosecute a solicitation case, the prosecutor has to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that you really wanted to launch your rocks and were willing to shell out for it. They need to prove that you intended to make the fabled beast with two backs.