Sunday, February 3, 2019
In 1994, I stopped for a drink at a lounge named The Naughty Knight. I stepped inside and took a seat at the bar. A woman named Nancy was working. She had dirty blonde hair and a sorry set of saggy tits. Plus she was missing one of her front teeth.
She said, “What do you want, asshole?”
I said, “I’ll take a glass of draft beer and a shot of chilled vodka.”
“You think I’m gonna chill a shot of vodka for a pussy like you? You can drink it warm like everybody else.”
“OK. A glass of draft beer and a shot of warm vodka…if it will make your life easier.”
Richard sat two stools down to the left. He was a drunken taxi driver with jet-black hair and a pale complexion. The poor guy was skinnier than a toothpick. Richard was one of those unfortunate alcoholics who avoids food at all costs. He felt that a good hot meal would only serve to ruin his buzz.
“Have you ever read Spoon River Anthology? I love those poems—especially the one where the man gets eaten by the bear.”
The drunkard had asked me that very same question a million times. He was impressed that I had a earned an English degree from a local state college. Consequently, he viewed me as an expert on literature.
I said, “I read Spoon River Anthology back in junior high school. But I can’t remember anything about it. I suppose it’s good.”
“Good? Only good? It’s great. You must go out and buy a copy as soon as possible. You won’t regret my advice.”
Nancy shook her head derisively. “You two sound like a couple of fags.”
I swallowed my vodka and put some money in the jukebox. Back then, I really liked Fleetwood Mac. Rumors was one of my favorite albums. I was having a great time singing Yesterday’s Gone when a black chick in hot pants walked into the joint and took the seat next to mine. She smelled like she hadn’t had a shower in the past couple of days.
Nancy said, “No crack whores allowed, honey. If you want to stay, you gotta pay for something.”
“I’m hoping that one of these gentlemen will buy me a drink? Would that be OK?”
“Sure. If they’re stupid enough to throw their money away on a hooker, then what do I care? I just work here.”
The black girl looked at me and smiled. “I’d love a beer.”
I said, “Nancy, get her a draft on me.”
It wasn’t long until my new drinking buddy got down to business. She wasn’t shy. She blurted out her proposition for everybody to hear.
“My name is Cherry, and I’ll suck your dick for ten dollars.”
At first, the idea of having sex with a crack whore turned my stomach. I actually thought about getting up and going home. But it had been a while since my last blowjob, and the price was right.
“Only ten dollars?”
“I’d be happy to charge you more.”
“Where do we do this?”
“In your car.”
“Would you like the money now?”
She nodded, and I gave her the cash.
I looked at Nancy. “I’ll be back in five minutes, so save my beer. Don’t let Richard touch it.”
The parking lot was dark, and we got into the front of my automobile. I took off my leather jacket and threw it on the back seat. Then I slid my jeans down and exposed my erect pecker. Cherry began sucking it like she had promised.
However, she soon stopped and removed a pipe from her purse.
“I need a hit, baby, before I get back to business.”
She lit her pipe and took a deep drag. My car was filled with the smell of rock cocaine. Yet I didn’t mind. I just wanted her to finish my blowjob.
To make a long story short, Cherry let me shoot my load in her mouth. Then she climbed out of the passenger seat, and I never saw her again.
I pulled up my pants and noticed that my wallet was missing. I soon found it on the floor next to the gas pedal. All the cash had been lifted. Luckily, she hadn’t taken the credit card. Furthermore, my $200 leather jacket was nowhere to be found.
The bottom line? Ten-dollar fellatio ended up costing me a fortune. I should have just gone home and spanked my monkey instead. Unfortunately, this wouldn't be my last experience with prostitution. I've always had a hard time conquering my lust. So what's a boy to do?