Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Chapter 12 (18,032 words out of 50,000)

12.

I slip the stripper a twenty and tell her to take extra care of David. She nods and shifts her blank eyes away from my grin, away from my soul gazing acknowledgement of what she’ll do for twenty bucks – away from my dominant smile – away from my controlling posture. David begins to lead her over to the wall but she pulls him towards a private book, he looks back at me and smiles, puts his thumb up, thinking that she’s interested in him – that she’s pulling there on her own volition and it has nothing to do with the fact that I slipped her a Jackson. It has nothing to do with the fact that she can’t get a job in modeling because the lighting would look horrible with the amount of make-up she needs to spread on her face with a putty knife to hide the acne scars he’s been carrying since she was twelve. It has nothing to do with the fact that she can’t get an administrative job because she’s a coke-sniffing whore who’s been fired twice already for fucking employees in the storage room for an added Christmas bonus. It has nothing to do with the fact that she needs a tit-job soon, her skin is starting to sag and her thighs are starting to fatten, if she doesn’t enhance her breasts soon she’ll be slumming around during amateur night at the Mexican clubs where twenty bucks gets a fuck, five for a blow.

David thinks this chick wants to give him special treatment.

I don’t think tonight, I’m smart enough to know I shouldn’t be brooding. I should just enjoy myself, relax – I’m getting too caught up in the job. It’s like in the detective movies where the guy goes deep undercover and starts doing illegal shit, first to keep his cover but later because he likes the power – he likes the rebellious feeling – he likes knowing he’s alive. So tonight I don’t think, I let every distraction come to me. A girl with no shirt kisses my cheek and I buy her a drink. She asks if I want a lap dance and I say yes, I tell her to bring a friend over and I let them switch it up, take turns, one has a cigarette while the other pushes her ass against my crotch, turns to me and breathes on my neck, keeps her tits an inch from my face, lightly brushing them and smiling devilishly.

It’s the most boring shit in the world but it keeps me from thinking.

People think too much, it’s one of their biggest problems; it’s one of the many things that make them an easy target. They deny that they have a problem and they spend their whole time thinking what to do about this no-problem, how to handle it, how to explain it, how to hide it. When you hit a wall, when you see something that you don’t like, the key is not to think. I’m not saying bury it, I’m not saying ignore it. Just don’t think. Tomorrow you’ll see the solution, tomorrow you’ll know how to deal with it, tomorrow you’ll see it for what it is – whether it’s a problem or a one-time thing – whether it’s easily fixable or will require some work. But if you start thinking on it from the start, if you let it become an issue before you allow it to simmer, before you allow time to pass, it will fucking consume you. That’s why people bury shit, why they explain it away, because they have no idea what to do with it – they don’t have faith in their subconscious to work the problem while they let their mind relax, they don’t hand control over to their instinct or their id or whatever the fuck is processing information in the background, whatever it is that knows you better than you know yourself and thus does it’s work while you’re just being yourself.

Just don’t think.

So I go over to the stage and hold out a dollar bill, a flat-chested “girl-next-door” with a Chinese character to the left of her belly-button that likely reads “skank” although she thinks it says “hope” walks over, shaking her ultra-wide birthing hips and smiling. She gets on her knees, tosses her black hair around, spins onto her ass as if she’s break-dancing, spreads her legs and shifts her panties to the side to show me her perfectly shaved snatch. If you look close enough you can see a sweat stain, why she’d wear pink panties at a strip-club is beyond me – it might give the innocence look you’re going for but black or deep red is always safer – plus we all know you’re nothing but a fucking whore. She leans into my ear and asks me if I want a dance – I’m really not up for it with this chick so I just put the dollar bill between her tits and sip my Moskovskaya vodka I had to sneak in with a flask because the closest they come to vodka here is Chopin. I don’t even respond, just put my glass back down and stare at her until she leaves – dismissing her – reminding her that she doesn’t work for my money unless I decide to give it to her – unless I decide I want her.

This is the most mundane night in years but it keeps me distracted.

David come out from the private room, smiling, zipping up his pants because he didn’t have the fucking class to do it before exiting the room. The girl he’s with looks ashamed, she walks over to the bar and orders a Corona, stripper’s brew, and David come to me, smiling, his penis bulging through his fucking Dockers, some un ignorable semen soaking through the khaki – what the fuck is he not even wearing underwear? My money’s on silk boxers, they pass liquid right through and don’t provide much for support – I had to tell that to –

Don’t think.

“That bitch sucked me dry.” I’ve been to enough of these skank joints to know that “sucking dry” isn’t exactly what fucking happens, they always use the condom. But David either likes to play it up like he was wanted, like he’s hot shit that strippers line up for to get some of his dick in their mouth, and that’s fucking fine with me.

He may be the biggest douche in existence but he’s keeping my occupied.

“This is a good time I missed this– though you were getting all soft with the Agatha.”

Don’t think.

“What’s it been, a month?”

I don’t even respond, I walk over to the wasting away stripper with the corona, sitting at the bar and staring off at nothing in particular except for her waste of a fucking life. I grab the beer out of her hand and she screams something, looks over at the bartender, worried that I’m going to hit her I would imagine. The bartender makes a motion for me as I grab the stripper’s wrist with my left hand, pull out a fifty with my right – plop the fifty in the stripper’s panty-waste and she tells the bartender that it’s all right, she knows me, she was just startled. As she lies through her teeth to cover for her whoring ways I clench down on her wrist harder, digging my nails into her diseased whore flesh before pulling her into a private room. Everyone stares at us, thinking I’m going to beat her, but no-one steps up, no-one says anything, maybe if she was some random chick off the street but no-one is going to waste their time defending a stripper at a joint like this. This isn’t high-class, this is where the blue-collars go after a shift at the auto-body shop, grease on their hands and the smell of oil permeating from their sweaty bodies – the girls that work a place like this do it because they can’t get in anywhere else, they’re dirt at best.

We get to the private room and I pull my dick out as I sit down, pull her head towards my crotch. She resists, pulls away, and gets a condom from a nook by the chair, how a place like this doesn’t get discovered is beyond me – these chicks must suck a ton of police cock. I grab her by the hair and pull her head back hard, reach into my pocket and pull out another fifty – tell her she won’t be needing the condom, I’m clean, as if my word is gospel. She doesn’t believe me but she eyes that fifty and weighs the risk, finally realizes that the extra Grant will buy her a lot of coke and she starts slobbering on my unprotected cock. You can tell she wants it to end, she’s not taking it as deep as she can, she’s hardly touching the tip as her hand rapidly moves up and down my shaft. I shove her head down until she gags and continuously fuck her in the mouth as hard as I can. She’s looking up at me with these tear-filled eyes, she can hardly breathe as she heaves up deep-spit and tries hard not to throw-up. She resists, her neck is rigid and she tries to force back on my hand.

This has got to be the most unfulfilling blowjob of my life but at least it keep my mind from wandering.

She’s crying now, I can hear pleas for me to stop between her gurgles. I’m telling her that I’m going to cum in her mouth and she’s trying to shake her head no, trying to say it except every time she flexes her throat she gags, she can’t get a word out. My balls are hitting her chin and my pubic hairs are pressed against her nose so hard she can hardly suck an oxygen in. Her entire face is beat-red, her cheeks are tear soaked, her mascara is running. I throw another fifty in her face and tell her that I’m going to cum in her throat and she’s going to swallow it. She stops saying no and just rides it out, knowing that I could be some diseased junkie but selling it all out for an extra fifty. She’s crying even harder, thinking ahead to these agonizing months where she’ll be going to the free clinic monthly, getting tested and retested for AIDS, never being sure if she’s in the clear, thinking back to this moment in the strip club when some stranger pounds her throat and cums hard into her mouth.

I release my load while holding her head down, she tries to fight it despite the money, I need to use all my strength to keep her there. Shot after shot and she’s gagging, spitting up – her hands reaching out for something, a weapon or something that will give her enough leverage to pull herself away. She’s groaning, mumbling, trying to scream for help – she committed herself to taking in diseased semen and now she wants to change her mind as if there are second chances in this life – as if whores like her even deserve it. She’s pounding the floor, pounding my leg, trying to hurt me, trying to get me to stop – trying to get me to give this up out of the kindness-of-my-fucking-heart. As if I feel remorse. As if anyone can feel for a stripper past her prime, someone who’s out of here in a week unless she gets her tits done.

As if I’m feeling anything right now.

As if I’m even thinking.

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