Paraštuj, Oktombro 31, 2008

It was a dark and windsome night at the Seven Year Inch stripclub and I was looking for some action. Due to my own procrastination I had failed to produce an elaborate costume of note but I had still managed to paint my face in the likeness of a skeleton or, as one waitress pointed out, some sort hoodoo voodoo priest. The night was proving to be somewhat uneventful as I was the one customer in all the club who was dressed in any sort of costume. Even the dancers themselves were undressed, by which I mean that they were not wearing holiday appropriate costumes and were instead dressed in the usual fare.

Now in normal instances I refuse to pursue clientelle within the stripclub because I refuse to cut into the business of my friends. At the very least I believe in solidarity between sex workers and would never dream of bringing my sort of work into their place of business. But there was somethin in the Autumn wind tonight and I was feeling dangerous. It may have been the skull which I had painted on my face, or maybe it was the rum which several customers had poured down my throat. For whatever reason I felt like Halloween night was the one night when I was going to break all the rules.

He was tall and handsome, not wearing any sort of costume but looking every bit like the blonde bastard love son of Indiania Jones and Crocodile Dundee made flesh. He sat down across from me at my table and never even asked for so much as permission to do so. He knew me from somewhere, is what he claimed, and I assumed that he must have seen one or two of my local advertisements. I smiled and spoke with him as I always do when one of the customers approaches me, not so much to make business as to make them feel comfortable in the club and assure that they will come back and spend cash on my friend. But maybe I smiled a little to well because ten minutes he asked me if I was willing to sleep with him.

I told him that I would only sleep with a man like him if he was paying, casting caution to the wind while letting Captain Morgan do the talking. He said he understood the arrangement and was willing to indulge. In most cases I would have told him to fuck off right there and to spend his cash on the dancing girls but, as I said, it was Halloween and I was willing to break all the rules. So instead I told him that I had a room at the local hotel and that he should meet me there after closing if he was serious.

He assured me that he was, in fact, serious.

The rest of the night passed in celebration as my friends and I laughed into the clublight. When the time finally came for the club to close down I was invited to several late night diner runs but I had to decline. I had a client waiting, one whom I had picked up at the club against all rules and reasonable concerns. I walked down the block to the hotel next door and glided past with grace and poise, as I had done so many times before in so many hotels. I rode the elevator up to the third floor and made my way down the hall the room of my waiting client. I was drunk and wobbling on my feet but I was stable enough to make it to his room. This was business after all.

Once in his room we left no time to waste on pleasantries. He tore my clothes from my body and I helped him out of his. He threw me down on the double bed and began to kiss my neck. His warm lips burned against my skin as they drifted downward and downard past my breasts and toward my stomach. I let out a small moan of pleasure, too drunk to conjure up real volume but too drunk to conceal the passion. It was then that I felt his hands fumble with my underwear as he pulled them down and past my legs. With slow pace his hand moved upward toward my softest parts and his finger began to graze me I realized with shock and horror that it was no finger that grazed my clit at all. Instead of the warm coarse flesh of his hand I could feel nothing, nothing at all, nothing between my legs but the hard chill of a cold steel hook!

Happy Halloween, friends! Hope you enjoyed the (fictional) tale!