The Night I Was A Prostitute

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The Night I Was A Prostitute

This is where I’m supposed to produce some introduction that gives you a slow dance chubby in anticipation for the story I’m about to tell, but I’m not one for fluff, so I’m going to jump right in with the story.

A bunch of brothers and I had met up for a solid night of debauchery. First, we headed to a local bar that practically gave away booze. The place was packed. Luckily, the brothers were holding down half the bar and I made my way up to the front, slammed a few shots, and started catching up with how everyone’s summer had been going.

Needless to say, conversations about summer school, internships, and passing out early after happy hour lasted about 20 seconds before everyone realized their lives were an empty shell that needed to be filled with as much booze as possible, as quickly as possible.

I was at the front of the bar when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and saw a girl with some feisty sweater puppies asking me to buy her a beer. Acknowledging the fact she’s got Everest and Kilimanjaro protruding from her chest, I obliged and grabbed her a beer. We talked for a while. Mid-conversation, she mentioned that she was here with a friend who just got out of a shitty relationship, and had to get her healthy dose of some Vitamin-D. As I was about to ask her to show me the way, she dropped the bomb, “Yeah, I had to convince my husband to let me go out tonight.”

Excuse me? Husband? I glanced down and noticed no ring on her finger. “Yeah, I had to take my ring off because no guys would talk to me at the bar.” She just gave me a slow pitch, underhand-tossed, 10 foot arching softball waiting to be blasted into the bleachers.

At this point, I was hammered enough to forget the few morals I had, and was able to justify pursuing this cougar with the belief that if her ring is off, she’s off duty. Also, I ended up not paying for a drink the rest of the night. Hell, I didn’t pay for shit the rest of the night, but we’ll get to that later. She bought me about four rounds of shots right before closing time. We started to head out of the bar when she turned to me and said, “Want to head to the strip club?” Thank god I was hammered when this question was asked, or else I would have most likely missed out on one of, if not the, best night of my life.

We got to the strip club, she paid for the cover, and gave me $50 in ones to work with. We sat down, and let’s just say the club brought out their A-team. She started throwing ones left and right. She caught one of the stripper’s attention, and the stripper motioned for her to come up to the stage. The stripper then laid her down on her back, lifted up her shirt, and started straight going to town on her chest beefers.

I can’t tell you what I was thinking at this point, but I can guarantee I popped a full blown chubby as my jaw dropped to the floor. Does this shit really happen? I asked myself. She got off the stage and walked over to me and ended up buying me a dance. This dancer was loaded with full-on fake titties that you just want to bury your face in and hibernate all winter.

She took my hands and threw them on those magnificent titties. I squeezed, and she giggled and told me to squeeze harder. I squeezed so hard I thought they were gonna burst like a piñata. The dancer finished up and left while the married lady and I made out, finishing with her telling me that we should get out of there and see where the night leads.

She took me back to her place. What the fuck, right? “My husband and kid are gone, so you can come in.” Kid? What kid? So many questions right now, but fuck it, I’m about to get laid.

We stumble in and didn’t bother fooling around. We headed straight to the bedroom and had some of the wildest and craziest sex I’ve ever had. We were laying there, and she looked over and asked if I was hungry. She took me to a local diner and literally bought me everything. Patty melt, cheese fries, shake…the works.

Fucked up part? Her husband called while we were there. I was quieter than a pledge Anne Frank-ing it in the top bunk, hoping to get out of a night of hazing. She hung up and gave me her background story, and I just nodded, pretending to listen while I ate, sobering up and realizing how fucked up this was and wanting to head back to the house.

We grabbed a cab and headed back to drop me off. I swear, when I got out of that cab the fare was near $100 and she just simply said, “Don’t worry, I got it.” Bless your heart, you mountain-chested woman, and bless the husband’s money that you blew on me tonight.

I stumbled into my room and passed the fuck out, feeling like an football player who still hasn’t realized he has just won the fucking Super Bowl. To top it off, when I woke up I found that at sometime during the night she had slipped $60 in my back pocket. I was literally a prostitute.

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