Ragtime, Hagtime

Saturday in February 2020, N.J.

I got to the club when it opened at 7 pm. I sat for about 15 minutes, completely alone--actually considered leaving. But I had done well before. The bartender showed up, got me a beer, then knocked on the bathroom door, reminding the girls they were on the clock.

Suzy walked out, with a girl I hadn’t seen before, and went straight back to the vip lounge. Mind you, the lounge is like a 3rd world prison cell. I have no idea why she hobbled there, alone, on 4” heels.

I looked at the new girl like I wanted to fuck her.

She saw.

She was tall and thin—obviously wasted—barely made it to the barstool. I bought her a drink. I could hardly understand her when she spoke—Brazilian.

Wasn’t five minutes and we were in the back.

Diana, was not a good cocksucker. This foreshadowed an equally apathetic fuck. There was, however, one unexpected happenstance. She mounted me, cowgirl… and I was shortly aware of a foul stench. My mind darted for an explanation.

Is it this fuckin sofa?

Her pussy?

No.

I finally was able to pin point the source.

Have you ever sat for a shit, and your asshole gaped in anticipation of evicting a tenant?

Well, this, friends, was the very vapor underscoring my scene with Dirty Diana.

But I ask you…what’s a man to do?

I was in her!

I quickly concluded that I should ignore the rancid ass aroma of this particular hooker, and I thrust with renewed enthusiasm. This I did—in a variety of positions, on the post-apocalyptic sectional, with a pungent ass cloud hanging in the air. Ultimately, I could take no more, so I put her on her back, legs over my shoulders, and blasted.

This is a cautionary tale about tail.

You’ve been warned.